While the Balancing EEL Feeds St Ives

 Our final day in this cottage always brings on a sort of melancholy, so we ease our pain with Fish and Chips.

We decided long ago that the best place for this kind of treat is most the Balancing EEL, whose queue extends all down the street. This tells you a lot about the Balancing EEL because waiting in that line is not for the faint-hearted. The only people who left the line were two EMTs who, just as they were opening their mouths to say, "we would like a...", were called away to kneel next to a tourist and help him in his hour of need.

 As you stand in long lines like this, there is always something or someone interesting to watch. The three of us (Ted may have been having a pint) glanced around at some of these interesting things, but soon found that watching the guys behind the counter was the most entertaining.  There was a ton of noise, but when the boss-lady shouted out an order, the guys heard and obeyed. Just think of something so grand as a white fish (Hake) being battered and egged and salted and peppered in a pan of boiling oil next to another pan of boiling oil filled with fries. The smell was so good that everybody's mouths watered in unison.

The SconeLady's sense of smell took a nosedive during the pandemic. But it came back INSTANTLY when the oil hit that fish and those fries. 

Our order was ready about 45 minutes later, and we felt we had really better get cracking. A man's's sense of patience goes only so far when there is nothing wrong with his sense of smell.

So we dashed. But two singing men along the wharf caught my attention. I listened. They sounded familiar, and here we are in Cornwall where all kinds of strange things are known to happen.

"Are you the Fisherman's Friends?" I asked shyly when they had finished their song, clinking their bottles together and laughing with two blondes.

The man on the left winked slowly at me and said, "Well, we are friends of the fishermen.." and started another song. Well now, I don't know if they were or if they weren't. But tomorrow we will SEE the Fisherman's Friends in a concert at Sandy Acres (I will tell you ALL ABOUT IT AFTERWARD!!) and we will figure it all out.

I can't wait, dear Readers, to be up there at Sandy Acres with hundreds of other Fisherman's Friends admirers, probably standing in huge lines for Ann's Pasties, huge lines for toilets and beers, and huge lines for other warming drinks. Me? I'll stick with water as these Friends take the stage and start singing something hilariously wonderful like, "It's All Part Of Being A Pirate". Why?

Because you can't be a pirate with all of your parts.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady