SURFING, SCONES, AND OTHER STORIES

Cornwall is one of my favourite places to visit for many reasons, and this year I avoided falling seagull faeces which I did not manage Polperro 2k13. 1 point to Lydia. The beaches are buzzing in summer and there is always a plentiful supply of scones and pasties; my personal pasty of choice is steak and stilton (why hello there, cheese and carbs). And fresh seafood is always on the menu: crab claws, fish cakes, paella, chilli fried squid, mussels.  I must say, despite my food overload – I’m looking at you, moules marinière – we must have fitted in enough exercise to destroy those calories. This has to be the holiday that has caused the most physical pain.

We arrived on Saturday to a late lunch of baked brie and fresh bread in Port Isaac, where we were staying in a seafront house which was not quite ready for us yet. Tired after a 5 hour car journey in a cramped backseat with my sister, H, and her boyfriend, George (known as ‘G’ or ‘Geo’, as we are too lazy for three extra letters), I had a nap. I was on holiday, I had an excuse. Sunday was a chilled day also, which meant plenty of time to read my latest book: Funny Girl by Nick Hornby (review to come). We made plans to surf the next day and prepared for the physical challenge that would be pulling wetsuits on and off.

Walking to the pub; H and G didn't realise I was taking this

Mary was loving this heart-shaped puddle on the beach







Surfing on Monday was incredibly fun but also incredibly difficult: as soon as we had finished the introduction on the beach and made our way into the water I completely forgot what we’d been taught. Do surfers just get on the board and then surf? I soon found that it is possible, but not likely, after an hour of salty attempts choking on sea water. I was finally on the last wave, kneeling, about to stand up when I saw a guy from college/the ex of one of my friends and, confused, I wiped out. Mascara (and probably snot) down my face, we said hi. Waterproof mascara is not the miracle we are tricked into believing it is; it certainly cannot stand an hour and a half in the surf. I like to think I worked the 'drowned rat' look though.

Still sore from surfing, the next day one genius family member suggested a coastal clifftop walk. It was not only ‘clifftop’ as we went up, down and all around those freaking cliffs. I admit, I was a bit grumpy initially but I was grateful that my glutes were having a better workout than a Davina McCall exercise DVD could give them. All this in the particular type of thin, wet rain which soaks through every item of clothing until you are, officially, a human raisin ready to be thrown into a bowl of muesli. Yes, all rain is wet, but this rain was wet. In order to keep the team moving, Dad and I sang ABBA's ‘Super Trouper’ – complete with dance routine – at the top of a hill to my mum, Mary, struggling at the bottom. It cheered her up, but she laughed so much she nearly wet herself on the side of the cliff, and we didn't need any more water to fall. 4 hours and 5 miles later, we reached a bee centre where I finally had a much needed bacon sandwich. We then limped to the side of the road to pray for a bus to take us back home. We weren’t walking; ain’t nobody got time for that. Mascara down my face again, I saw my friend’s ex again, as we were getting off the bus. How small is this world? It’s big enough for plenty of irony at least.

Navy raincoat (ASOS), cherry red Doc Martens (Office), ft. the castle from Poldark





Casual dinner: sailboat print peplum top (ASOS), high waist mom jeans (ASOS), heeled lace-up sandals (Office)

Chilli fried squid at the Golden Lion in Port Isaac

Moules marinière

After the devastation caused by all that physical activity, the next day was a leisurely trip to the small town of Wadebridge to scour the gift and charity shops for board games and DVDs to take back to the house. I picked up a wooden postcard printed with a photo of some girls on the street in the 60s (#sixtiesstreetstyle) for my wall, and 4 clam shells for £1, to use as tealight holders, from a fish shop. On Thursday, we arrived at the beach to a non-existent surf: 0 waves. Nada. Content, I laid in the beach tent all day with mint choc chip ice-cream and my book.



Tim's Place in Wadebridge for a tea and cake pit stop



Wadebridge finds on my desk at home

Friday, I went for a walk with the 'rents along the headland of Port Gaverne as we were trapped in the village all day with the car in the garage. It was, in Dad's words  as we crossed the rocks on the beach "something the Secret Five would do!" No, the Secret Five is not a Yorkshire gang, I'm pretty sure he meant the Famous Five, however I doubt that the Famous Five would have taken #ootd photos on the rocks mid-adventure. We had a nervous journey the next day, wondering whether the car would make it, but we made it home safe and sound. Now, a couple of weeks later, I have just recovered from my food coma, but seeing Cornwall all over my Instagram timeline, I want to go back.





(I told her to point)



High neck crop top (Topshop), high waist denim shorts (ASOS), white leather converse (Office), tortoiseshell sunglasses (Next)

I told him to pose like it was for Vogue; Will wears Fat Face shorts and Timberland boat shoes



Hopefully see you next year, Cornwall,

 L