Poorly Mum but Lovely Grub

Himself has been busy working on the flat here, so Molls and I have just got back from a few days looking after my poor mum who's been having a bad time with a poorly leg and far too many antibiotics. She's had a bad leg for weeks now and has had to cancel one holiday so is desperate to go on a cruise next week. So here's hoping she really enjoys it – she deserves a good break.

While it was lovely to see her – and in such wonderful weather – Mollie had a wonderful time, from the moment we got on the train when the conductor made a beeline for her, saying how much he preferred dogs to humans (“they don't smash up my train, they're not sick all over the place and they don't get drunk”) - from then on her fan club grew daily.

Like any royal subject, she bestowed humour and great affection on her subjects and behaved very properly when out – in the pub, on the train or in other people's houses. She's not always so well behaved but this week she did us proud. She also met my dear friend Av again and they are now Best Buddies, with Mollie bouncing on her bed when I took a cup of tea in that morning. Mollie looked at me with that sideways look as if to say - "don't need you any more. I've got Av now." But as it's Av, I've forgiven her.

She's also been given some new dog food to try – Burgess . There are lots of different varieties, but she's got the Beef Casserole version which is reputed to have all the vitamins and minerals that a dog needs. She certainly loves it – you serve it (in a *porcelain dish of course) with hot water so it forms a very scrummy smelling gravy and she wolfs it down – though it has to be said she's never been fussy.

She's only been eating it for a week or so but has definitely given it the paws up so far. And as she's been given a huge sack of it, she has about a year's worth of beef casserole to enjoy. And talking of food - Himself has just presented me with a plate of home made apple tea cake. Now that is perfection itself!

(*I was kidding about the porcelain dish, though Himself has been known to serve tuna to the cat in a glass dish.)

My Girl

Some lovely pictures of My Girl, By Rebecca Taunton, taken at Church Cove where we were doing a walk for the magazine Cornwall Today. We nearly didn't make it as the forecast was lovely, and in Falmouth the sky was a clear, Wedgewood blue. Then RT rang at 11.30 - her partner was working in Helston where it was raining. Oh no! An hour later, the rain had stopped but it was still cloudy. We decided to risk it and very glad we did - the sky was clear enough for RT to get some great shots and I was able to make all the notes for the walk.

My gums have been causing more problems so Mollie and Bussie are very cheering. This morning Bussie sauntered down the corridor after breakfast and put his nose round the door. He then looked back at me in disgust and I could have sworn he said, "What? Haven't made the bed yet? PAH!" And sauntered back to the lounge to sit on the table in a huff. Can't get the staff, you know.

Feeling all discombobulated with Christmas coming. Haven't bought a single present and can't get my head round it somehow. Anyone else suffering from pre-Christmas-itis?

Carwinion Walk

This is in the current issue of Cornwall Today. To see the accompanying wonderful pictures, buy the September issue, but also have a look at Cornish Dreamer

A circular walk encompassing woods, fields and coastal footpath; popular with dogwalkers.

CARWINION WALK, MAWNAN SMITH

Summer finally decided to make an entrance on the day I set off with a friend and my Jack Russell, Mollie, to drive along the road from Falmouth through Swanpool and Maenporth towards Mawnan Smith. Passing a sign saying Woodlands on the left, we continued round the corner and parked next to Carwinion Playing Fields, opposite Carwinion Garden, famous for its bamboos and cream teas.

To the right of the garden a public footpath sign marked the start of our walk, and we went down a rocky lane that led into dense woods by the side of Carwinion Garden. The going was rough here and in wet weather can be slippery, but as we walked further the path became well trodden earth and kinder to the feet. Huge ferns towered over us, providing a cool canopy after the overheated car, and sunlight slanted through the trees.

At a fork in the steep path through this wooded valley we took the left hand turning over a small slate bridge, past an unexpected burst of orange montbretia, and further down into the woods where the incline levelled out. A stream splashed beside us and overhead was the cry of a buzzard and the tapping of a woodpecker. We chatted to several passing dogwalkers and marvelled at how different most people are with dogs. They provide an excuse to be friendly.

The path finally levelled and opened into a field of long grass; the day turned sultry under pale blue skies streaked with mare’s tail clouds. We continued through another gate and down to a pebbled cove especially popular with dog walkers, as this private beach is dog friendly all year round. According to the map it is Porth Saxon, but the locals I spoke to call it Porth Sawsen. We were intending to swim here, but the brisk easterly wind dismissed that idea, so we threw sticks into the sea for Mollie who thoroughly enjoyed her swim.

We continued along the path to the left of the beach, steering Mollie away from tempting picnics and barbecues, and headed up the hill, past a boathouse and over a stile into another field, through a kissing gate that is often waterlogged in winter and down to Porthallack Cove – otherwise known as Cow Beach or Church Cove.

Sitting on the beach we relaxed in the unaccustomed sun, sipped water and listened to the steady thrum of a boat engine, waves lapping the shore, and the overexcited bark of a Collie chasing pebbles up and down the beach.

