Leaving the Fowey estuary places you on some of the most butt-clenchingly tight, single-track roads Cornwall has to offer.  It was a great place to eat Pintxos and sip Vermouth, it was a top place to enjoy a few ciders about town and it’s always nice to use a boat as public transport.  But it’s hellish to get there and back again in a seven-metre van.

An anxious morning was followed by an afternoon of serenity in the lost gardens of Heligan.  I mean, it’s school holidays and there’s bastard kids everywhere but moments of great calm could be found.  And I was drawn to my photography roots as I wondered amongst the flower gardens.

The guy that sold us our ticket really had his work cut out getting me to accept the bonus weekly pass for nowt but I was glad of it when the rains came in that night.  It kept all the families huddled in their tents the next morning and for a few hours we had the gardens to ourselves.  I took some photos that really pleased me, and it’s always a ripper day when that happens.

The next day was pure shite from start to finish.

I thought I’d driven some shitey narrow roads but I’d never tried to drive into Mousehole, near Penzance.  The laneways were tight as we dropped into the little fishing village but when I was confronted with the incomprehensible narrowness of the town’s streets, I knew I’d place way too much faith in Google maps.  Carnage ensued but we managed to make it out with no damage to the van and only a minor nervous breakdown on my part.

We decided to keep off the narrow roads and we headed to Saint Michael’s Mount where we have a special memory of our departed and still much-loved Greyhound, Gary.  But in the ten years since we last visited The National Trust has decided dogs are no longer allowed on the Island and they weren’t letting us on for free anyway.  Although, the apologetic assistant offered us a seat on some rocks before we made our way back.

Another mission was now aborted. To top it off, I burnt the roof of my mouth on a scorching giant Cornish pastie and dropped Kerry in a shallow river where she got her boots wet while I got a close-up view of the gushing waters from all fours where I fell.  A one-minute detour over a bridge would have spared my humiliation but I was confident I could carry her across.

There were mitigating circumstances: The sand was soft and the rushing water was playing havoc with my thongs (flip-flops), but a fifty-year-old man, in the middle of a river, on all fours…. Pathetic.

And then to finish it all off, we drove along a laneway that was more beautiful than the dark hedges in Ireland but I couldn’t stop to take a photo because I could barely get the van door open anyway.  And as we drove the laneway became so narrow we had to bring the mirrors in.  That was a first. 

Anyway, we took Chloe to the kennels this morning, spent the day in Falmouth and will find a camp at The Great Estate Festival in Redruth, which was a birthday present to myself.  Supergrass are playing Saturday night and I’m beyond excited.  Plus, I found out a few days ago the Happy Mondays will headline tomorrow night.

Can’t wait.

Kerry’s latest reel can be found here.