• Britain,  Travel

    Meeting Alastair in Polruan

    I am a glutton, yes, as all of you know by now, and unashamedly so. But the lead photo is naught to do with my glutton genes. The point of the photo is that apart from emphasising our love for fish and chips on holidays (let’s get fat fast), in the background is Alastair. After our walk in the Cornish Woods we fell upon our plates with ravenous appetites, eyes goggling at the sight of food. Hours of walking through the woods and sudden steep stretches can do that to you. A middle-aged man with a shock of white hair entered the pub through its dwarfish door and asked for a half-pint of ale.…

  • Britain

    A Walk in the Cornish Woods

    I am knackered and I have a suspicion. I am on my way to turning into a hefty Cornish cow. A thought fuelled by a steady two-day diet of scones, pasties, tarts, full-fat ice creams, butter biscuits and onion rings. Is it possible that the waistband of the jeans can scream out for temperance within a short span of time? These are grave times. The scoffing has been going especially strong after steep climbs through woods in the heart of Daphne du Maurier country. Our walk started in the fishing village of Bodinnick where the author of Rebecca lived with her mother and sisters – after they had left behind their…