Oops I Did It Again (Cornwall Day 4)

 

It all stems from not believing the weather app. It did say there would be rain, and I believe there was something there about wind as well. But things like weather change over here from one moment to the next, so you really cannot believe in them. We pulled on our coats and boots, and hardly noticed little drip-drops brushing our faces. We were on a quest for a chocolate twist.

But did I tell you? Get ready for sad tidings: the Norway Store no longer sells chocolate twists! Learning about this was almost as devastating to the SconeLady as when The Digey sold itself and became Source Kitchen (That was a bad day, one I have never yet recovered from). The Digey had had the best scones in Cornwall and almost the best in the whole of England itself (friend Rosie's scones win first prize in the UK). 

Because the Norway Store did this thing and broke about a thousand hearts, we had to locate a twist from someplace else. I had a suspicion there might be chocolate twists at The Cornish Bakery on Fore Street, across from the Yellow Canary Cafe. But I wasn't sure they could ever be as tasty, as soft, and as fresh as the Norway's used to be. They had set the standard very high, and I must tell you now, friends, that the Cornish Bakery's twists on Fore Street were good, but not quite as fresh, or as soft, or as tasty. Shall I give it another go tomorrow, and see if that was just a one-off? I will, if you want me to. What else is there to do, seeing as how much I love to enjoy such a chocolaty, twisty breakfast.

After that, we purchased sweet treats for lovely Jean and her daughter Audrey, for we were visiting them today! With custard tarts, pork pies (Jean's own fave), and white chocolate muffins in tow, to Carbis Bay we walked. 

"You are about to meet two very vocal doggies," I said to the Rather Stunning as we approached the house. "I mean, VERY vocal.." But there is almost nothing he would rather come into contact with than doggies at any volume. We rang the bell, and an outrageous cacophony erupted, and erupted some more. It would come and go, but always returned when they thought we weren't paying enough attention. 

The dogs fell utterly in love with my son, and one of them frequently indicated it would like to be petted. Whenever the petting paused, he would growl. The petting continued. But no one can go on petting a dog endlessly, so there became quite a lot of growling. 

As we got ready to go, between growls, Audrey mentioned in passing Rosamunde Pilcher's grave. "It's just over the road, in the Churchyard of St Uny's" 

"WHAT??" This was news to me. Rosamunde's husband, Graham, is buried (I assumed) in Scotland, where they have lived for the past several decades. I couldn't figure out why she would be buried here - of course she would want to, because she loved Lelant and Porthkerris (St Ives) and all the environs therein. But women usually bury themselves next to their husbands, don't they?

I shall have to check this out, and tell you what I learn.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady