Cornwall is weird

Cornwall was weird.  Let’s be honest, Cornwall is always weird.  But when you’re offered two nights bed, breakfast and dinner completely free at a nice hotel, you don’t say, ‘No thank-you, because Cornwall’s weird,’ do you?  No.  You don’t.

See, all I did was buy a couple of fancy-dan raffle tickets and everybody knows nobody ever wins that kind of raffle, do they?  And, to be honest, most of the prizes would have been ghastly. I didn’t want tennis lessons; I really didn’t want a piece of reproduction furniture and, while the fortnight in the Florida penthouse would have been lovely, I couldn’t have afforded the flights or the tip for the housekeeper.  No, the weekend at the Mullion Cove Hotel was the badger – and, by heck, I won it.  Only problem?  I seemed to be the only one excited about the break.

‘Do we have to go?’ said James, lounging round in pyjamas five minutes from set-off time.  ‘I mean…it’s not Turkey, is it?’ Spoilt brat.

‘It’s not exactly the best timing,’ said Adrian, typing frantically with one hand while texting with the other.

‘Oh for pity’s sake,’ said I.  Okay, I confess, I didn't say that: I shouted a bit. Alright, a lot. Enough to hurt my throat chakra.

Having grumbled and whinged all the way to Oakhampton, they perked up a little at the prospect of lunch from Waitrose, eaten perched on their knees in the car, in the pouring rain in the car park (my family is so weird).  And then someone stupidly said, 'Wow the SP hasn't been sick.' So of course he immediately threw up all over James and the hold-all.  And, because even angels have a bad side, it stank of crap because...yeah...  Anyhow...

Even the guys had to admit, when we finally pitched up at Mullion, that it really is the most divine spot.  Perched right up on a cliff with that Agatha Christie vibe.  ‘Someone’s going to be murdered,’ said James. ‘I’m scared.’ 

‘Oh don’t be ridiculous,’ said Adrian, unpacking his laptop and installing himself at a table by the window next to a bowl of crisps and starting to type.  ‘Damnit. No mobile signal.’

‘Look, there is a pool! Let’s go for a swim!’ (Guess who?) Cue snort of derision from James.  Adrian opened his mouth but I forestalled him.  ‘I know.  Deadlines.’

‘No. Actually I was going to say why don’t we walk along the cliff path and into the village?’

So we did and Mullion was weird and full of exceedingly scary scarecrows and lots of signs saying No Dogs Allowed.  But the pub had a beer festival on so we sat and shivered outside (No Dogs Allowed) and it all reminded me too much of my childhood so I offered to walk the SP back to the hotel so the two of them could go inside and keep warm. 

And the next day I needed to talk to a man about ancient Egypt and reincarnation (as you do) and Adrian needed to check out this real ale pub (as he does) so we all met up there and Chris (ancient Egypt man) and I sat out in the garden while James and Adrian played pool inside and he (Chris) talked about rodz and crystals and tyramids and pyramids and alchemy and wrestling with beasts; and about Proteus and power lines and dimensions and entities and nodes. Until I was shivering with cold (because I don’t have the power over radiation to warm myself up, stupid numpty that I am) and James started coming out with increasing regularity wearing that ‘Do you have to talk ANY more look of plaintive pleading on his face which also reminded me of my childhood). So I said, 'We should go' and Adrian said, 'Let's have another, eh?' and Chris was trying to avoid some rum do in Sennen, so we stayed a bit longer before dropping him off in Penzance and going back to the hotel to play chess before bed

And I dreamed I was in the sea and every wave took me further and further away from the shore (but I didn’t mind, or I didn’t care) and then I woke with a start because James was shouting in his sleep. ‘What about the contracts? What about THE contract?’ 

‘I don’t know, love,’ I said.  But he didn’t hear.  So I lay awake in the dark listening to the waves slap the rocks below. And I didn't feel safe.  And then, just as I’d finally drifted off  to sleep, the fire alarm went off.  3am and everyone was wandering around in dressing gowns and slippers, just like an Agatha Christie novel and by this point I really did expect someone to cry, ‘Murder!’ 

But the only thing murdered was sleep. And now I am home alone (which is what I needed, what I wanted) yet I feel so unbearably sad, just so so fecking sad.  Weird.  Just like Cornwall.