Homesick Student

I left Cornwall when I was eighteen, and never moved back. It was college that took me away, I was running towards expectation, freedom, and difference. Leeds hit me hard. I fell in love with the blackened sandstone churches and the red brick terraces stepping down the hillsides. Already in love with Nick, I missed him terribly, but I didn’t miss the gorse bushes of home. Because I wasn’t always happy, I remember my first year in Leeds in mixed ways, but it left an impression on me. Even now, the street names resonate: The Headrow, Headingley Lane, Roundhay…, and I recall the way the revolving doors to the main building of the Polytechnic would move heavily under my gloved hands. The weather is cold in my memory, although in all of the photographs of myself from that time, I’m in light clothing. Stiletto heels in the evening though, and how they would stick to the floor of the Students Union. There was always Simply Red playing. I hated Hucknall. The Pogues though…


Coming home from Leeds in the holidays was a cliché of student experience. I was barely off the train before I felt constrained. I always saw Nick first, and would lie to Mum that I had caught a later train (or a train the day later). The people who knew me would remark that my hair was different, the buses would be infrequent, my old friends had the same lives without me. My family? Oh, awful, just the worst. Such tensions, so annoying, petty, dull. If I couldn’t be with Nick, then I wanted to be away. I returned less and less over those years, and after I graduated, hardly at all.

When I say I’m from Cornwall, some people say how lovely it is and ask why I left and if I want to go back. ‘You must miss it‘, they remark. I’m generally decisive, replying in the negative. It’s a hard place to make a living, not much happens, the weather is not as good as you might think. In some ways, I’m more sentimental about Leeds than Cornwall. I haven’t been back to Yorkshire for decades, so it’s probably nostalgia for a time when everything was fresh, possible, and safe because eighteen year olds know no fear.

Just lately, I’ve been homesick for Cornwall. I miss the clean air, the gathering of starlings, hills, scrubby heather and gorse with hawks flying over, the smell of damp leaves rotting. I’d like an ice-cream from the stand that’s always been there in Truro Market (they do all kinds but I‘d settle for Cornish Vanilla). I’d go a walk on Portreath beach when the tide’s out and the sand is firm. I’d even like the wind that always hurts my ears. I promise not to say a word about the price of petrol, or be sarcastic about the unavailability of fresh fruit - or I‘d wait until I left the shop. I’d be patient when I get stuck behind farm machinery, drive slowly through the villages, spend my money in locally owned businesses, read the West Briton, participate in community affairs….

A weekend ought to be enough to have me crawling back to Cov. Oh, but it’s grey around here.

Dorothy and the Sunshine Band

I promised not to write about my diet, but I never gave any guarantees I wouldn’t write about trying on clothes. Now I’ve begun to though, I’m having a crisis of confidence, giving serious consideration to abandoning this theme. It’s just way too girly. All my life I’ve hated conversations about diets, clothes and cosmetics, they leave me bored and isolated. It may be because I’m jealous of women who are successful enough slimmers to look good in Miss Sixty jeans and Rimmel. It may also be because these topics aren’t inherently interesting…but then if that is true, why are dozens of magazines published every month on those subjects?


I seem to have lost my summer clothes. The ones I have left are three years old and too worn even for my standards. Also, I have lost some weight. The scales recorded a little milestone. I went browsing.
Although I distance myself from clothes shopping, there are clothes shops that I rely on. This is in as much as I don’t feel like a freak when I pass through their doors, and I can generally find one thing that fits. I learned in my late teens that where you shop says a lot about who you are. That’s not profound, but it came as a surprise to me as a fresher at Leeds. 1980’s Cornwall had no trendy shops, unless you were counting Etam, which one did, but only in that it was a new-to-Truro chain clothes shop that rivalled the ground floor of Littlewoods. It was at college that I was asked where I bought my donkey jacket (the Pannier Market) and was judged by it. All of the girls seemed to shop in Next, or want to shop there. My housemate spent the whole of her first term’s grant on one shopping spree, then strolled unapologetically down to the phone box to call her Dad, from whence more funds were sent. I didn’t envy her the luxury, those Next clothes looked a bit stiff. I had chunky knit acrylic jumpers made by a firm in St Austell. I seduced her brother in one of those, so it wasn’t all bad.

