Sometimes only gazing at and walking by the sea can bring a momentary respite from the news of global ghastliness. And I was almost born in the sea, after all, but in the Devon sea which lapped at the end of the garden where my mother lived and swam all the year round. Here’s the view from my tiny but delightful room (meant for a child I think) where I stay in Penzance. It looks over Mounts Bay, where an ancient drowned forest lies, towards Mousehole. This time the weather was fickle, but I walked over the headland during a glorious sunny day, and en route back through Newlyn you can buy the best icecream.
At Newlyn Art Gallery by chance I met The Seaweed Institute giving a talk, about seaweed of course, and talked with a man appropriately named River, who grows flowers by the river at Helston.
My walk towards St Michael’s Mount the next day was a bit thwarted by a sudden but intense downpour. Church bells were ringing, so I nipped in to St Gulval’s Church which lies on the St Michael’s Pilgrimage route, and was made welcome by the small congregation as I dried out. I’ve been there a few times, and met and chatted again with M the equestrienne, now aged nearly ninety three. We discussed Appaloosas … more about that in another post.