A Story From Polruan
“I've been thinking about buying a private jet, only problem is, would I get enough use out of it?”
So said my very successful mate when we met for coffee and a chat.
We had both been in the retail business, the difference being that he listens to advice, and I fly in the face of it.
Sometimes, we swap yarns. I think his are almost unbelievable, and he thinks mine are too. But his are high flying, whereas mine are definitely down to earth.
It brought to mind an event that was far from uneventful.
Lady Ram’s House
Sitting under the shade of a tree in Lady Rams Meadow, I’m thankful for the trees that soften the outline of the views, and give the place so much character.
Protected by the sea on one side, and on the other by automatic iron gates and a high concrete wall, I think about how brave the architect it was who designed the replacement for her old house, to pay no heed to the Genius loci. For it seems to be part of the perennially popular modernist movement, the brutalist design philosophy that prides itself on honesty, simplicity and functionality.
We see-um come, We see-um go
Yesterday afternoon, I joined a group of friends and neighbours who drove to the cinema in Bodmin to see a film featuring a couple who were once welcomed into our village and given shelter in the old Wesleyan Church, which stands proudly overlooking the harbour.
When they arrived, penniless, halfway through their quest to complete the 630 mile South West Coast Path, they were just another couple down on their luck.
A Visitor From Afar
Yesterday, as often happens, I saw
through my window, somebody taking photographs.
A few moments later, the doorbell rang, and as I opened the door a couple stood in the street, the man apologised for bothering me, and explained that they had travelled from Tasmania to visit this house as it was here that his great great grandfather had lived.
Yellow on a grey day…
Polruan in January
The sky, the water, the cliffs, the narrow roads, the stone cottages and the slate roofs are all shades of grey.
Grey smoke curls from the chimneys of a few cottages that have wood burning stoves and people indoors to be comforted by them.
A visitor
Harry Pushkin the Polruan cat visits me, I think he visits a few other folk too.
Sometimes I don’t see him for many days…
Night Time Thoughts…
When I wake up in the dark peacefulness; that is when I decide to let my imagination out of it’s box.