I shop at the chain stores now, and Coventry is the chain store clothing capital of the nation. You would think I’d fit in. New Look has been a long time favourite. Not too expensive, wide range of sizes, middle of the road fashionability, people of my own age shopping there. That has been the case since New Look opened up on the precinct over a decade ago. It was until now. I spent over an hour looking for stuff. No joy. Nothing that I would wear. There were floral flounces in pale pink. There were leggings. I tried some stuff on. Everything fitted. I should have been celebrating my new dress size (if three things are tried on in a particular size and they fit, I believe you are allowed to call that your size, I am an 18). The trouble is, at my size and age, a frilly racer back blouse and leggings combo is an unseemly choice. I exited the changing room with a queasy feeling and a red face to have another look. Before me were young people. This explained it all. I have out-aged New Look. I’m after Older Look.

I walked a bit further, ending up in Dorothy Perkins. This was a tiny bit better because of the music that was playing. Baby Give It Up by KC and the Sunshine Band. Although I find that it was a 70’s, rather than an 80’s track it made me remember better times at college when I did fit in. I remembered Carrie who was beautiful, well dressed, coconut scented, and who predicted the commercial possibilities of a Subway style meal experience. Some time in 1990 we shared a joke on the hilarity of the chances of her shopping at Dot P’s. You had to be there. I wonder if she’s out-ageing her high end boutiques, and if she bought shares in Subway before there was one in every former shoe shop.

Where does the average mumsy 42 year old shop these days? If you’re out there Carrie, give me a clue. You were so right about the donkey jacket. It was hard wearing though.

To Me

Thursday 28.1.10

Loads has been happening, but I haven't been able to tell any of my blog followers because I've made the content private until after my nursing interview. This has meant I haven't bothered to write anything down, which is dumb since the blog was always supposed to be mainly for myself. So, here I am rectifying it.

I was pleased with the UCAS application in the end. If I'm unsuccessful, so be it, I did my best. If there are places, I think it will be enough to get an interview. Nina's one for social work was truly brilliant, and if the Universities can't see that, they're crazy. I admit I may be a little bit biased. Having got that done, I went back to my OU studies with renewed vigour and have caught myself up. I got the test results back, which were better than I had anticipated. Everything is encouraging on that front.

Nick and I went to Cardiff and then on to Cornwall for a long weekend. We got on really well, without the bickering which so often happens if we spend too much time together with raised expectations. We did the full on grown up thing in Cardiff and stayed in the Novotel, which had a bed lined with memory foam, a leisure club changing room mid-redecoration, and a bad chef. It was swanky overall, much the most luxurious place we've ever stayed in in this country. We were in Cardiff for the Collings and Herrin Podcast that I so love. It was good, with Andrew Collins' fabled Secret Dancing, some Stand-Up from Richard Herring, and a great podcast in a brilliant atmosphere, all light and warm. Some photos I took have been published by Andrew Collins and I am childishly delighted. The hotel breakfast was glorious. I had at least four courses. Una Stubbs, the real one from off of Summer Holiday and Worzel Gummidge, just had coffee. She smiled at me a bit. Then looked a bit askance as I went up for pastries a second time. I may have imagined that bit. We wanted to see more of Cardiff, but the rain was so penetrating, that we just drove down for a peep at the Millennium Plaza, then went on up the motorway.

Cornwall went well too, with me and Mum having fun, Nan (post 99th birthday) in good spirits. Nick and I met up with our old friend S in her new house, and went out for a nice meal. Nick's Mum was glad that I brought back her freshly repaired anniversary tablecloth quilt that I had hung on to intending to work on since the summer. The only thing missing from the weekend was my dog Darcy who had to stay at hope because, quite unreasonably to my mind, the Novotel don't accommodate dogs in their £95 a bed rooms. Not even for £95.

Friday 27.6.09

First blog for ages. Loads has happened and a quickie catch up is to come. I must get into better habits and blog on days when there is something to say, as opposed to blogging on days when virtually nothing happens.

Billy Bragg at Wolverhampton was last Thursday, he was ace as usual. Not so the Wulfrun with its heavy security and door policy more suited to an all-standing Oasis audience than a sat-at-jazz-show tables Bragg audience. Billy played a much refreshed set with lots of interesting re-writes, predictably heavy on the political mix. I was a bit teary for StSwithans day. There was a nice moment when I turned to see Grant Showbiz singing along to I Keep Faith from the mixing desk. Thankfully H enjoyed most of it, I recognise its a challenging gig for a non-fan. Also it was fab that she is feeling good. Also, overheard the strangest ever comment at a Bragg gig, woman in lacy t-shirt on phone: "Last time I was here it was for Battle of the Bands"

I went to the open day at Coventry University on Saturday. It was all easier than I had feared, I got a lot out of it, not least a little more confidence that I can present myself to strangers without being too too much of an ass. I think I may even have decided what I want to do for the next four years. Wow, can't believe I just wrote that. Go figure.