Jumping over a stream edged with wild bamboos, we came to an overgrown gate on the left with a sign saying ‘Mawnan Old Church ½ mile, Mawnan Smith 1 ½ miles’. If you wish to take the slightly shorter, inland route, go through this gate which will take you through several fields to Mawnan Church and then back to Carwinion. But note that there are often cattle in this field so keep dogs on a lead.

We chose to continue along the path through a gate and up an incredibly steep field that led to the coastal footpath. Panting at the top of the field we looked back to stunning views of the Helford river, of Trebah Gardens and Durgan beach. Sailors in small boats were enjoying a good sail, while some moored off coves only approachable by water, Swallows and Amazons style.

We passed through a new gate which led us to the coastal footpath which was steep and hot out of the wind. Around were signs of summer confusingly mixed with autumn: the heady sweet smell of honeysuckle; the first sloes, small and green, and unripe blackberries with a hint of red and black. Far below a sleek black cormorant dived neatly into the sea, surfaced and took flight, wings skimming the surface of the water.

On the opposite shore lay St Anthony’s, Denis Head, and the far peninsula of Nare Point shimmered in the sunshine. The footpath ended in another stile leading to a field where there are often cattle. On this day there were none, and we headed across the field into dense woods with a carpet of crunchy leaves, where the sea glinted through slender trunks dappled with sunlight. Taking the path to the left we scrambled over another stile and reached Mawnan Parish Church, which is well worth a visit.

The church is a navigational aid to boats entering the river and it seems that a cruciform building was erected in the 13^th century, though there are 14^th century windows and the north and part of the south aisle were added in the 15^th century.

It is a beautiful building, popular for weddings, and on our visit the arch above the church door was decorated with garlands of orange and white flowers, white ribbons and white roses.

Whenever I visit Mawnan churchyard I am struck by its historic beauty. The ground was soft and mossy, the grass mown lovingly. Ancient gravestones leaned, smothered in beards of grey lichen, entwined with the occasional bramble. The sea was visible through the trees, and there was a quiet stillness here, a sense of peace. A perfect resting place.

We walked through the car park and took the only road out for a hot walk along the quiet country lane back towards Mawnan Smith. Along the way we passed noisy sparrows darting above a bank of wild pink roses sprawling in and around a tree. Opposite I was particularly struck by an inventive bit of gardening: a red gumboot filled with flowers.

We walked on, past the Catholic church where the road forks, and took the left turning back towards Carwinion and the car. As we passed the playing fields, the tempting smell of barbecue drifted towards us and my nose twitched like Mollie’s and our mouths watered. But we turned our backs and headed for Carwinion Garden and a well earned cream tea.

FACT BOX Length: 2 ¼ miles returning the inland route 2 ½ miles returning via the coastal footpath Time – Approximately 1 ½ hours Grade: moderate, steep in places Maps: OS Landranger 204 (Truro and Falmouth Roseland Peninsula) and OS Explorer 103 The Lizard (Falmouth and Helston) Refreshments: Carwinion Garden, Open 10-5.30 daily

Rhubarb and Novel Writing

I’m writing this with a pan of rhubarb cooking in the kitchen. The hot, sweet smell drifts down the corridor promising good things to come. Next door Himself is on the phone talking to – oh no. A music shop. He’s asking about buying another cornet.

When he finished the call, I went next door.
‘Are you buying another cornet?’
‘Well, possibly.’
‘You’ve already got one cornet and a trumpet. Why do you want another one?’
He shook his head then and giggled guiltily. ‘It’s all about tone, Pop. You wouldn’t understand.’

Er, no. What I do understand is him. Rather better than he thinks. And I can see another cornet winging its way here to join the growing selection which he bought in order that he can ‘sell them on and make some money, Pop.’ But having got here, they stay. I don’t think he can bear to part with them. While I get broody over dogs, Himself gets broody over wind instruments.

I’ve just finished correcting the final draft of my current novel prior to sending it off to the critique service for their comments. As half of my mind is on journalism, I feel more distanced than usual, but it’s scary. I know this is the best I’ve ever written, but at the same time this doesn’t mean it will get published. And if I start getting rejections for this one (which is inevitable, given this game), I know how I’ll feel.

At first I brush them off. Then as the number grow, I realise it’s not going to work. My confidence crumbles and I feel bitterly disappointed, disillusioned and a failure. I’ll never want to write another novel again. This one is complex but the characters are much better, I feel, the plot much tighter. I’ve been looking at in amazement, thinking, Did I really write this? How? And also, if this isn’t good enough, I can’t do better than this. (Or can I?)

There is, of course, the faintest chance that I will send it out to agents and get some interest. (In my wildest dreams.) If I was to get an offer – which would be a two book deal - I’d be utterly terrified because I don’t think I could do this again. It’s too much hard work, and I don’t know how I wrote this one – there’s no formula. It either works or it doesn’t, a bit like relationships. But as the chances of this happening are extremely remote, I won’t lose any sleep over that.

The chances are, my baby will get turned down. And I will feel terrible for a week or so, sob my heart out and take Mollie for long, cleansing walks. And then I’ll realise that I can do better, and I will. I’ll pick myself up and start over again, because there’s no point in giving in. That’s the only time you really fail, when you give up.

Oh shit. I’ve burnt the rhubarb.