We've got rivers here too you know
Most people living in the UK will have a good idea of what my home county holds for the visitor, even if they've never been here. "Hmm, Cornwall," many of them say to us when we're on our own travels. "Long way down the country to get there. Nice beaches. We went to Newquay one year," or "We like to go to Stein's in Padstow. Have you been there?" In spite of the fact that we have been in possession of an unused voucher for the place since July last year, we still haven't been there. It may be a statistical fact that half of the celebrity chefs in Britain have a restaurant somewhere within 30 miles of where I live. Personally I favour Greg and Lou's fish and chip shop in Redruth, two miles from home, or Manha Spice in Illogan. As far as I'm aware, neither of the proprietors of these establishments have held down a regular slot on prime time television, but then their prices don't involve parting with family heirlooms to pay the bill and their fare is more than good enough to please my simple palate as well. Nobody has ever mentioned Redruth or Illogan in one of those awkward moments on foreign soil when strangers attempt to engage us in conversation about where we come from. I like it that way. I should stress that I have no affiliation with either establishment and will not benefit financially or otherwise if you take this as a recommendation to visit them. Although they could do me a chip butty and a Chicken Jalfrezi if they like. Not at the same time though - I'm not entirely unrefined.
Still, one thing the wider world is right about is our coast. Surrounded by the sea on three sides and attached to the rest of England by a handful of miles in the north east corner it's stunning, whatever the season. Wild, windswept and remote it's a place that visitors have been coming to for far longer than any of us have been on the planet. Enormous sandy sweeps backed by dunes, small rocky inlets and coves, and pretty harbours filled with fishing boats draw them in their droves. Generally speaking, people know we have a coastline.
What we're less famous for is our rivers. The country isn't long, wide or flat enough to have many broad sweeping meanders plotting their way through sunlit meadows past nodding willows and sleepy villages. But some of the ones we do have are spectacular. The River Fowey (pronounced Foy - just to set you on the right foot with the locals) crashes down from the wilderness of Bodmin Moor, making its way southwards until it meets the sea at the town of the same name (also pronounced Foy). I can sit and watch it happily for hours.
And that's exactly what I did on Saturday at Golitha Falls. I was here a couple of months earlier in the same position, taking more or less the same picture. When I got home I was disappointed by the glare on the surface of the river and decided I must have forgotten to spin the polariser. Cursing myself for a schoolboy error I vowed to return, only to find that the problem persisted. I'd evidently done everything I could have the previous time, but failed to appreciate that the filter wasn't going to remove all of the glare. I guess it's something we're all just going to have to live with.
In a couple of weeks I'm going to head there again. While many of you live further north in the UK and are seeing the colours change already, the leaves are still mostly green down here in the far South West. I want them to be red, brown and gold, but it seems I need to wait a while longer. I love having a reason to need to go back.
We've got rivers here too you know
Most people living in the UK will have a good idea of what my home county holds for the visitor, even if they've never been here. "Hmm, Cornwall," many of them say to us when we're on our own travels. "Long way down the country to get there. Nice beaches. We went to Newquay one year," or "We like to go to Stein's in Padstow. Have you been there?" In spite of the fact that we have been in possession of an unused voucher for the place since July last year, we still haven't been there. It may be a statistical fact that half of the celebrity chefs in Britain have a restaurant somewhere within 30 miles of where I live. Personally I favour Greg and Lou's fish and chip shop in Redruth, two miles from home, or Manha Spice in Illogan. As far as I'm aware, neither of the proprietors of these establishments have held down a regular slot on prime time television, but then their prices don't involve parting with family heirlooms to pay the bill and their fare is more than good enough to please my simple palate as well. Nobody has ever mentioned Redruth or Illogan in one of those awkward moments on foreign soil when strangers attempt to engage us in conversation about where we come from. I like it that way. I should stress that I have no affiliation with either establishment and will not benefit financially or otherwise if you take this as a recommendation to visit them. Although they could do me a chip butty and a Chicken Jalfrezi if they like. Not at the same time though - I'm not entirely unrefined.
Still, one thing the wider world is right about is our coast. Surrounded by the sea on three sides and attached to the rest of England by a handful of miles in the north east corner it's stunning, whatever the season. Wild, windswept and remote it's a place that visitors have been coming to for far longer than any of us have been on the planet. Enormous sandy sweeps backed by dunes, small rocky inlets and coves, and pretty harbours filled with fishing boats draw them in their droves. Generally speaking, people know we have a coastline.
What we're less famous for is our rivers. The country isn't long, wide or flat enough to have many broad sweeping meanders plotting their way through sunlit meadows past nodding willows and sleepy villages. But some of the ones we do have are spectacular. The River Fowey (pronounced Foy - just to set you on the right foot with the locals) crashes down from the wilderness of Bodmin Moor, making its way southwards until it meets the sea at the town of the same name (also pronounced Foy). I can sit and watch it happily for hours.
And that's exactly what I did on Saturday at Golitha Falls. I was here a couple of months earlier in the same position, taking more or less the same picture. When I got home I was disappointed by the glare on the surface of the river and decided I must have forgotten to spin the polariser. Cursing myself for a schoolboy error I vowed to return, only to find that the problem persisted. I'd evidently done everything I could have the previous time, but failed to appreciate that the filter wasn't going to remove all of the glare. I guess it's something we're all just going to have to live with.
In a couple of weeks I'm going to head there again. While many of you live further north in the UK and are seeing the colours change already, the leaves are still mostly green down here in the far South West. I want them to be red, brown and gold, but it seems I need to wait a while longer. I love having a reason to need to go back.