Dad and Susan met me at the train station in Redruth. I was still a bit dopey from falling asleep in the train. Not even the fear of missin gmy stop could keep me awake. I was greeted warmly and wisked away to the cornish seaside for a refreshing walk on the beach. I never new that there were surfers in england before this. They must be tough sorts because their neoprene suits did not look thick and non of them had much natural insulation. We walked laong the beach talking about he sea mist and how it was sure to break any moment now/ Despite the mist there's nothing quite like a seaside. The air is fresh and clean, the sea makes it's own gentle sounds and sand is welcomingly soft after hours of pavement.
After the walk we set off down the narrow roads to Menherion. Dad and Suasn have an end of row house just opposite the Golden Lion Inn. The home is a lovely conversion of an 1843 manorhouse. The original owners divide their manor with a few walls and made a packet selling it bit by bit. The current owners happened to have come upon it during a real-estate low point a few years back. Prices have since tripled as more and more people decide that the beutiful cornish landscape would make an ideal plavce for a second home. The garden is divided by walls into a flower filled frontn section, coplete with little pathxs, a bench for Summer days and bird feeders in the tree for their cat. The next section is an open green and behind that is the garden where many hours of work are beginning to pay off. Dad and I spent a little time watering seedlings in the greenhouse while Susan cooked up a delicios beef pie with scones for dessert. The pie took longer than expected so, following tradition, we knocked off to teh pub for a quick pint.
The Golden Lion inn is a well appointed family business that has a pleasant bar, sorry.. I menat to say pub, a large restaurant which serves some surpringly sophisticated fare and rooms to let. They also own a parcel of and near the lake, which they rent out to campers. I was introduced to the publican and we stood around with one of the nieghbors talking about everything from his beef cattle and the website that Dad is running for them. Given the beer and lateness of the hour I don't need to rely on my poor memory for names to explain that I don't remember the names of the people I met but that the publican's wife is Wendy and the farmer's dog is Poppy.
After the pub it was back to the houses, a good fifteen feet from the pub door, across the parking spots, over the single lane road and finally through the gate. Talk about convenient location. The beef pie was pretty goos. The scones that followed were seved with cornish clotted cream and home made preserves. Cornish clotted cream differs from Devon clotted cream in that it is thicker, a rich yellow and has a skin on it. As for taste, well, I would have to eat a lot more of both to make a choice. The jams were blueberry and blackberry, both from the back yard. After teh scones a cheese course of cheddar, brie and camenbert was served along with a simply delicious australian wine, the name of which I keep on forgetting. After dinner discussion touched on the continuing rise of australian wines and the french assertion that while australian wines tasted good initially they lacked the complexity of french wimes. I think I hear a french whine in there somewhere but I have hardly tasted enough of either to be a good judge. Shouts out to Dev, go aussies!
Before turning in we caught the last half-hour of Brassed off Britain. Thiw weeks topicwe include junk mail and spam. The host interviewed the head of a direct mail company who opined that it was not unreasonable to 'direct mail' people while expecting a one in one thousand response rate. Also interviewed were people who burned the stuff in their wood ovens. Interestingly junk, oops, direct mail in englannd comes with a prepaid return envelpe. Viewerswere urged to simply mail back junk mail without filling anything in, thereby running up the costs of junmail houses. Apparently the average briton gets heaps of junk mail and soon discovers that opt out measures do not work. No, you can't just sue 'them' when you call to opt out of junk mail. It does not work that way over here. Spam was next up but there was little to say other than saying that some of us get a lot of it. There was a brief interviw with the founder of spamhaus which took place on his hidden house boat. . Apparently spmething like eighty percent of all span comes from just eght companies, all of which are based in the U.S.. Too bad we can't just send spam back.
As most country people know it's dark when you are away from the city, really dark. It's not unusual for people to leave a hall light on in the night, a measure I thought wasteful until teh first time I realised just how dark it is in a home that is not lit by street lights and the glow from the nieghbor's windows. I settled in to a comfortable bed and a deep sleep that lasted until 4 a.m. when the birds outside announced their presecne. That's another thing abou rural areas, more birds to chirp in the morning.