CORNWALL – AND GURNARD’S HEAD

 

When I was in Cornwall (again!) at the weekend, my daughter and I decided to take Leo (her adorable Tibetan terrier puppy) on a walk to revisit old haunts.

Cutting a long story short, we both used to live in Cornwall before she moved to Dorset and I to Devon. Then, two years ago, drawn back by the curious power Cornwall somehow exerts over all (or most) who have lived there, Joanna returned. It now seems as if she never left – and I too benefit from having her to visit.

One of the many beauties of Devon is that I just have to hop across the Tamar Bridge to be in Cornwall again. That isn’t in any sense to undermine life in Devon, which you’ll by now have gathered that I love. The two counties, though joined, each have their own distinct characteristics. I believe the Cornish coastline to be in a league all its own, while the gentle green, cream and red hills and rolling moors of Devon are awesome.

But back to my story! Saturday dawned gloriously, so we set off in a direction we hadn’t headed in several years. And the last time we went there we certainly didn’t have a happy little puppy accompanying us.

Leo tends to make every expedition exciting, as we look at the world (or try to) through his eyes. Imagine being a puppy and having all the Cornish beaches virtually on your doorstep! But today we weren’t heading for a beach. Our destination was Gurnard’s Head, which meant driving along a roller-coaster kind of road with fabulous new views around every bend, and then (after walking Leo en route) parking by an aptly named pub.

As it happened (not purely by chance!) to be lunchtime when we parked, we went in – despite our rather iffy memories of the pub grub we’d had there in the past.

Well, thank goodness we did, as the business had changed hands (six years ago, we learned) and now the food was simply scrumptious. The whole ambiance was great. What an amazing difference the ‘new’ owners had made!

Afterwards, we braced ourselves against the wind that had sprung up and set off across the promontory to its rocky tip. It was a wonderful feeling, to be back there, our boots muddied from the fields we had crossed, our senses tuned to the ceaseless rhythm of the sea, within touching distance of majestic Gurnard’s Head.

This looks distinctly lion-like, rather than fishy, to Joanna and me. Do you agree?

 

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