Newlyn:Lunchtime: The Tolcarne Inn
Cornwall is famous for its tin mines. Well I haven't seen any tin this morning, but I have seen plenty of mud. If you could sell mud, I would be a rich man in Cornwall.
This pub is glorious. Two pints of Youngs Special and a fish soup with garlic bread. Moira is an Irish girl and runs it with her husband Alan (a jazz guitarist). It will be hard to leave.
The woodburner is on and the second pint is slipping down beautifully.
We have had five fisherman in discussing how much Bert's fingers were going to cost him - he lost them in a winch and now he is finding it tricky getting his job back.
We touched on the iniquity of financing the education system and the sharp showers that I have missed completely.
Lynnie left me this morning at Land's End.
That was difficult. I wasn't sure if it was the wind or the emotion of it all, but the tears dried up at Sennen Cove when I was struggling up the hill from the beach.
I must go now to Penzance. I need to clean my boots; they are disgraceful.