This eek, I have been in Cornwall to help Nan get her hearing aids fitted. This went extremely well and she has confounded my expectations by taking to the things brilliantly. It made a miraculous difference right away. The NHS is a fabulous thing. Two good hearing aids made for a 98 year old, prescribed within 8 weeks, no fuss, and no charge, not even for the batteries. The weather was fantastic. Darcy and I spent an evening at Swanpool Beach watching the sunset. Darcy went flirting while I got some good writing done. I also squeezed in two visits to my lovely in-laws. Best of all, I got to see my friend S again. We had a lovely time talking grown-up stuff in just the same way we used to talk about kid stuff. She showed me around Looe, which is a great seaside harbour & beach I had all but forgotten. Darcy rolled about a horribly white dead eel like thing that was bigger than him. thankfully he wasn't unbearably smelly. I got home to Coventry at midnight to find that Nick had waited up for me. He's pretty amazing.

Today, I have been tired and wheezy. Went out to get buffet stuff for Nina's party and whined at Nick and Nina to clean up, genuinely felt too ill to do it myself. hopefully I will feel better tomorrow. I got up this morning to hear that Michael Jackson has died. I don't feel much about this, was never a fan. His music reminds me of myself as a teenager doing homework to the radio, but that's all. There is a huge outpouring of affection and grief. Maybe I'm a bit of a cold fish as I've never been affected by the death of any public figure in this way. I was sadder today to find out that Swells had also died. I liked his spitting ranting style and thought of him in an admired older cousin kind of way.

Ah well, those sausage rolls won't cook themselves....

Thursday 14.5.09

The day of Nan's hearing appointment. I had intended to catch up with B, another old friend today. I was very tired and stayed in bed late reading The man on Platform 5 by Robert Llewelyn. I've read it several times, cheap, throwaway novel though it is. Pre-millennium, hopelessly dated now, and yet a favorite, funny, easy to read. It has made me re-think what I ought to do with my writing which is coming out a bit intense at the moment, I'm considering softening it. Nan was uneasy when I got up, my fault for being so late last night. I decided to stay with her, forgoing B and the beach, to eat pasty, and read my book.

Nan isn't keen on going out, she's got to feeling insecure in the car, and gets panicky in busy places. She was worried about not being able to manage to move about as her arthritis is problematic. Cornwall is damp at the moment, the mist was designed by the old gods to get into old joints. It's good for the hedges though, which are at their best with bluebells, pink campion, and gorse. The fields are yellow with buttercups, only half open in the overcast weather. I wanted to climb up Carn Marth and look at the heath. Another time.

I adore Nan, but I'm not very patient with her, she can only hear the odd couple of words together, and even then, you have to shout. And she fusses horribly which makes me anxious. On the way to Hayle she recalled a friend of mine. "She came to my house with her Mother and Father....nice quiet girl.... she came to your wedding...she was having some trouble with a chap after her but she wasn't interested.." I knew who she was talking about. "What happened to her?" I explained that as of five years ago her Dad had died and she still lived with her Mum. "Never married?" "no, Nan", I said. "I think she's a lesbian". Silence for the rest of the journey.

The audiologist was a sweet woman, Chantelle, in her twenties, just the sort of person Nan likes. In fact, they took to each other and communicated well so that I didn't have to translate through the differences in communication, class, education and age as I often have to. There was a wonderful conversation that I have tried to remember through my mirth:

CHANTELLE: You have hearing loss in both ears. I would like you to try a hearing aid both sides. What do you think?

NAN: Well I don't want it really.

CHANTELLE: Why's that?

NAN: The thing is, I don't want to hear no gossip. What I think is, a lot of what people have got to say is rubbish. I'm not interested in all that. I like to talk sense. (pauses) And then, there's the television. That's a load of old rubbish again. They never have anything nice that I want to see. If I have those ear things, what's the point if I've just got to hear all that?

CHANTELLE: (giggling nervously) Oh?

NAN: But the thing is, I would like your advice, what do you think?

CHANTELLE: I advise you try them. You will hear better, not 100% but better.

NAN: Well, if you say then I'll try.

(foam is put into Nan's ear to make molds for the hearing aids)

NAN: I suppose it might be better. I mean, when there's more than one person talking, I can't follow it, can't join in you see.

CHANTELLE: Yes, that's a problem.

NAN: It does make me feel left out.

Ok, so perhaps you had to be there. I laughed until I cried.

Nan and I drove back via the coast road, and she enjoyed the view which made all of my efforts of last year with the eye surgery seem worthwhile. I lit her fire, made a hot water bottle and some supper, then I wanted to get off. R arrived back from his tour of Brussels and the South East, which was good timing.

