Martin's Mag.

We’ve been staying in a village called Polruan, on the River Fowey in Cornwall. It is opposite to the town of Fowey. And very pretty it all is. But…

Despite the fact that it’s a beautiful area and everyone is having a good time on holiday, there is a sadness about these towns and villages. From bustling, self-sufficient communities they have become almost entirely dependent on tourism. In other word, us. Nearly all the charming cottages in the twisting streets going down to the estuary and beaches are holiday homes. “Genuine” Cornish pasty, souvenir and ice-cream shops abound. Yes, it’s very pleasant, but rather, I suppose, one-dimensional.

People delight in naming their houses “The Old School” or “The Old Fish Market”, etc., not realising that, to cynics like us, this is not so much amusingly twee but a reminder of a lost age.

For instance:

Still, there were some great walks and scenery, and crab sandwiches. Result! The weather brightened up after Sal’s birthday. Among other minor disasters I lost my smartphone which, against all the odds, was found (and returned), after we returned home, by another tourist.

With Miles, Flo and a very sceptical Lucy. (That’s me smiling not grimacing. I know it can be hard to tell.)

It’s a tradition in Portishead that heavy rain or hail and biting winds accompany the Portishead Carnival. But not this year. It was, however, dull and overcast, so people were not too disappointed.

Never really explored Anglesey, which, for overseas readers, is an island off NW Wales. We have very briefly driven around once or twice, but, if you keep to the roads you tend to miss the fabulous beaches and scenery. We stayed near a village on the east coast called Moelfre.

We walked south on the coast, through Moelfre then inland to a burial chamber dating back to 2000BC, a 4th-century Romano-British settlement at Din LLigwy, and a 12th century chapel, “Hen Gapel”.

On the next day the weather was so good that we spent the day on the local beach, reading, sunbathing, eating sandy sandwiches (takes me back to Southend) and entertaining Lucy. She found a frisby with which she became completely obsessed. We’ve hidden it now and will keep for special occasions only. These pictures with smartphone:

At the suggestion of Sal’s sister, Wendy (thanks Wendy!), we took a trip to an incredible disused copper mine, once the largest in the world, near Amlwch (from where the copper was subsequently shipped).

Then down, past the Menai Bridge, to Beaumaris (the castle) and back to Moelfre.

On the last day, on our way back home, we stopped for the day in Llanberis, where Sally did some painting (see below) and Lucy and I walked up Mt Snowdon (for those interested: up the Miners’ Path and Pyg Path and back down the Llanberis Path).

A return to one of our favourite camping spots, near the city of St Davids in west Wales. The weather was OK but a few degrees colder than Bristol. You win some, etc….
More finessing of the camper; plenty of walks for us and Lucy. Lots of wild flowers, sandy bays, sea views and dressed crab. Didn’t see any dolphins this time, but lots of French rugby players on holiday tour, staying in a bunk house, or “beurnk ‘ouse” nearby.

“Fred” on Caerfai Farm.

Between Caerfai Bay and St Non’s Bay:

Manorbier, near Tenby:

The wild garlic has been around for a month or so, actually, and already used, by Sal, in a flan and a sort of lentil curry (both fabulous, of course). This is on the northern side of Prior’s Wood, near Portbury – the southern slopes being covered in bluebells and sightseers.

Although we’ve had our new camper (Freda’s replacement, which seems to have attracted the unimaginative name of Fred) since last December, we haven’t actually spent a night in it (him?) yet, mainly due to terrible weather. No longer! A freak hot spell enabled us to go to Swanage, on the Dorset coast, to conduct what would, if it were a boat, be “sea trials” or, if a building project, “snaggin'”. A few minor niggles will be sorted soon, otherwise all good.

My egg-painting skills peaked at around age thirteen, I think. It’s been a slow decline over the last fifty-seven years. They have now assumed a rather creepy quality, up there with clowns and ventriloquists’ dummies:

(Can still bake the bread “soldiers”, though!)

Walking by the Severn Estuary near Pilning with Sally and Lucy,  one of my companions infomed me that this lichen on the sea defence boulders is called Xanthoria:

The same photograph, with different “post-production” (taken after boozy evening at The Colston Arms):