Ordering a second pint of Sharp's Zennor Mermaid is the best thing this side of the Pearly Gates when it's drizzling with a cold easterly and you should be out there on the Atlantic Granite Coastline with the rest of the London set in their pattterned gurly wellies and their Peruvian Nomad's wooly hats.
Instead, we are settling into a nice warm stone-built ancient pub with two roaring log fires watching the weather outside from a comfy window seat.
The incomers to the pub in their mud-coloured nylon overtrousers stand and steam in front of the fire saying that it's 'hell out there'. Well ~ it's actually hell when they come through the door and let all that cold weather in and drip all over the place...
Lord Elpus would like it here right here and now. It's nice and cosy and the grey cells are slowly slipping into comfiture, watching the horridness outside.
Schadenfreude: nothing beats it.
(The picture is Helligan's Honey in the Gurnard's Head at Treen after clambering along a bit of the SW Coastal Path)