As a footnote to yesterdays coffee place meal experience, I pulled off at Taunton Deane looking forward to a grease-burger and a newspaper to find that the main area was closed off. I had to eat a truly foul tasting cheese and ham toastie at another coffee place.

Got home after midnight, Nick was wide awake and excited. His team won an award for partnership. Brilliant.

Wednesday 14.5.09

Today was one of those rare days that goes just so perfectly. It is impossible to communicate perfection, and in writing, any attempt comes across as a bit tedious. All the best stories are tragedies (with a happy ending sometimes),and the devil has the best tunes. I'm going to have a try though because a day like today is rare and precious so that will have to be the tragic part. Unless....

It wasn't a perfect start. Nan didn't have much food in, so I stopped on the A30 at Blackwater to get 11am ,breakfast at a coffee place. One of those American chains, I don't recall which one. I rarely go into these places, but I notice that they are popular. What is it that people like about them? Is it the dark wood furniture, the brusque service, maybe the wooden stirrers, the grubby flasks of milk? I don't drink coffee so I had a hot chocolate with whipped cream on top and a breakfast panini. Nearly £6 bought me a tough bit of bread, a gold leaf portion of bacon, a mouthful of tinned mushroom all at one end of the bread, and some additional but unidentifiable filling. Warm, but not warm enough to be a hot tasty treat, more a kind of punishment for being hungry.

Darcy and I were on our way to Liskeard to see S, a friend from pre puberty to post virginity, rediscovered thanks to Facebook. We ground up the dual carriageway for an hour, then a bit more thought the wooded stretch of the A38, past the queue for Trago Mills, one of the key shopping experiences of my youth. I had in my mind that if it went badly, I could make the excuse that I needed to get back to Nan's, S could say she needed to fetch her children. I also got a bit of confidence that after 20 years of no contact there wasn't anything to loose. In fact, a lot of confidence came from feeling that our Facebook contact had gone well. Liskeard isn't a town I know well, its a place people drive past on the way to Plymouth, non-touristy Cornwall, a local place for local people. The shops are unreconstructed market town, could be quaint, but aren't as most are looking a little neglected. Lots of small businesses that look like they're struggling to hang on. The hair of the people was lank in the drizzle.

Seeing S was meant to go well. I was bang on time in spite of not knowing how long it would take to find her place. She seemed entirely unchanged, just as I had remembered her. I got, and hope that she got, the instant comfort of being with a friend, known and easy. I am shallow enough to be glad when someone drinks tea, perhaps that was the key icebreaker if one were needed. I was fun to see the habits and hobbies that she held on to (cigarettes, the flute, cooking), and the self that she has kept (slim ankles, her manner of speaking, thinking three things at once) and to watch as small changes occurred to me. Her voice seemed a little deeper, she was softer about people, no longer hooked on makeup and big hair. Her kids are fabulous, all such individuals. I had met only her eldest, when he was a baby. He turns 21 this weekend, her other son 18. Her little ones did like the little pink gifts. I got the best gift of all, coffee walnut cake, just like her mum used to make, and I used to eat, at her house after school. Best cake I ever tasted.

We had the best time, chatting and remembering, took the kids to the park, got Chinese food, did the kids homework. She played flute while her children sang, such fun, such a gift. I stayed for hours, lost track of time, didn't leave 'till 9. Grinned all the way home.

Tuesday 12.5.09

Spent a ridiculous morning procrastinating, this time about making the journey to Cornwall. This was in spite of feeling quite positive about this visit. I'm always the same though, the clothes are always still in the dryer, there's always a couple of chores left to be done, I never have petrol, or cash, or a fully charged anything. I often get in the car and ask myself why? There's no obvious answer. One day, I'll have everything prepared and see how it feels. Also one day, I'll swim the Channel, naked, with a dolphin called Simon. Oh yes.

Sharing the front seat with Darcy was my handbag, and scrunched in the supermarket polythene bag within (no wrapping paper) were presents. I'm due to go see my old school friend S tomorrow. She has four children, two grown up sons, and two little daughters. I bought her a box of french fancies as a sort of joke prezzie given my very public fancie obsession of the last week. It was a bit more tricky choosing something for the kids. I'm haunted by the memory of being invited to a work-friend's house for her New Years Eve party. I took a bunch of flowers and a bottle of ironic pink sparkling wine. I had no inkling that it wasn't appropriate. She couldn't understand why anyone would give her flowers and mistook the cheap bottle of wine for champagne. That night, I got drunk with her on pint sized cocktails of lambrini, wkd, vodka and unidentified alcohol (white lightning may have been involved). That time, my gifts had been embarrassingly over the top. How will I do with the necklaces (butterfly and ballerina) and hair grips (pink, selection of)? My nerves focused on to the trinkets, so I'm confident about the visit itself. Strange how my mind works.

