A Performance?

Such a lovely evening yesterday: Dave actually managed to arrive home a little early for once, so we put Isabella in the car and set off into the sunshiny afternoon in search of a drink. With the weather so sunny it seemed a riverside pub was in order and we decided to head down to the Pandora Inn on Restronguet Creek near Mylor (a gorgeous village I talked about in an earlier blog).

The Pandora is a 17th century inn, thatched of roof and notorious for its connections with smuggling, though not of latter years as far as I'm aware! In fact, its more recent history saw it becoming a meeting ground for the yellow welly brigade, the decked pontoon leading to the inn front providing a perfect strutting ground once one had moored the gin palace and pulled alongside in the dinghy. Oh, many and oft is the time I have witnessed that preening peculiar to this branch of the boating fratenity - the fanning of the peacock feathers, or in this case, the matching yellow waterproofs of which I refuse to name brands for fear of offending, and the swinging stride which affords the awaiting audience (those of us trying to enjoy a quiet drink) the ultimate viewing experience. Hmm...

Fortunately, this seems to be less of an issue in more recent times, though I have no idea why. Perhaps the yellow wellies have changed to a more sedate navy and I haven't noticed their presence; doesn't seem terribly likely as it is all about the performance and I'm not actually sure the blessed palaces ever actually travel further than a few hundred yards from their moorings to the pub and back again. All seems rather pointless to me - a bit like flashy cars being driven at top speeds through busy thoroughfares; Why?!! Who on earth is actually impressed by such nonsense? And I am talking of grown men here, not children-who-think-they-are-men! I'm sorry, I appear to have digressed quite far from my starting point.

So, to return to the late afternoon drink: the inn was quiet, the tide was high (no Blondie here please!)and the sun was warm. Unfortunately, a howling wind blew onshore and made it flipping freezing, thus totally impossible to sit overlooking this idyllic river with its views of fields stretching as far as the eye can see on either side, the gnarled trees twisting their ancient branches toward the gently lapping waters as though listening in sympathy to some tragic tale of piracy and love lost from long ago... Bit carried away there!

Eventually, having driven all over the place chasing a sun that decided it had had enough exertion for the day and chose to spend the rest of its evening hiding behind that haze peculiar to the south coast of Cornwall (not quite a fog, but not a mist either) adding to the romance and mystery of the creeks we explored, Davey and I voted for home. A beautiful afternoon led to a long soak in the bath once Isabella was in bed, a glass of the necessary in hand (yes, we do rather a lot of chatting in baths over a drink - obviously, I mean our own bath here) and a homemade chicken and bacon pie in the oven (a miracle of organisation that was!) which we ate whilst watching Bleak House - bought the DVD when baby was born and Dave was home for five weeks, in order to watch in huge chunks and am now on third viewing with Dave and Lauren who has never seen it before. It is Wonderful!

So there you have it - nothing wildly exciting because little of wild excitement really happens here and when it does it usually involves so much drama that I would rather forget about it as soon as possible anyway, being someone who hates 'performances' uness they are on a stage! Rambling again, Pipany, and so I shall leave you for today.

Have a good day x

Oh and meant to say, popped in to The Other Side for first time since I left to collect my blogs - how depressing was that? Horrid and empty! So nice to come home (though am wondering how you get the earlier blogs?). Byeeee x