A quiet day in Cornwall and I’m going to cap it with an early night. Two international old lags and perhaps a spot too much wine last night. These things have an aura of inevitability about them. Nice to see how the preoccupations and inner battles are the same for an actor in a thriving economy like Germany as they are for an actor here in this zombie movie where the shambling remains of the government are diligently but automatically stabbing themselves in the legs, eyes fixed on the horizon, mumbling “will of the people” as bits fall off the cardboard faces they’ve made to disguise the fact that they’re actually terrified selfish children.
Newquay is a good place to spend a few days. I’ve found a pirate themed restaurant today. I’m having steak in it while they play “yo ho ho and a bottle of rum”. All you need is a shedload of rope and a bit of canvas and you can make anything pirate themed. I like the table setting.
There’s love here, and the food is good. Captain Jack, it’s called. Feels like a family concern. If you’re in Newquay it’s an Al Barclay Thursday Recommendation. Which isn’t an actual thing. But should be.
“I think one of those bottles last night was bad” says my partner in crime just now on WhatsApp. Truth be told I felt like I’d been hit over the head with a sledgehammer this morning. But I don’t think we can blame the quality of the wine. I think it might be the tiny amount we had eaten vs the percentage ABV of the wine. Did we drink three bottles between the two of us? I actually can’t remember.
At about lunchtime the room service started to get anxious with me. They wanted to tick the room off their list. Maybe they were worried I was dead. I had been seen to haul myself into the restaurant grey and sweating at 9.30 for FREE BREAKFAST of instinctive smoked haddock which I subsequently hugely regretted, brushed my teeth twice to overcome, and put myself back into bed shivering. The whole time I’d had my haddocky breakfast expedition into reality I had only spoken in monosyllables, looked perpetually troubled confused and angry, and stared longingly over the vast Atlantic, spread out before me beckoning. “I could rent a wetsuit and surfboard if I get a day off.” That was me just a few days ago. This morning I just wanted to look at it and thank God there was glass between me and the reality.
Knowing how lovely it would be to get the room refreshed though, I finally threw some actual outdoor clothes on and staggered down to the beach so someone could spray essential oil on my pillow. I opened google maps to see how long it would take to walk to the Minnac. Impossible. Three hours by bus even. Pah.
Better by far to stumble randomly around Newquay and see what there is to see in this town. Apart from next week, I can’t imagine I’ll be back here anytime soon. Might as well try to see what’s here to be seen. Starting with a proper Atlantic sunset. It reminds me of Finisterra.