Got in to Nan's at teatime. Mum has bought her a massive new flat screen TV. It is perched oddly on top of a waist height tray table. Nan says it is too bright for her to watch. The bedding that I was to use was in the washing machine, dirty. There was plenty of tea and cake. That's Squire for you, nothing and no one changes. Least of all me.

Sunday 5.4.09

The energy rush brought on by the arrival of Spring was too good to be true. I'm back to listless dissociation. Today, I spent in bed, refusing to go to the Dr Who exhibition at Coventry Transport Museum with the rest of the family. I feel bad about it as it had been planned for some time. Like many families with teenagers, we don't do things enough things together so, even as a lay in bed in my empty house, strips of sunshine traversing the duvet, I felt guilty.

I feel I also let down my inner child, as between the ages of 5 and 12 I longed to see the Dr Who exhibition. Defying the gender stereotype, I was a regular viewer from the mid -Pertwee period, through vintage Baker, and to the end of Davidson. The Dr Who exhibition used to be at Longleat House with the lions. It was advertised on the TV, and was shown on Blue Peter. I don't know what far off places other kids dreamed of. I remember a very earnest school friend informing me that she and her family were, "just doing Butlins this year because we have to save up to go abroad every other year." This seemed unbelievably sophisticated to me. We never went on holiday, or even on day trips to semi-educational tourist attractions.

We lived in Cornwall, a county that isn't short of opportunities for slightly tacky family days out, but we never went. Flambards had the Poldark exhibition, featuring the history of Cornish the smuggling industry. I never saw it. Lands End had, well, rocks and a tea-shop (they've 'improved it since'). I have never seen it to this day. Dairyland had cows, Bird Paradise had birds, the Seal Sanctuary had seals, and I never went to any of them. I didn't mind any of that. My idea of a good day out was a trip to Redruth to go to John Oliver's which was a sort of independent WHSmith, where I might be allowed to choose a book or a random item of stationary (ah, but not the pop-a-point pencil which I really, really needed).

I longed and longed to be taken to Longleat House, but as much as I craved it and asked Jim'll Fix It for it, I knew it would never happen. Cornwall was a long way from Warminster. It has got closer as the roads have improved, but its still 174 miles each way, 3 hours 34 minutes according to the AA. People travelled less in the 70's anyway. There was less money around, cars were less comfortable, and expectations were lower. That was why my schoolfriend's holidays were such a big deal. Another friend once had a week in Ilfracombe, with no irony intended, wow it was amazing to think of.

The consequence of all of this is that I've never seen a real live Cyberman. I have seen a Dalek, because there is a tame one in Waterstones in the Coventry precinct branch. I've never seen it exterminate anyone though, it's worth regular visit, just in case it happens one day. Sadly for the younger me, I suppose I never will meet K9. I will do most things on my own, but when my mood picks up, I don't imagine that I'll want to walk around the exhibition on my own. It will be too scary for me.

Sunday 29.3.09

After a stormy yesterday, today was all sunshine. At Nick’s suggestion, we changed our plans to spend the day with our respective families and instead, spent the day being tourists. Nick fancied seeing some of the ancient standing stones, and as I don’t remember having seen them, (although as a little girl, I probably did) I was happy to go along.

First stop, the Merry Maidens, a circle of three foot high standing stones in a field. The story goes that the maidens were turned to stone because they were dancing on a Sunday. This seemed a touch spiteful to me as the maidens would have been six year old girls having a party on the grass, perhaps singing the Okey-kokey. I can’t imagine that any god would have objected, but who knows about gods? Perhaps s/he prefers Agadoo? While I didn’t feel any spiritual connection, it would have been a nice place for a picnic on this sunny morning. We were the only people there, apart from a young woman waiting at the gate, for a bus as it turned out.

We moved on to Men an Tol. There were a handful of cars parked up. It was an easy walk of perhaps a mile along a farm track. We were chattering and taking photographs, me trying to make the best of my new camera, which I still can’t get good photos from. We remarked on the quietness, there was no road noise, no aircraft and no livestock, just the rustle of last years grasses, and the crunch of mica under our trainers. We saw a few people, but fewer than we expected given the number of cars. Men an Tol is a circular stone with a hole in it flanked by two finger stones. By tradition, people would pass their babies through the stone, but we couldn’t remember what for. The Men an Tol is quite small, like the knee-high fripperies they put in to model villages, but it feels like its in a good place, set up on the high heath which is interspersed with scrubby pasture (there were a couple of cows, but only a couple). Other walkers started to appear, so we made our way back down the hill. All of the couples that passed us were holding hands. Were they affected by the stones, or was it just the warm Sunday sunshine? I wasn’t feeling romantic, but was lulled by the walk and quite tired.

