I have bike lights galore, but in the total darkness they kind of feel like the visual equivalent of farting into the wind (I desperately tried to think of a better analogy than that. But I’m just not fancy enough). They illuminate a couple of metres of road in front of me, and then I just have to trust my memory of where the potholes and the really squashed seagulls are. I only ever needed lights to help me be seen in London. In Cornwall I genuinely need them to see.
When you get to that bend in the road where the trees disappear and the bay opens up, well, it’s weird. It feels like I’m in one of those scenes in a sci-fi movie where they’re in a totally white space and you can’t tell what’s the floor and what’s the walls. Except it’s the polar opposite in real terms. Plus there’s nobody strapped to a table, and I feel like there’s quite often somebody strapped to a table when they’re in that room in a sci-fi movie. But I digress.… Read More The Darkness
One thing a lot of people said to me when I announced I was moving to Cornwall was “what about the theatre?”. You see, I like a good show. I’m not even that picky. I’ll go to the bad ones too. I wrote my own show last year and toted it around London before taking… Read More All the world’s a stage
I did eventually whip up some tarts of my own invention by filling pastry cases with as much not-quite-jam as I could get rid of and absolutely piling on sugar. I was aiming for some kind of caramel situation. What I got was twenty minutes of glaring through the window in my oven door yelling “caramelise you c**t!”. The Bakeoff honestly don’t know what they’re missing.
Once the tarts had finished disappointing me I took them to my office, where people are either insanely polite or genuinely don’t mind a blackberry. I call bullshit.… Read More An excess of blackberries
After that, I was left with the nuclear option. I bought a pro-level pack of poison. I set aside an entire day. I put on my old clothes and my big girl pants and I moved the furniture. I hoovered every nook and cranny of every room, and then sprayed the edges of each floor with officially-labelled silverfish killer. I went to town. I imagine for the bugs themselves it was something akin to the opening twenty minutes of Saving Private Ryan.… Read More The great silverfish massacre
They’re brightly coloured, alien-looking things. They have super-long, bright blue tentacles that’ll sting like a bitch. But here’s the kicker: They’re not one animal. They’re four different kinds of animal living together in a venomous, aquatic flatshare situation. As soon as I found that out, I headed down to the beach to find one. And then I waited for weeks and weeks. They were basically my Moby Dick.… Read More Call Me Ishmael
Very occasionally, I want to experience life in the big city again. It’s mainly if I lose my mind and forget that I find Starbucks genuinely disgusting for tax and flavour reasons, or if I need to do a scout around charity shops for as many pairs of jeans as I can find.… Read More The nature train
I know. I know. I’m a terrible person. I start a blog to record the ins and outs of a move lots of (mostly retired) people dream of making, and then I disappear for literally months. I have no excuse. Actually, my excuse is that I live by an actual beach now, and every moment of… Read More Holiday Mode