Patrick Gale

Yesterday I went to a Wonderful Words day (run by Cornish libraries) with several poets and authors including Patrick Gale, famous for his most recent novel, Notes From An Exhibition, which was picked up by the Richard & Judy book club earlier this year. His website is here . It’s a fascinating novel about a Cornish artist in Penzance and how she and her family are affected by her manic depression, or bipolar disorder as it’s called now. She is ‘saved’ by her husband who is a staunch Quaker, another fascinating topic. If you haven’t read it – do.

I have to say my concentration was somewhat shattered by a) appalling signeage at Tremough Campus (Falmouth university) which directed us the wrong way to start off with. Having wandered round, lost, for twenty minutes, we finally found the right building and the right room, only to discover that they’d run out of hot water and tea. On the basis that if you want something done, do it yourself, I volunteered to go and get some hot water. I was sent on a wild goose chase but finally found the staff room, boiled up two kettles and tipped them into the thermos and returned only to find that no water would come out of it. It turned out the necessary siphon part was missing so we had to nick it out of another thermos.

So you can see that wasted another twenty minutes and I wasn’t my most suave and sophisticated by this time – just gasping for a cuppa. And then I looked round the room and – well. His photographs don’t do him justice. He is stunning. Tall and slim, wearing a cream linen jacket, mauve and white striped shirt (believe me, it suited him wonderfully) and navy blue trousers. But it was his dark eyes that drew me, and dark eyelashes, plus when he smiled, which was often, his eyes crinkled up and he revealed white, even teeth.

In case any of you are getting the wrong idea, I would like to say that I know he lives with his ‘hubby’, Aidan, on a farm near Land’s End. I know, but I can look – and drool – and I did. When not reminding myself that I was a journalist and therefore sort of on duty.

So I sat and listened and watched (nice hands too) and he talks very well – funny, bursting with intelligence, fascinating about Quakers and their way of life. And all the questions he was asked about how he writes, his thought processes, what he does when he’s stuck – I sat there thinking, ‘I do that. Oh, and I do that too.’ Which was kind of heartening and not. The not bit being that while I am delighted at his success (and it’s taken him 10 novels to start actually making money at it), the other part of me is thinking, ‘I want to be there. I want to be published. Now!’ (And no I havent heard back from that agent yet.)

Anyway it was a fascinating morning and he signed one of this books and – the best bit - he’s agreed to give me an interview next year when his next novel comes out. I can’t wait….

The End of a Love Affair

On Saturday Falmouth had the Parade of Sail for the Tall Ships that have been moored up in the harbour since Wednesday.

We took a grockle boat out to see them though unfortunately couldn’t go ashore and peek at them as they were preparing to set sail later. We had an entertaining Guided Talk by the owner of the boat who told us that the hideous green house over at Flushing opposite is Piers Brosnan – can’t say much for his taste in houses. We did look out for him but expect he was viewing the Tall Ships from the deck of a gin palace somewhere. Himself has decided to write to Piers to tell him what he thinks of the colour of his house….

After that we wandered through town which had a fabulous atmosphere – very holidayish and happy – and had an Italian ice cream from the parlour bit of the new(ish) Pizza Express down by the maritime museum. We were down there so that Himself could have a look at more boats, including two racing boats. Later on we wandered back to Gas Works car park which had been cleared so that a huge marquee of Cornish produce was on offer plus loads of different eateries. We were able to watch the Tall Ships leave the harbour and head out into the bay for the Parade of Sail and it was a very moving spectacle.

At the end of it all, Himself said, “you know Pop, going out on the water this morning made me realise how much I miss it.”

My heart fell. I had a certain sense of déjà vu.

“There’s nothing for it. We’re going to have to get a boat of some kind. I think I should be able to pick up a hull for next to nothing and customise it.” He gave a guilty grin and said, “You see, Pop, I do miss them so much.”

“I know,” I said. “Boats are in your blood.” Meaning – he’s fallen in love with boats again. I thought how pleased I’d been when he was keen on jazz again. (A significantly cheaper hobby than boats.) His love affair with jazz has abated now as he’s too much of a perfectionist and isn’t able to play as well as he thinks he should. So he’s discouraged and has fallen in love with boats again.

I looked at him and smiled to myself. Some things never change. I can see from now on he'll be scouring the boatyards for an old wreck which he will get for nothing and do up. I wonder what sort of boat we’ll end up with next year?

An Unconventional Wedding

The average cost of a wedding nowadays is £20,000. But it’s possible to get married for a fraction of that and be spared all that pre-wedding hysteria.