Nick was keen, so we went to see just one more stone in a field. Lanyan Quoit was originally a barrow, but now is a three legged stool for a giant. Looking beyond it is a run down engine house, standing alone on the hill. History upon history. I was starting to get bored and irritable.
We stopped for lunch at The Commercial Hotel in St Just. The proprietor was standing at the door and bigged up the roast offered, “You won’t get a better roast anywhere”. We felt like we couldn’t say no, and it was a fair meal in the scruffy, under invested place. The building’s proud exterior sadly too big for today’s population, built when travellers would come and go, brisk trade in the nineteenth century when mining was at its peak.

In the interests of ice-cream, a final stop in StIves. By this time I was weary and too much in need of a loo. My mood had sunk to the extent that buying the ice-cream was an effort. My mouth was moving but little sound coming out, the eyes of the young ice cream seller too shiny, too brown. I left Nick and wondered up and down the harbour which was busy, perhaps for the first time this year, everybody stripped down to tee shirts.

We never made it to Squire for tea. I went to sleep at around seven, and didn’t wake up to watch the TV, to write my blog, or even when Nick came to bed. I blame the spirits of the stones, of course.

Saturday 28.3.09

Woke up early with Nick. He finds it hard to combat the programming of his workday routine, and, although if I wake with him I usually go back to sleep, I didn’t today. Perhaps because he was only feet away. Silly of me as he was very quiet, just reading his paper. I hoped he would come back to bed, and, with prompting, he did for a little while. I suppressed the urge to talk, and to make any further requests, thinking it would spoil the closeness. There was an separation of physical and mental self, which happens occasionally and generally means neither part engages. Unusually, this time, my physical self engaged on its own. Maybe this led to what happened when Nick got up. I felt overly emotional, bereft, and lost. A horrid sick anxiety, a cheapening. This used to happen when I was a teenager and he would get up, go downstairs and watch the TV series Airwolf. We get older and more in tune with each other’s needs and feelings, but are essentially the same people. I got dressed and attempted to make the best of the day, but it all felt a little off colour. Mind you, I have a headache, earache and sore throat, which didn’t help.

We drove over to Marazion and walked up and down the windy beach. St Michael’s Mount was sitting in a puddle of drying Quink. I was outraged that the part of the road that a few months ago you had been allowed to park on for free had been yellow lined, there seems no reason for this other than to force drivers into the expensive car parks. We looked out for amber which Nick says sometimes washes up on Mounts Bay, but didn’t find any. Then we ate pasties and sat in the car drinking hot tea and not talking, like a proper married couple, Darcy asleep on the back seat. Driving back via Penwith, over the rocky heathland and between drystone hedges, I felt a great surge of love for the West Cornwall landscape, and a sense of being home. I was playing with ways of describing the bare blackness of the trees that grow on those hedges and the way that the windward sides are cut off in sharp hypotenuse shapes. I couldn’t get the words and can’t even now, back in this sheltered valley where the damp trees are cuddled up in mossy duvets.

Spent the afternoon in bed dozing and reading the David Peace novel 1974. I watched the Red Riding series on TV, so I’m trying one of the books. The writing is masculine and its uncomfortable in its violence. By reputation, the books are evocative of the West Riding of Yorkshire, but I haven’t found it so, even though a lot of it is set in Leeds. If I think of my time there, its of the black churches, schools with fences fronting on to main roads, bitter still coldness, and most of all of rows of brick terraced houses marching down hillsides, terracotta dominoes.

Friday 27.3.09

Nick and I made the trip to Cornwall today. He has a few days of annual leave to use up, which I have nagged him into doing. We agreed to come down as I had the feeling that his Mum is missing him. I let him make all of the arrangements and he picked out a chalet park, Little Orchard, near StAgnes. £85 gets us a little stone bungalow with those old fashioned metal framed windows. It is natty and has a plaid curtain to separate the bedroom from the kitchenette/living room. Fabulously, it comes complete with key 1950’s housewife requirements; toast rack, butter dish, creamer and sugar bowl. I love the ‘Peter and Jane’ illustrations feeling of it all and wish only for a frilled gingham apron. Darcy relaxed immediately, but for today, in the interests of authenticity, I wish he looks like Peter’s Golden Retriever (what was that dog called?).

