Trewidden Gardens

The Princess Royal visited Penwith College today to offer the royal seal of approval to our new buildings although what her brother would have made of them I am not sure. She then went on to The National Trust gardens at Trengwainton and then to these hidden gardens at Trewidden which are a real wonder. As they are more private, I had the gardens to myself when I visited and the magnolias and camellias were in full bloom. As the climate is mild and these gardens are protected by Mounts Bay there are a number of sub tropical plants and wonders brought from the far edges of the world by intrepid explorers of families made rich on empire and dubious plundering of peoples and resources, including their own Cornish subjects. Trewidden was owned by the Bolitho family whose name is everywhere in Penwith as Edward was the MP for St Ives in the nineteenth century and bequeathed a private school carrying his name which closed at Christmas only to be miraculously saved by a far eastern syndicate betting that private schools may reap dividends further down the line.

The tree fern pit is one of many oases of calm. Ferns like the pungas that are found in New Zealand were planted in an old open cast tin mine and the moist humid conditions have allowed them to thrive. The woods were carpeted in fallen petals from camellias and the vibrant reds and oranges blazed amongst the maze of walkways. As the visitor bimbles aimlessly around it is wish to give yourself over to the rhythms of the garden and chill and hug the trees. The walk was like meditation and I did spend rather too long staring at a redwood tree with its gnarled trunk twisted around a perpendicular spine. A little more imagination and it would come to life, an animators dream and a great children's playground. I left with a profound sense of peace. I wonder if Princess Anne could ever have quite the same experience with her retinue of hangers on and security. Simple pleasures the vulgar herd could never understand.

Hubert the Gull

Derek Tangye wrote about a gull that lived on his roof for a few years on his flower farm near Lamorna. Apparently injured or elderly gulls find solace in human company having been abandoned by their cruel brethren. Darwin felt that Seagulls were the perfect design, particularly their wings and I have seen enough to say they can hold their own in any food chain. I now have my own Hubert who looks at me in the evening as the sun goes down beyond the cottage in front of Cliffside. I know I shouldn't feed the seagulls, anyone who has been to St Ives and dared to eat a pasty or feed their kids sandwiches on the beach will attest to this, but Hubert is special and we have a bond. He only has one leg and knows he can wangle a crust if he stares at me long enough. He also likes old disposable barbecue coals which I tend to leave out to find ravaged in the morning.

Mazy Day

This is the big day of the year in Penzance when the pagan spirits rise for midsummer and chaos and revelry run riot in the streets. There are processions and dances throughout the day led by the Golowan band and a master of ceremonies who is a local legend called Roger White, a cross between the voodoo priest from live and let die and David Koresh, cult leader and man of many wives. A calmer maritime festival takes over on Sunday after the excesses of Mazy eve and the big day which saw blazing sunshine this year. The pubs were in full swing taking over Chapel Street with stalls all over the town selling tat and expensive balloons for guilty dads. Our five pound horse balloon escaped later to much consternation but the sight of pegasus flying out over the cliffside and up over the beach away to Cape Cornwall and beyond proved a source of wonder and quite possibly amazement to the pilots flying to the Scilly Isles. Mazy Isla had fun and I spent the day queuing for face painting or, eventually, hand painting, checking out my student Shay's stall and eating garlic mussels and cornish new potatoes. Will have to give myself over to full Mazy madness next year and let the spirits rise...

Hawk Roosting

Totally unruffled by a car pulling up alongside, this is the nonchalant look of some bird who is top of the food chain. Taken on the Lizard driving across the relatively barren windswept uplands near Goonhilly Downs. The road then melts into a softer landscape, the green hillsides of the picturesque Helford River. A Barry Buzzard I believe.

Spider Crab

Here is our very own Rick Stein with tonight's fish dish. Managing to shoot a baby spider crab and avoid the multitude of big fish around Sennen El Paolo retired to the kitchen to prepare a repast that had me wondering which was Lidl and which was plucked from the bounty of the sea in front of us. Lidl is as intriguing as spearfishing, never quite sure what one will find, and we came across some £2 lobsters in the deep arctic region of the shop. Along with some more baby crabs we got cracking...

The sea is flat calm tonight and it is warm, still 16 degrees at 10.30pm according to lands end weather and sleeping to the sound of the surf lulling. Basking sharks in the bay again, glastonbury on the tinternet (much better than the real thing) and footy highlights to round off each day.

A Cornish Ploughman's

Cornish Yarg is a 'semi-hard' cheese apparently. I only quote those more knowledgeable in the field of cheese. Where , incidentally they also find the nettles that they wrap around the whole cheese. I asked how much a truckle would be in a Penzance deli and its £16 so I only indulge on occasion and never share ! The Cornish Brie is rich and creamy and supposed to be a bit yellow like butter. Not sure if the calorie count justifies my smug healthy eating glow but I had enough energy to swim in the flat calm of Sennen beach this midsummer evening. Glorious sunset and clear blue skies, still light at 10.30 down here with the evening star, Venus, following the sun on the horizon. With the sound of the surf and the balmy, windless air it seems that summer is icumen in...I am off to find a good pagan sunrise...

Surf dude

This a real surer taken from the cliff above Gwynver beach as I was checking out the opposition.

I finally got around to taking a surfing lesson and it definitely makes me want to try again although I had to have a kip after. The main worry was the other surf dudes who did not look in control of their pointy boards whilst I splashed around in the shallows with my egghead in danger of being cracked. Needless to say I couldn't shift my great heaving mass into a standing position but will try again tomorrow. I did say the same in Santa Cruz a decade ago though. The surf school were excellent and said I could use their boards anytime as a local which mad me feel wanted. These are huge 8 foot foam 'swelly' boards which even a creaking lump of lard can float around on. Some big surf and lots of falling off but after two hours I think I am ready to go it alone. Sam Smart runs the surf centre from the chip shop in the cove and not only is he a pro surfer but he is a pro boxer as well. Beating someone up in Plymouth last night but fracturing his jaw meant his young apprentice Jake took myself and two others into the waves. I should have learnt when I arrived as they were really friendly and a font of local knowledge. It is fine to spear fish and take the spider crabs I have seen so often and the various rips and currents were explained. My moment of realisation that I may not be able to compete with the local lads who are surf obsessives came as Jake said, 'its never too late to learn.' The surf ego landed but the search goes on..

I did manage to come second this morning in the Deloitte Ride Across Britain and was cheered home down the finishing straight at Lands End and congratulated by the winner James Cracknell. He came from John O Groats and I came from Sennen. He has thighs like bratwurst. I thought it was funny anyway, but in retrospect ...