Cornwall, Cliff Tops & Cream Teas





It's been a while since I've put pen to paper for Not Your Nine To Five. Something to do with a photography course and a looming deadline had my attention focused elsewhere, but you were never forgotten. 

A change is as good as a rest and it's lovely to be dipping my toe back in the water. Speaking of dipping toes back in, I've just returned from a relaxing week in the beautiful seaside town of St Ives.



Tinged with the memories of annual childhood holidays, St Ives is one of my favourite places to be. A place that's worth every bit of the 7 hour drive from Lancashire. ('Drive' she says sat in the passenger seat rummaging through a car picnic. Sausage roll anyone?)

My parents rented a house over looking Porthmeor Beach and, like Seagulls to a cornet, we descended.

It was a week that began as should always be expected when involving males, cars and driving a particularly long distance. I'm talking traffic, motorway routes and an indirect threat to your manhood.
Did you leave home at the wisest time? Did you make the right call between the A30 'high road' or the A38 'lower road'? Did you stop at services to stretch your legs too soon or push on through to get ahead of the game?

Did you? DID YOU?

Man chat aside, in changeable weather that 'couldn't make up its mind' we took to the beach regardless in true British summertime spirit, with sun cream, wind breaks and jumpers. You just never know.
Maybe that's why boys are thrust into joining Scouts... Be Prepared... a motto that will stand you in good stead young man...should you holiday in the UK (after pulling up at your holiday digs FIRST I should ruddy well hope)!

That reminds me, is 5 too young to start Scouts? Asking for a nephew who fell prey to a vicious and unprovoked Seagull attack during lunch alfresco. Poor thing sporting his Lawrence of Arabia style beach hat, crying in shock while simultaneously displaying the remnants of the one bite of cheese sandwich he managed to take.

Eating outside in Cornwall? Be prepared indeed.

Hats off to my sister for whipping out the wet wipes in record time. Alas there was naught to wipe in this instance and I could be mistaken but I'm sure I saw a flicker of disappointment flutter across her face.

*On an entrepeneurial side note I have intentions to take 'The Wet Wipe Holster' to Dragons Den. Coveted by Mums across the land, shaving precious seconds off the time it takes to
1) reach into bag
2) search for wet wipes
3) select individual wipe
4) attack that smear/mark/dribble therefore avoiding the point of no return aka a stain.

What do you think? I'm mulling it over.

But back to the pretty streets of St Ives where the sun did eventually shine and made the waters a beautiful turquoise blue. We spent time reading on the beach, getting lost in a book in a way that you just can't quite manage to do at home.

We had a wander round The Tate, with the involuntary I like that or I don't like that discussion as the basis for our soundtrack. Funny why we instinctively bring someone else's work back to ourselves, or is that what we're supposed to do?... And then a wander round the Barbara Hepworth Museum, which incidentally got an all round 'I like that' seal of approval.

It was, as always in St Ives, a week that's been hard to tear myself away from. Even the temporary threat of a family rift when my brother-in-law suggested diving off the end of the harbour didn't spoil things. Without much (or any) persuasion, my other half and he were making us 'proud' canon balling at 9pm, without wetsuits (Northern aren't we) into the chilly harbour waters.

My niece, at the ripe old age of 8, wanted to canon ball too! Now myself being a gal who once had a panic attack in the deep end of my local leisure centre, admires her tenacity wholeheartedly.
With a naval background my Dad didn't think her diving into deep water at night was the best idea. My Mum backed him up. A harbour side discussion was held. The jump would go ahead but without my niece who, bribed with the promise of an ice cream, remained on dry land.

As I say, the jump, albeit momentarily, divided the group into two camps. Those who voted yes and the neigh sayers. In the end neither camp missed out on watching, although one was poised with whistle and life ring (not really, but I'd bet money on it that he'd clocked the nearest one).

Watery disasters avoided our week, filled with coastal strolls and more cream teas than I care to admit, drew to an end and we returned to work and schools with much ado.

A perfect week apart from discovering that the very two pieces of jewellery I'd spotted and fell in love with at the start of our break had sold when I nipped back at the end of the week to treat myself. What are the chances? Nothing else apart from the two things I wanted had vanished from the window.

Fortunately I did have plenty of the one thing that money can't buy... time spent with loved ones. My niece purposely missing the winning move at Connect 4 to drag the game out and stay up a little longer. I could've blown her cover but if I'm honest I enjoyed her staying up a little longer too.

Those little holiday moments that you don't forget.

Thanks so much for reading x x 

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