Ginger Tosser gets revenge

July 11, 2010

tags: Cornish Coastal Path, Currencies Direct, Living In France, Moving To France

A torturous but beautiful walk to Port Quin, signposted as 2.5 miles as the crow flies is double that and like a giant roller coaster. The compensation is some fine views followed by a couple more pints of local brew Ginger Tosser.

Then I did it, I bought and ate a Cornish Pasty. The taste? How can I describe it? Perhaps “tasting like it was stuffed full of seagulls droppings, toenail clippings, seaweed and covered with enough pastry to cover a medium-sized cement mixer”?

But I don’t think that imparts the full horror of it. Suffice to say I do not believe anything vaguely edible, and much that is completely inedible makes it to landfill sites in these parts, the opportunity to recycle all local waste into the local delicacy has clearly proven irresistible to the eco brigade.

Last night was supposed to be to dinner at The School House in Port Isaac, with an interior designed by the peculiarly coiffured and preposterous Laurence Llewellen Bowen.

The beautiful setting, high up on the cliff overlooking the splendid Port Isaac had put me in high expectation of a great meal, which is much-needed after the culinary disaster at lunch time. However one of out number was still a little under the weather due having been thoroughly jolly rogered the night before, so it was postponed. I will not reveal the name of this miscreant but people who know Rupert Scott may well have an inkling.

The Golden Lion terrace at Port Isaac, garnished by a little Ginger Tosser

And so we adjourned to the nearby Golden Lion, pictured todaywith a terrace overlooking the lovely harbour for a few pints of Tribute, and to watch the tide go out…until it rained again. The miscreant nursed himself back to comparative health with at least 4 large vodka and tonics.

Indeed the old adage “drinks in moderation” was eschewed for “we’re on holiday,”lets drink as much as we can” by several of our party, including a nice lady garden designer. I want to make it clear that she was not sick, no siree, I am sure she was just clearing her throat loudly.

As we tottered back to The Slipway Hotel, she was heard to mumble “I have the most complicated shoes, why do they make shoes so complicated,?” Clearly they were not obeying her legs in quite the way she would have wanted.

The pub had been enlivened earlier by a hen party upstairs. 18 funny giggly girls would, I thought, be an interesting diversion, but as soon as I overheard them request 18 individual bills, I suspected that the evening would not develop quite that way. I think in some way the lady decorator wanted to they clearly were not to try to get the party going.

Today we shall walk in the opposite direction towards Port Gavern I think unless half a plan to go surfing in Polzeath rears its ugly head. I think if one is to surf it is a generally held prerequisite to be able to swim, so that rules me out! however no doubt I will find a local hostelrie to shelter in from the showers and drizzle which I have to accept as the norm in England.

Chris France

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