We got away in reasonable time with no arguments even though Nick’s preference is to set off early, while mine is to set off late. He let me listen to an old Collings & Herrin podcast in the car (I’m slowly catching up), and later, Pulp’s Different Class. In return, I listened to The Stranglers and Arctic Monkeys. I was aware that we weren’t chatting, even when we stopped off we read the paper. We were relaxed though, resembling more and more the old couples seen sitting on park benches. We managed not to fall out over a minor lack of bedding issue and, predictably ended up at Sainsbury’s Truro (so convenient and you can get anything there, we use it even though we would prefer to support local businesses). Nick got sweetly nostalgic getting chips at Threemilestone, sight of his first mortgage.

Coming back to StAgnes, the cliffs were glowing gold in the sunset, with the land shadowed by bruised clouds and all of the sunlight was over the sea. We were moved by it at the same moment, a natural spectacle quite common in Cornwall, but special to us émigrés.

Mr Fee was proved correct about my needing to ‘watch the technical aspects’ of my work. A pointed out to me this morning that I had used his name instead of an initial in yesterday’s blog, but just in one place. I have corrected it. Sorry A, I hope you’re not too cross. On the plus side, it’s the first time I’ve been aware of anyone other than Nick reading Dee’s Diary. It’s good to have a reader.

Saturday 21.3.09

I've had a week away from Blogging. It's difficult to pinpoint the reasons why I didn't write something every day. I went to Cornwall last weekend, was Internet-free and lost the habit. Now, I feel silly because it has been quite an eventful week, and there would have been lots to write about. I feel a bit of a fraud playing catch-up now, but some things have got to be worth a mention.

The weekend in Cornwall was much more pleasant than I had anticipated. Nan's house was as clean as I've seen it in some time, and she had been eating quite well, so I was reassured. I stood in the garden and breathed in the smell of spring, probably the smell of wet leaves warming up and rotting, but mixed in with it, the scent of celandine and gorse blossom. Darcy and I went to Portreath and bounded up and down the sand. He showed off his ability to predict how far each wave would wash in so that barely his toenails got wet. The surf was white and roaring. Sunset came on so that the sky was turquoise, yellow, pink and purple. It felt good to be alive in that place. March until early May is the best time to be in Cornwall, it becomes a sensory paradise for this little time, before it gets busy and the locals put their frowns on.

I took Mum and I out to the posh garden centre restaurant for joint birthday meal. We both seemed to have a good time, and didn't seem to offend each other. Far too much food was eaten, including strawberry cheesecake that was out of this world, and £5 each but I didn't begrudge it.

I was in Cornwall not for the cheesecake or the sunset, but to get Nan to her eye checkup at Helston. Even this went smoothly. The other times, Nan has got anxious during the time leading up to it, and panicky in the car. This time, she was calm and pleasant. The mood seemed to have been brought on by a dream where she had been walking upright, free from pain.

Back in Coventry, the morning after StPatrick's night faced us with a broken windscreen, and later spotted broken number plate. these things have taken days to get fixed and were an unexpected expense. Nick and I laughed at our initially xenophobic response. I expect that we were right that it was caused by a customer from the Irish club around the corner, drunk on StPatrick's night. It could be coincidence though.

I went to see Richard Herring's show, The Headmaster's Son at the Spa Centre Leamington. This was a second go as it had affected me badly first time round, and I wanted to know if my extreme reaction was caused by the show, or if it was just me being silly. I went on my own and got there early. I rapidly lost confidence about being on my own. I'm afraid people did look at me funny, though I did brazen it out quite well. Tickets were unallocated so I seated myself quite early, on the third row, expecting the seats to fill in around me. Unfortunately, they didn't and two seats were left to either side so I felt I had a conspicuous island like quality. Oddly, I thought, the first row only half filled. Perhaps people were afraid of being picked on. If I had taken Nina, we would have sat at the front, she sees that as her rightful place, and not just because she is short.

I found myself immersed in the show and laughed a lot more than last time. The audience seemed more responsive with some quite big groups of people, mostly young men laughing together. Richard's first half was storming. He got the pace and delivery so very right. There were subtle facial expressions and body movements that synced with the content. The second half is a more reflective read, and I was anxious in case I got upset again. Richard came on with eyes quite bloodshot as though all of his energy had evaporated. The delivery was gentle and I felt more of the sweet nostalgia that I think was intended, as opposed the the piercing self doubt that I had experienced last time. I dropped £5 into the charity bucket.

So, Saturday 21st arrived. I spent the day in bed avoiding the Children and their friends. I could hear them all out on the Green having a laugh and playing Frisbee. Teenage voices now, so I didn't have to supervise, which was just as well. Nick came up for a while, then left, so I felt a bit used and abandoned, although there was no need to feel this. I fell asleep, waking at 8pm, then watched some online TV comedy. Strangely for all that, I went to sleep quite early, and slept sound. Next morning, the whole thing could be put down to PMT.

