Everything that meets the eye here is so old that it all looks quaint. It's sometimes hard to walk on (I would not recommend cobbles to just everybody), but it sure is cute.
We four were stretching out their departure times for as long as possible, as it is always hard to admit that our week is ending. We had done our wild swim, eaten our breakfast, packed our bags, emptied the cottage of all our clobber, and sat down at last, looking at this sweet quaintness. High on our list of must-do's for the morning had been going to the little Italian cafe for the best coffee in town, and sit 'gassing' in the sunshine.
I asked Rosie, "Which is the strongest possible coffee?" not for the first time. I am always asking her these reminder questions, but she doesn't mind it and recommended a cappuccino with two shots, allowing me to add milk (apparently this is a no-no to coffee experts like Ted. One time he gave myself and the lovely daughter a minuscule cup of black Turkish coffee, and when we tasted it and gagged, we immediately begged for milk. I'll give you three guesses as to whether he allowed it).
The others got 'flat whites', and the Italian man said Goodbye and see you next year! and then we all trouped out into the sunshine.
A nice-looking gentleman settled himself nearby as we rested our heads, eyes gently shut and murmuring about what a fabulous week we had just had.
"And where are you from?" asked the man.
We explained, and he (approximately) said, "Ah, California...that must be nice."
The SconeLady is given this opinion by lots of people in the vicinity of St Ives. They often can't imagine someone who prefers the cooler shores of Cornwall to the enviable warmth of the great California. "It's nice, yes, but I do have a strong fondness for this lovely spot."
We learned that he lives in Cheshire, bordering on Lancashire, Staffordshire, Yorkshire, and ... I've forgotten the last one.
"But I own a cottage here, so being retired I can come down anytime I want!"
This impressed the SconeLady, who has often brought up the subject. We learned that his cottage was "just two streets up from here" - wonderful! Near the sea! In Downalong! Mere moments from Italian coffee!
"I'm going home soon, but in three weeks time I shall be back. Traffic doesn't bother me no matter how bad it is, because I always stop at a special spot and consider it to be part of the holiday!"
He did say that there are advantages and disadvantages to owning a Cornish cottage for the last 40 years. Some of these were enumerated, which should have been daunting to the novice sitting next to him. But ask me if I cared! No. I only thought of getting to step outside the door to this.
Our coffees were empty now and the clock ticked away, nudging us up from the cozy bench and our new friend.
"Well, our time is gone," we said, sorry to go. It's like this with new friendships along the way. There is always someone new to meet - and lose. "But it was very nice meeting you!"
More than one pair of feet dragged just a bit, along the cobbles.
Ted, who had pulled her roller bag over the cobbles for about a mile, safely situated Em onto the train. English trains always have a tale-tell bell that shrieks when the doors are about to close, and it shrieked at us now. Ted came off.
"Have a good ride!" we yelled.
"Enjoy your crab sandwich!"
"See you next time!" she called. There was a gradual move, and the end could no longer be delayed.
English trains are never late when you want them to be.
See you along the way!
the SconeLady
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