Cornwall Suddenly

As the sun sets I’m sitting by Fistral beach with a pint of German Pils. The receptionist in the hotel was German. I have already heard many conversations in German. I hadn’t realised the extent that one woman’s writing has affected the way in which people choose their destinations. Cornwall is a good choice though. It reminds me forcibly of Jersey. Similar landscape and seascape, but also customs and slang. (I’m a “grockle” here, a Cornishman is a grockle in Jersey.)

It’s peaceful here too, outside of the constant roaring of the waves – and it’s beautiful. Those waves are rolling in, rolling back, rolling in, dotted with surfers. I count 30 of them holding themselves in place waiting for the right moment. Occasionally one of them takes that moment and they’re up, cartwheeling their arms, trying to make it last, dancing impossibly on the water before absurdly sinking back down upright and then swimming back through the waves to do it all over again. Dozens of little black dots in the evening sea getting fit by mistake while having fun.

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Nearer the shore, dogs play in the spume. The air is cleaner here. The smiles are more genuine. The waitress likes my suit. I’m in a selection of three pieces while I’m filming, on and off set. Good to look the part. My uncle Peter’s Gucci shoes could’ve had as much of an effect on my getting this part as my delivery of the lines in the audition did. They’ve made it into the costume which is unusual and amusing for filming at this level. I should probably get them polished. For however long I’m in Cornwall I’m dressed sharply. And why the hell not?

I’m here because of this German relationship with the crooked ancient leg of England. There’s a well trodden path from Germany to Cornwall now. Hence the fact I’m drinking “Schwaben Bräu” on the Fistral as I write this. My hotel room overlooks the sea from a headland. There’s a four poster bed, and a ghost maid who tucks you in when you’re sleeping. They left fudge for me on the bed, and nuts and water came from the production company, who had the perspicacity to empty the mini bar of all but water and juice before the actor hit the bedroom. I only checked out of curiosity honest guvnor.

Lots of lovely cards to say hello, some from the hotel some from the unit. I’d forgotten this, about filming. People can treat you so well.

Flying here was a strange luxury. We spent more time sitting delayed on the stand at Heathrow than we did in the air. There were only two people wearing hats on the plane and the other one sat next to me. She had a banjo. I knew she’d be something to do with the production but decided to fall asleep instead of making small talk so I said literally nothing to her but “punch me if I snore” and fell into happy sleep until I was surprised by the landing.

When I met my car the driver said “I hope you don’t mind. Max’s girlfriend is on the same flight.” Max is the male lead. “Yeah she’s in baggage reclaim with a Stetson,” I said. “She seems chilled. I slept next to her for the whole flight.”

Sure enough it was her. So we had the smalltalk in the car instead which was far less awkward. I thoroughly like her. But now I’m back on my own, doing that thing you do when filming of making sure you remain available and near unit base whilst also making sure you don’t get too bored. My pick up is 9.30 tomorrow which is very civilised. I’ve had cars at half five before. So maybe I’ll have another German Pils and give some money back to the economy that made this all possible. And then some FISH. omnomnom

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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