2019 Days 1 to 3 – Truro and Falmouth

Day 1

And just like that, another adventure begins. Not before, of course, the oh so very long trek from Melbourne to London. Blah. Come on future! It’s 2019 – where’s my teleportation app?

Luckily, the trip is uneventful. There’s even the bonus of a spare seat between us on the Singapore/London leg. And then there’s Heathrow’s new speedy passport control process. The usual two hour queue cut down to 30 minutes. Excellent progress. We just won’t mention the two over indulged and over stimulated toddlers on the Melbourne/Singapore leg, with parents who lifted not a finger to contain them. Such a pity corporal punishment fell out of fashion. The parents could have truly benefited from a sound smack, happily administered by passengers who had the back of their chairs kicked for hours on end or perhaps “enjoyed” the endless chorus of alternating high pitched squealing and crying.

But make it to London we do, blinking in the bright spring light, poised for the next challenge: picking up a hire car for the long drive from London to Cornwall, to collect the motorhome. The countryside is glorious, a calm sea of green.

It’s recovered from the scorched earth of last year, fields are again lush with grasses, sheep and cows grazing languorously. And it’s spring! The hawthorns are in blossom!

England does her best to make us feel right at home with a fine display of four seasons in a day – just like Melbourne. We get the full gammut across the next 5 hours, sun through to heavy fog.

We’ve not been here this early in the year before and so have not experienced the riot of delicately pretty spring flowers on show. Roadsides and grasses are dotted with daisies, primula and bluebells.

I’m itching to explore the gardens – rhododendrons are a real possibility this year. Usually we only see the dried leavings of summer.

Garden visits will have to wait. *Sigh* There’s unpacking to be done, setting up the motorhome for travel. By day’s end we’re both exhausted and crash into a heap. Not a bad start, still. It’s done, and all in a day. Usually we break the drive and unpacking across two days.

Day 2

Well I’m ok. Bed at 11 pm, awake at 9 am, my body clock has reset. Himself fares not as well. Crashed at 7, awake at 3. He tries, but he just can’t push through the fatigue barrier. Consequently, jet lag will plague him for a while.

We drop our bags and boxes back into storage, complete a blistering large shop to stock the larder and then it’s skipping off to the gardens we go. My hopes prove fruitful. The rhododendrons, azalea and camellia are in full bloom, albeit late in their cycle.

The gardens of Trelissick, as lovely as they are in summer, are utterly glorious in spring. We’re surrounded by blooms of every colour: pinks, yellow, orange, red, purple, white. Bumble bees buzz about in pollen and I’m in flower bliss.

Trelissick is a beautiful spot.

And they have a golden squirrel weather vane. See him perched up there? #want

I can see we’ve missed the bluebells here though, there’s just a hint of blue left on the slopes. It’s human nature isn’t it, to always want that little bit more, that last little smidge that sits tantalisingly close, but just out of reach.

Day 3

While the motorhome busies itself in “the shop” getting an MOT, service and thinking up new ways for us to show our devotion (and by devotion I mean spending great wads of money on it), we zip about in the hire car. A few things I overlooked in the epic shop of yesterday. I do love a good Tesco superstore. Almost as much as a French Carrefour. I know I’m not the only person who loves an overseas supermarket. So many new things to pore over. Breakfast and coffee call, then it’s off to Falmouth. We’ve no idea how long the motorhome will take, so we can’t go too far.

I don’t know whether Falmouth is ever quiet. True to form there’s yet another festival in progress as we arrive and a massive cruise ship in the harbour.

We walk the length and breadth of town, eventually succumbing to a late lunch at Harbour Lights which boasts a top ten placement across 9,000 entrants for the title of the UK best fish and chips. Perched in the best seats in the house complete with harbour views, it’s an easy way to pass time.

The fish and chips are excellent too. Just ignore the bite out of mine….

Eventually the motorhome calls, it seems the work is done and the bill is due. Seems we’re needed afterall. And there’s some muttering about two new tyres still to come.

PS: I trust you’ll forgive me a couple of condensed posts at the start. The early stuff, knee deep in domestics, errands and chores…not that interesting! Much better to focus on the good stuff that comes once all this part is done.