Perranporth

28th July 2020

Perranporth

It only takes us an hour to get from Fingle Bridge to Perranporth, so as we're here we go straight to Tollgate Farm, where we've booked five nights, hoping that we can get in early ( ie. tonight).
"No chance, I'm afraid," I couldn't tell whether his accent was a country farm lilt or just Cornish. We will hear the same drawl  many times over the coming ten days. "we're fully booked tonight."
OK, what to do now.
We drive to town, have a walk by the sea. We only have an hour on the car park, but we find another one that looks as if we might be able to wild camp for the night.
We ask the attendant,
"Don't tell anybody," he whispers, "but yes, you can stay. But I didn't tell you that," he winks, "as there's a no sleeping in the vehicle policy."
We decide to chance it, pay the man £3 and find an inconspicuous place where we can "hide".
After going out again for a more relaxing walk by the sea we come back to the camper, have dinner of sardines and salad, with a bottle of red wine and Peter gets his guitar out to do some practice.




As we're wild camping we leave the top down so as not to be obvious.
We have to be ultra organised when wild camping. There's not much space. The guitar sits on the cooker and the awning fits behind the front seat along with the bag of books and our laptops. We have to position the porta potti exactly between the bed and the drivers seat. It's a tight squeeze but we make it work.

There's another van parked Illegally in the field, looks  like a works van but the young chap has made it a very comfortable home, with drawers that pull out and are accessed from under the bed at the back when the door is open - clever.

We wake early next morning to be ready to move off. Just as we pack the bed away Jo and Paul, my daughter and her husband turn up. They've wild camped a little way down the road. They bought an old school bus and converted it. They've taken it on many trips, including on the continent, and continue to improve their design. We'll be on the same campsite as them for the next five nights. So exciting.

I'd told them about the field we're in but they couldn't  get in because of the 2 mt barrier. Being no bother for us I never gave it a second thought.

I make tea while Paul pops into the Co-Op, which is next door, for croissants and we have a leisurely breakfast.

We are away well before the 10.00 am deadline and we pull up beside Jo and Paul before heading back to the beach with them all, children and dog included.




Paul's parents and his sister join us and it's not long before the children want to go in the sea. I'm a coward, too cold for me. And those waves, I'd be drenched too soon. I like to get in slowly. Raphy is a bit grizzly, apparently he'd not had a good night, so I take him for a stroll in his buggy.
Backwards and forwards I walk along the wet sand for thirty minutes, then he finally falls asleep.
Five minutes later I take him back to the family,  in another ten he's awake again. Oh well, at least he's in a better mood.

Paul treats us all to Pasties, except that Peter has to have a baked potato with beans , poor thing. Being gluten free is so resrticive.
The pasty is yummy - only in Cornwall!

Paul's parents invite us for a BBQ at theirs in the evening , so we leave them  around 2.0 pm and head to the campsite to get settled.

We're in  a different field to Jo and Paul but it's ok.

Our new awning is getting it's first proper try out.
It doesn't take us long to get it up and then we're on the road again.

I'm a bit apprehensive about the visit and want to get something to take with me, flowers or something. I pray all the way there that we'll find a supermarket.
Only two roads down from their house we find a Londis. No flowers. I buy chocolates and red wine . Who wouldn't like that?
I'd also have some gluten free sausages for hubby.

It's warm and a brilliant evening for a BBQ, with their garden brimming with beauty- trees, including cherry tree, roses and much more- so relaxing.
And the food - salmon on skewers chicken, salads of different kinds, burgers - lovely.

The sound the colour the smell of lonliness

11th February 2020

The sound,

 the colour, 

the smell,
of loneliness

Chattering voices of passers  by
they knock me, bump into me,
talk together, listen, ear to ear
like trees bending towards each other.
Their conversations intimate, warm, 
 not for me.
Loud laughs, shared, shaped in friendly
 linked chains
says, you are important to me,
echo's in my head,
but, no portion for me.
They do not want to, will not
can not,  hear me,
hear,  the buzzing inside me that
craves some part, of someone.
I,  am a grey blob, in their path
blending with  clouds
those clouds closing in,
I seep anonymously  into
dirty black streets
where they walk with blind feet,
their cherry blossom scent
a comfortable garden ,
every flower belonging.
I am the whiff of the dung heap
to them
to be avoided, passed quickly by.

The Music of Life

11th April 2018

As the noise in the church hall buzzed around us while we prepared dinner for fifty, with the accompaniment of clattering pans and tinkling glasses and happy laughter, i was reminded that this time last year I was just getting over a problem I'd had with my hearing. It's interesting how much you notice different sounds and appreciate them when you've been struggling to make sense of the world whilst "locked in" your own quiet space. It's earily isolating. It has given me an empathy with those like some of the people we served today who suffer so much with hearing loss.
Last year I wrote a poem about it:


9th April :
For a few months I have been troubled with poor hearing. It was probably wax and has since cleared up - well almost. Whilst not being able to hear that well I discovered how much I value ( or should value) that particular sense.

The Music of Life

It occurs to me to be thankful 
That I can hear those particular sounds.
His soft voice -  a whisper,
"Are you awake?"
Delicate singing of birds greeting 
The day.
Welcome sound of water running 
In the kitchen,
Kettle boiling,
Cups clattering,
Tinkling of spoon,
Music playing - radio 2, 
Soft steps on the stair,
When he  brings the tray
With morning tea.

Buzz of bee circling the garden,
Water bubbling in pond 
Disturbed by fish.
Engine of aeroplane 
In distant blue.
Revving of neighbours car
Like clockwork.
Fluttering sound of trees 
Rustling leaves in breeze.
Shrieks of joy from children 
Two gardens down.
And the doorbell ringing
Calling me urgently 
To come and answer 

For all the above 
And much, much, more,
I am so thankful

In The Garden

2nd April 2017


Day 2 of the poem a day in April .

In The Garden

Sitting in the garden 

coffee and birdsong bring peace

 to the soul while bones

 are warmed

rhythm of water trickling 

into pond sends ears tickling

leads the mind to meditation

a butterfly- red admiral maybe

whiffs past nose 

lands gently on Budleia 

pink and yellow tulips 

stand tall in front of her

giving homage

lavender also gives of itself 

an aroma - sweet - memories

of female ancestors

and we sit

just a bit longer.

White Rose

           Day 20



           White Rose

One rose , left all alone in the late October cold
One rose, a white bud breaking open in the autumn sun
One rose, in the corner of the garden
The only remembrance of summer's happy colours
There , reminding us of a life lost  - six years ago
A pure delicate rose -  in Heaven now

Our Garden

Our Garden           26th July 2016

Here is a picture of our statue of Mary taken through the lavender that I grew from tiny shoots and brought  with me from the other house.                                 I have four healthy plants out of the many( probably more than a hundred) that I started off at the end of the summer before last. I'm extremely proud of them.                                                                                      We sit here on these warn sunny mornings and do half an hour of meditative prayer.                                                                        The bees come and work on the lavender, and sometimes some butterflies. It's a restful start to the day. A pot of tea is placed before us which we enjoy very much . 

                                                                                 

Looking in the opposite direction we have our attractive pond, in which live,  at least four fish. Well, we've only seen four . This specimen is the largest and is quite cheeky coming up to be fed when my husband walks by on his way to his studio ( or , as all the children call it, his shed). There is a water feature in the pond that has a soporific  effect on us whilst we are quietly meditating. 

We love our garden and spend a lot of time in it when we are at home and the weather allows.