Tuesday 3.2.09

Woke up late but couldn't wait to get home. Weather had come in cold and wet. Everything grey and muddy, back to the all pervasive smell of rot. Had the sense of being finished with the place although I've got to come back in two weeks time to take Nan to the hospital for the final checkup. I think Nan may have been glad to see me go. I'm often short with her which is not fair, my only excuse is that its impossible to have a proper conversation what with her hearing. Often there's so much emotion its smothering and I long to get out. This is not a new thing.

Mum wanted me to see Fred & Steve's old workshop before it gets demolished. All of the tools and posters have been taken away by Dairyland. They will make it into an exhibition. I didn't feel much, just a little sadness when I saw they had taken Fred's swivel chair, but not his bench. The chair had been fixed to the floor so it was the perfect distance from the bench for him to work the leather. It was a treat as a child for me to swivel in that chair. Mum said there was a note hidden behind a poster "I love you uncle Fred. Delia. 1983" It was in Stephen's handwriting. Fred died in 1977 and I would have been a teenager by then anyway. What did it mean? Who could say?

I got further held up by lunch and agreeing to take Mum's husband to his place in Par. The weather worsened, and I took a wrong road so that I ended up driving via Plymouth. This is more than ever the long way. By that time, I was frightened by the driving conditions so that my fingers got sore on the steering wheel. The wind was up, water deep in the road so that it held the car back at times. I thought about stopping at a motel but pushed on. By the time I stopped off 30 miles off the M42 I had driven out of the storm.

8pm at motorway services was calm and removed from the world. There were only a handful of customers, the staff were leaning on furniture, gossiping with maintenance staff. I rested and read a paper, eating Wimpy hamburger, enjoying the thousand island dressing they still use. I felt more relaxed than I had all weekend.

Got home to a warm welcome and sudden onset of cystitis. I tell by the food left for me, and by the way his arms fell around me that Nick had missed me horribly. He said he had worried about me because I had sounded stressed all the time I had gone. We both fell asleep feeling better.

Monday 2.3.09

Cornwall looked like the holiday brochures today. Warm air, spring flowers in bloom, clear sky. Rich and I got the chores done. I continue to be surprised at how few belongings he has. I remember that when I was 24 I had a house, toddler, and another baby on the way. He has two suitcases and a box of books. We got it all put away neatly, and the last few of the things I had left in Cornwall I put in the boot. These were: half a dozen books, a shoebox containing notebooks, pens, batteries, some change and a torch, some new underwear and socks. I threw away three old pairs of shoes including my muddy pink flash trainers that fit so so well. I'm regretting that I threw them away now, but they did smell bad.

After the supermarket which Rich took in the way I might take in an exotic and slightly threatening souk, we went to Falmouth. Darcy ran on ahead as we walked from Swanpool beach along the coastal path towards Falmouth. The sea was smooth and there were three tankers moored out. The beach was full of students with tape measures and theodolites and Rich was telling me about the impact of Falmouth University and its specialties. I'm amazed he's so well informed as I don't keep up with the Cornish news, and didn't even when I was there for most of last year. I did spend a lot of last year walking on beaches and the coast path though, whereas Rich had never been to Swanpool.

It was a day of chit chat, and an evening too. Rich bought Chinese for tea, and we stayed up until 2am watching the NME awards and agreeing that Blur made a strange and muted comeback.

Sunday 1.3.09

Cornwall used to seem a long drive away, but having made the journey twice a month for a year, it doesn't seem so bad any more. I think its having an Mp3 player that makes the difference. I listened to two old Collings and Herrin podcasts, one of them, the Edinburgh Festival one was especially good. Then, I put 'play all' on The Smiths and sang out loud the rest of the way down. Darcy perked up when we got to Scorrier, he knew we were nearly there, it must have a special smell.

Nan was a bit flustered. Rich had arrived off the plane just a couple of hours before I arrived and the house was suddenly invaded by us and our suitcases. Darcy didn't help, he barked at the cat, the cat scratched under his eye, Nan and Rich freaked out by it all. Anyway, we all settled down in the end and drank tea. What else is there to do at Squire? I tried not to be resentful that the house is filling up with paper again, and that the kettle I bought has been replaced with a fancy one. The silver fridge which Mum and I had fallen out over horribly, is just a silver fridge, and was half full of mouldy food. I'm glad Rich is staying with Nan for a while.

Nan went to bed, while me and Rich made egg on toast. Then, we had a long late night gossip as is our habit, laughing and getting on like a house on fire while the room went cold around us.