It was far too foggy and really there was nothing much to photograph (I tend to lean toward things like blue skies and sunny beaches). So I thumbed through until I found this sweetness:
And don't I owe you something about 'frosting'? To me, it is the frosting that makes the Cake. It doesn't HAVE to have frosting, but if it is a particularly good frosting, then it has made the cake worth every calorie.
So yesterday I discovered that my phone needed 'topping off' (the way Brits keep their data roaming), and the only place for me to do that is Penzance. I hopped aboard the Cheap Day Return train and made a dash for the phone store. Paid the 10 pounds. 'Topped up'. And decided to seek out a tea shop, since I had 30 minutes to spare. I found this:
The Front Room
Isn't it super cute? Their indoors was too, but not sunny - and I had to have sunny (Penzance was oddly fogless). I really really wanted Cake, and they had two kinds, she said. But I was not understanding her Cornish accent, and we went back and forth - she trying to describe the two kinds of cake, and me not understanding either of them. I finally gave up and said, "Ok, I'll take whatever the FIRST one is," and she escaped thankfully back to her kitchen.
The 'first one' turned out to be a dark chocolate gateau, with a smooth, cream cheese frosting! Success!
The Front Room's first kind of Cake turned out to be the best kind
I sat out there in their garden, munching, and having my tea, while reading a book called "The Little Beach Street Bakery". It was the perfect setting for such a Cornish book. I relaxed into it, enjoying the frosting and the Cake, utterly forgetting about catching the 3:33 train back. Suddenly it was 3:24, and I still hadn't finished or paid.
I leapt to my feet, quickly grabbing up my things and (having remembered to pay) made an unsteady lunge toward the door and the sidewalk. I reached the railway station with ONE MINUTE TO GO.
The Front Room, Penzance
There was the train, two conductors standing next to the platform entrance. I hesitated, then quietly slipped around them, heading with purpose for the opened train door. Only 15 seconds to go! But there was some sort of hollering going on behind me. There were two things at one time: the conductors yelling I-did-not-know-what in my direction. And a third (much nicer) conductor, kindly waving me toward the opened train door. I smiled sweetly, and kept moving.
As soon as I was on board the train pulled away, and I glanced backwards to where the original two conductors were standing. They were arguing with the third, as he stood looking quite sheepishly back at them. I turned away, took out my phone, and checked the time. Bang on 3:33.
Whew. That was a close call. Is it my fault that British Rail is always on time?
See you along the way!