Indoors if Wet

Photo © Rob Jones

So … we live in a wet country. Some parts are wetter than others.

Rain is seldom a shock.

I had to wonder then, what has become of us as a nation to find large parts of Newquay closed because of the weather.

In its defence - there was a major storm coming in and the wetaherman on the tele suggested people tie down their garden tranpolines. Serious stuff.

But it was still only on the shoulders (just) of the peak holiday season, and as far as I could see there were plenty of tourists repeatedly walking up and down the main road desperately looking for something to do.

Where is our fortitude?

When I were a lad (yes, I know I have become old without noticing) you would sit on the beach with a picnic at the height of a hurricane or monsoon. An icecream in a torrential storm was a neccessity. You would hike half way to Land’s End, just to look at a raging sea, a precipitous cliff and some damp Chuffs (Cornwall’s national bird.)

I know that in many ways, holidays are not to be enjoyed - but endured. They are proof positive that you are better off at work and at home. The best part being of course a slightly longer sleep in bed, being awoken only by the sound of someone trying your hotel room handle because they are too drunk to remember where their own room is, and the obligation to have a full English breakfast, followed by an overindulgence indusced sense of regret.

This was my first time in Newquay, even though I had spent two years of my life in Cornwall. I liked it for its fabulous beaches, surfer vibe, trendy coffee shops and the apparent lack of shops selling wooden seagulls on sticks.

I was taken aback by the number of closed up and derelict hotels, gradually being replaced by cliff top luxury apartments which will end up as short term holiday lets.

And I just think it’s wrong to walk through the streets barefoot in a Dryrobe.

Would I go again?

Of course.

RJ