The 39 steps, plus 100

There appears to be a problem with the concept of logic when it is applied to That Nice Lady Decorator. We went yesterday morning to Bedruthen Steps, a beautiful beach to the west of Padstow. Now, shoot me down if I am wrong, but I would have said that the word “steps” and the fact that we were on a cliff top, and were visiting a beach, might have given the Decorating fraternity present an idea that these steps might go down. More pertinently, there is an old adage about what goes up must come down. Similarly, the concept works in reverse, which is especially relevant when one has already been down, so to speak.

Bedruthen Steps, a step too far?

Thus, after 139 steps down to one of the finest, if not the finest beach I have ever seen, as evidenced by my photo today, and a long walk along the sand and through the coves and rocks, we were faced with mounting the stairs after our visit. This did not seem to find favour with That Nice Lady Decorator, and I was once again in the dog house. It seems the laws of physics matter not a jot to her, and I had better come to terms with that, and quickly. She did not seem to want to grasp the basic concept of no pain no gain, and objected vociferously to the idea that we needed to go up. Regular readers will know that this was all my fault, despite the fact that I had no input into the choice of beach to visit, and I was once again at fault.

Lunch at Padstow in the sunshine on the port was not at Rick Steins seafood restaurant, nor his fish and chip place either, we liked the idea of sitting outside, which was offered by a restaurant paradoxically called The Basement. We had engaged in a short beer stop at The Shipwrights on the Quay before finding somewhere to eat. A glass of Cornish white wine, together with roasted cod and curried tartare sauce, was not quite what I had in mind when I ordered fish and chips, but it was excellent nonetheless.

A short pit stop on the way back I thought, a sleepy Cornish pub overlooking some wonderful West Country scenery, but a visit to a garden centre was decreed instead. Regular readers will know that I enjoy shopping as much as a visit to the dentist, so I decided to sit it out in the car whilst she went in search of Delphinium, Foxglove and something called “Love Lies Bleeding”, which apparently is a plant. I make no comment. Anyway, she was away such a time that the moment passed. It seems that the queue was so long and being dealt with so slowly that a chap asked her if the plants she had bought were seeds when she joined the queue. I think it was spring when she went in, autumn when she came out.

This was followed by the inevitable siesta where I dreamed of triffids, plants fighting back, and awoke with a thirst, so we decided to give The Old Inn at Churchtown near St Breward another chance after a decent pint earlier in the week. The local preference for a carvery was immediately evident and although I hate them, it did tickle my taste buds so I reached for a menu. Initially depressed at the options, including ploughman’s lunch and fried everything theme, the barman told me there were some specials on the board in the restaurant and eureka! A range of delightful offerings were available, even 4 vegetarian options. Clearly, I did not consider any of those, being a life long member of the Peachy Butterfield opinion that the vegetarian option should be to f**k off, settling instead for the sea bream, which was excellent.

So another column finished and not a single mention of Currencies Directx. You have got away lightly.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News