Friday, October 9, 2015

Cornwall Day 8 - Friends

I sit reposed, writing, surrounded by beauty and the nearness of friends. For we have done it again - we have met in Cornwall!

Friend Rosie and her Ted have faithfully rocketed south and west, bringing tasty treats and casseroles, and their own dear selves. Beloved sister of Rosie (M.) has been carried here in style via the Great Western Railway, all smiles and kindness. Sweet daughter of Rosie (R.) alights at any moment now, bringing her own special style of fun and brilliance and, well, near perfection. How am I so lucky?

You should have just seen friend Rosie and I unlock and wander through our cottage, getting to know its every nook and cranny. It is the best one yet. Enough space for everyone, and the dearest friendly kitchen complete with a beautiful AGA. Rosie has already produced something delicious on/in it, after figuring out why it wasn't hot, and then was. 

The owners of our cottage provided the loveliest Cornish butter ever made, with fresh olives and a wedge of Brie. Also a loaf of fresh bread and bottle of wine. It was quite the loveliest welcome we have yet been given. 

We wandered down to our little corner store, clutching the 'kitty purse' and stocking up. In the morning I shall tiptoe out the door and back up there to procure our morningly croissants. And then off we will walk, along the cliffs and the shoreline to see what we can see. 

And thus, our week together begins. There will be more walks, and talks, and cooking, and sussing out a nice place to share a meal. There will be sitting by the seaside and reading, and then the enticing thought of shopping together while Ted reads his paper or slips down to the Wharf. And what will he be doing at the Wharf? Not golfing. Not running, and certainly not shopping. No, it will be none of these things for our Ted.

At just the right moment Ted will step down the cobbled streets and make his way toward the door of his favorite haunt - the ever giving, ever comforting port-in-every-storm: The Sloop.

"Pint of bitter please," he'll say. 

Utter bliss.

See you along the way!
the SconeLady

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