The SconeLady's suitcase is out and ready, even if she is not. Going home is lovely. Leaving here? Not so much.
Someone today mentioned in passing that instead of always coming back to St Ives, why don't I try another spot. Perhaps someplace like Brixham?
"Where is Brixham?" I asked.
"Oh, it's up in Devon somewhere. They say it's another fishing village."
I pulled out my phone, tapped in 'Brixham', and waited. A photograph flashed itself onto the screen, and it was fine, even pretty. But I didn't know anybody there and didn't have a feel for the place. There wasn't a bevy of pretty fisherman's cottages that I knew of to choose from and somehow I didn't have the heart to even try. St Ives has my heart, pure and simple. And so I do not think Brixham will be replacing it anytime soon.
I spent this day dashing from place to place, searching for those last minute bits and pieces to take with me; collecting medical records from the doctor who had cared, and taken time; having that last pot of tea at the Digey; picking up Cornish pasties for the train ride; and so on. The gleam of the sunshine makes these small tasks that much easier - although it makes saying goodbye that much harder.
And all throughout the day were the scattered questions of good hearted Brits, asking us about the election. It was really rather sweet. They seem genuinely baffled by what the Americans have gone and done, and wish to somehow help save us from ourselves. But they can't and probably don't need to, because the Americans have been through it all before and we will figure it out again.
Still, it was kind of fun to talk about. It's going to be rather tame when all that dust settles and life returns to normal.
I'm actually looking forward to it.
See you along the way!
St Ives, today