A Day in Mevagissey

The Cornish coastline is dramatic. A Poldark fan from long ago, the signs are triggers to another time - where tin mining was the reason for new towns springing up and the gap between poverty and plenty was narrow. The hills that Demelza roamed free on loomed and then fell into the cold, grey sea. 'Tre-' places abound.

Mevagissey is squished tightly around the port. The fishing vessels are the centre of life here. Every building looks out on the harbour and onto the amazingly calm sea. Tight two-way streets barely allow for foot traffic let alone the cars that weave their way up to the top of the hill where the rooms are. Shops are tucked into every available space and everyone is happy in their work. The shop keepers engage you in pleasant conversation and accommodate odd requests. A whole-shop chat fest links strangers for a while over scones and jam and clotted Cornish cream. We laugh that none of us has watched television for a month. We know the lady's five children's names before we leave the shop. She waved and spoke to us later down the road. They are like that here in 'Meva'.

Everyone is patient and polite and wait their turn. Old ladies with walking sticks tuck into doorways to let us through.  Dogs duck away obediently. A smile and a nod from the truck driver after reversing to let us up the hill.

Our room looks high over the ocean. The boats criss-cross the water making pretty patterns; dark then silver. Village life continues well into the afternoon then slows in the night light. The lights twinkle in the  distance, the hour late, the sun setting in the summer sky.

Richard is entranced. If he ever runs away it will be here that I find him. Listening to the song of the gulls, wandering the hills and watching the life of the fishing village unfold.