Pip was 56 and I was 38 when we met, and by some quirk of fate, neither of us had previously been married nor had children. It didn’t take me long to realise that I had finally met the man I wanted spend the rest of my life with – and he seemed to feel the same – so I felt the situation should be honoured. Made official. Unfortunately Pip saw no reason to get married and ignored my increasingly less than subtle hints. Or so I thought.

We’d been living together for three years when we decided to go to Gibraltar for an early holiday in the sun. We had been restoring his boat White Heather for several years and felt we both deserved a rest. Several weeks before our holiday, Pip took me down to the empty shell of our boat and we climbed inside to view progress. In amongst the oily bilges, he went down on one knee and asked me to marry him. I burst into tears, said yes, and any progress on the boat was halted that day. We went to the pub instead.

When we sobered up, we discovered the problem was not who to invite, but who not to. Did we invite all the family, and all our friends? Where do you draw the line between guests and non-guests? We didn’t want a church wedding, but a quiet, simple affair. But where? Our friends and family are scattered around Britain, America, Australia and New Zealand and Cornwall is a long way from everyone.

As the list reached 150, Pip grabbed the holiday brochure. “Look,” he said. “You can get married in Gibraltar. Let’s do that!”

Delighted, I agreed. After all, I had left the brochure open at that page for some weeks now. Tying the knot in Gibraltar would only cost an extra £150 and would mean that someone else could deal with all the planning, administration and general migraine that accompanies most weddings.

The first thing was to find a dress. I couldn’t see anything I liked in the shops, so found a dressmaker in Falmouth and drew what I wanted on the back of an envelope. She sent me to a discount store for some material and a zip and my entire dress cost me £15.

Next came the problem of keeping it quiet. We had intended to marry in secret and tell everyone when we came back. But one of my brothers rang up. “My wife thinks you’re getting married in Gibraltar,” he said, which rather spoilt things. Lying convincingly is not a talent of mine.

Then my mother phoned. “You wouldn’t get married without telling me, would you?” came a quavery voice.

I clutched the phone wondering desperately what to say - I was damned either way. Shaking with guilt, I put down the phone and said to Pip, “It’s no good. We have to tell the family.”

When the news came out, there was outrage from young nephews and nieces who all wanted to participate in the wedding. Thankfully, my mother’s 70th birthday party coincided with our departure date, so we were able to have a non-wedding/birthday party with the family before we went.

We arrived in Gibraltar late in the day. The evening was warm and comfortingly dark, and the next morning we woke to clear blue skies and a temperature of 24 degrees C. For early May this was bliss.

Our travel representative met us in reception. Dennis was a courteous and efficient Gibraltarian who couldn’t have been more helpful. When he asked about flowers for the wedding, I smiled, remembering my childhood dream. “I’ve always wanted a bouquet of honeysuckle,” I said whimsically.

Unfortunately even Dennis couldn’t find honeysuckle, but he organised a photographer instead. My beloved blanched a little when Dennis asked us to meet him outside Mothercare the following day, but it turned out to be in a good cause. We were to meet a Commissioner of Oaths and swear an affidavit.

The day itself was wonderful. Dennis had booked us a taxi that took us to the registry office, an elegant old building with a big garden where our wedding photographs were taken. As we walked into the garden, I saw, to my delight, honeysuckle entwined round the iron railings. The photographer and registry clerk looked horrified as I ransacked their honeysuckle bushes and added handfuls of the strongly scented flowers to my bouquet. But a bride’s a bride, and this one had her wish.

The service was solemn and simple. Beside me, my intended paled in his new woollen jacket, and sweat poured off his brow, but he insisted later that this was nothing to do with forthcoming responsibilities. It was the heat. Dennis and the photographer acted as witnesses, I wasn’t arrested for attacking the honeysuckle, and we walked back to our hotel as man and wife.

The total cost of our wedding? £298. And I couldn’t have had a better day.

A shorter version of this is published in Brides in Cornwall Autumn 2008

Results

Thank you all for your kind wishes. The checkup was clear and I don’t have to have another one for five years which is a tremendous relief.

The worst part really was not being able to eat for a day and a half, and then when I could, my stomach was all confused and didn’t know what to do! Sleep pattern’s been disrupted – which for me is the first thing to go – which is a real nuisance – just when I thought I was getting over that particular hiccup. And I was utterly exhausted the next day, though they did warn about that. All in all I feel as if I’ve been through an upheaval, but I guess I have – mentally and physically – and it will take time for it to settle.

But the main thing is that my news is good, so I can move on and put it behind me – as they say in the trade.

And yesterday the sun shone, I had more energy and we had to drop off some jewellery Himself had made to a craft fair at Trelissick, the National Trust house outside Truro. I bought a pair of earrings there, then we went and had a coffee and took Moll for a gentle walk. She’s back on steroids for her itching poor girl so isn’t at her best but is as cheerful as she can be.

As a postscript – here is something I saw written in the pub the other night.

To be upset over what you don’t have is to waste what you do have.

Anon

Ah such wise words…

Colonoscopies and inspiration

A quick post as I shall be out of action for the next few days owing to my colonoscopy on Friday. When I rang to ask for an appointment in Truro I was told that I should have had a test two YEARS ago but Treliske’s waiting list goes on forever and that’s why I’d been given an appointment for Penzance.

I was given another appointment for two weeks time but didn’t sleep on Monday for worrying about it, so I rang them up on Tuesday morning and the lady very kindly said she had a cancellation for Friday morning and would I like that. Reasoning that I’d rather get it over and done with I said yes.

So today (Thursday) is spent taking laxatives, rushing to the loo and drinking lots of fluids. No food and I am starving and trying not to think about the fact that I can’t eat till Friday afternoon.

Anyway, at least by tomorrow lunchtime it will be over and done with all the earlier and I can relax again. In more ways than one.

The good thing about having to undergo things like this is that it makes you realise how good life is. I walked Moll yesterday through the fields at Flushing, watching St Just opposite lit by afternoon sunshine. This walk was made all the more special as I won’t be able to walk for a couple of days. And not being able to eat for a day and a half has made me realise how wonderful it will be to eat and drink again!

On the other news, the agent is reading my novel as I write this. She said she'd get back to me soonest so - well, all I can do is hope and identify the next agent to send it to if she says no. Which I have done.

I spent yesterday morning interviewing a fascinating couple who have set up a company called Treasure Trails. Do have a look – they cover most of the UK and will be online with another 4 counties by Christmas.

The idea behind it is a fun and inexpensive (£5 per trail) way of encouraging people to get out and about, working together to solve a mystery, exploring and appreciating their surroundings. So next time your family proclaim they’re bored, pick a Treasure Trail, or a Murder Mystery, or a Spy trail and have fun with all the family.

As they say, you always find more than you’re looking for. Value for money, a fun way to learn about your local area, history, quirky things or fascinating things. Clues that 6 year olds can pick up and others that their parents and grandparents can work out. It’s all carefully thought out.

Meeting this couple, it is impossible not to be swept up by their vibrant enthusiasm, their boundless energy and ideas which burst forth at every opportunity. That and the fact that they met aged 16 at school and have been together ever since.

It was a really inspiring morning and I came away glowing.

Have a good weekend everyone.

A Nervous Morning

This morning I am feeling queasy, for two reasons.

The first is that I haven’t heard back from the agent that asked to see the whole manuscript of the last novel. They did say could they have it for six weeks and that six weeks is up. So I must ring them. Today. But knowing what it’s like getting into the office on a Monday morning, I am leaving it till later. Till they’ve got through the urgent stuff. And then I will pick up the phone and ask very nicely if they got my email of last week and whether they have had time to come to a decision.

I should say that I know they will say no to the novel. If they were going to say yes they would have done so by now. (But of course while I don’t know, there’s always that small flicker of hope.)

But I have a plan. I have several alterations that I think will make the novel stronger and then I will send it off to the next agent on my list. That is my plan.

The other thing is of an altogether different nature. My next colonoscopy appointment came through the post on Saturday. I have to have these checkups every 5 years as there is a history of bowel cancer in my family. I won’t go into details but basically it means taking very strong laxatives for a day, no food for a day and a half and then having the test – which is the least of it really.

Not pleasant but necessary. Anyway, the appointment came through, not only for next week but for next Saturday. And then I realised it was in Penzance, which is distinctly inconvenient for Falmouth. So I rang and left a message to say could I have an appointment in Truro please. This will probably just mean waiting longer for an appointment, but at least it will put it off for a little longer.

So you can see why my guts are churning this morning. Have a good week everyone. I’m off to lose myself in my novel and go over questions for an interview on Tuesday. If in doubt, escape to work!

Fingers crossed on all counts.

PS. Just got an email from the agent. Can't find my manuscript, can I send it by email. Phew......

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