Yesterday, after a pub lunch in Porthallow, we forced our way up a little used footpath we had been told was the Coastal Path. It became clear that ‘was‘ was the operative word. This morning we found more diversions to the old path, and a dog-walking lady who explained why. Coverack suffered a very intense downpour in July 2017. So intense cars were washed down some steep roads, road surfaces lifted and tumbled downhill with the water, and sections of coastal path washed away. She told us that hailstones punched holes through the fencing panel they used to cover their heating oil tank. Today was OK though. Misty at times:
But warm, and a few surprises – like Blue Pimpernel, nowhere near as ordinary as the Scarlet Pimpernel, I have read:
We reached Lizard late afternoon having paused briefly to show Tony and Jerry the wrought iron gates to a National Trust property where Marconi once used his radio equipment. The gates are nothing special, but the quality of the paintwork I applied to them on a NT working holiday had to be seen. Met a delightful Lizard resident – an ageing hippy who was tinkering with his huge collection of plants and flotsam on the road outside his cottage – who pointed the way to Henry’s Campsite where I was to meet Jerry and Tony. A delightful site characterised by a sign near the entrance:
This sign has sharp edges.
We rely on Common Sense.
Falafels, chips and a bottle of red in a busy pub, The Witchball, before retiring to my B&B, the admirable Caerthillian, run by Austin and Linda – a couple from Essex who holidayed at the Lizard for over a decade before deciding they’d rather live there. My window ledge proved ideal to continue drying my shoes overnight.