A chance remark from fellow tourists who we encountered at the Vale of Avalon induced us to visit a tourist attraction that we have to pay for. We duly set of for the Hidden Valley, near Launceston. Despite many trips to Cornwall, this was a new one on us. It is a glorified, mostly outdoor, escape room and there were plenty of earnest adults taking it extremely seriously. I am not sure we are the target demographic but it was great fun, even though the puzzles were a bit beyond us. We started indoors in the Forbidden Mansion where the puzzle involved quick reactions and flashing lights. The tricky part was working out exactly what you were supposed to do. We didn’t realise that we were only going to get one attempt at this. In fact, we were entitled to a card each but had gone for sharing. I think I accomplished three of the tasks. There were also twenty things to spot as you went round. These were well hidden and it took us two circuits to get nineteen of them.

Outside next and the beech maze was a fail; we ended up coming out the way we went in. We decided we’d set the bar low and followed the rope trail to find ten labels, each with a number to add and a letter to create an anagram to unscramble; an activity that was aimed at the pre-school children. Even this took two attempts and I failed to identify some of the more modern cartoon characters. We kept encountering the same families looking equally confused. The twenty-something childfree couples rushed round, heads-down doing hugely complicated things, aided by phone apps, which I think were ‘cheats’, on the ‘Big Blimp’ challenge. We did have a go at ‘Little Blimp’, where the puzzles were at least intelligible and achieved 13/15 of these.

This was all set in very attractive and well maintained grounds and we were surprised to find that the attraction had been open since the 1990s, as it didn’t look in the least bit tired. There was the opportunity to ride on a mini-train but this was very popular so we allowed smaller persons to take up the few available seats. There was also a model train running round part of the gardens. The site is still being developed and an impressive looking adventure playground-type feature was being constructed, with plans for this to be open by the summer. Despite the feeling of total inadequacy that the visit engendered, we had an enjoyable day.

We drove to Padstow, now commercialised by the Rick Stein effect. It is still a working harbour, so boats for the fisherman of my acquaintance to look at. We walked up the hill towards the lower beach. Deciding not to pay inflated Padstow refreshment prices, we repaired to a garden centre that we’d spotted on the way, intending to have a drink. They were still serving carvery lunches and although they were quite willing for us just to have a drink, we could hardly pass up the opportunity. So a lovely, expansive carvery lunch for only twice what it would have cost to have a coffee and cake in Padstow. Sizeable desserts were on offer too. Consuming massive portions of Eton Mess, on top of a carvery where you could have as much veg as you liked is always one of those seems like a good idea at the time things and it was lovely but it did mean that we didn’t want to do much afterwards.

So the end of the holiday and we managed to only get wet once – result! Slightly fuzzy photo as the light was poor.

Sorry to leave you in Cornish limbo but the wifi went from bad to ridiculous and the chances of posting were less than. So, from the comfort of my home wifi, here is what happened next.

We waited for the rain to pass over and then drove in to Portreath. The town looked a bit dilapidated and seemed to have escaped the overwhelming second-home incursion of other coastal communities. There is an interesting industrial heritage. Copper was exported from the harbour and Welsh coal was brought in. It was also centre for shipbuilding. A tramway was constructed in 1809. After a ‘bracing’ walk across the headland, we drove back to Chapel Porth. More obligatory ice cream sampling, chocolate fudge for me and a Chapel Porth speciality ‘Hedgehog’ for my companion. No small mammals are harmed in the construction of this ice cream. It includes vanilla ice cream, clotted cream and plenty of nuts and proves quite difficult to consume. Hedgehogs dispatched, we stroll along the beach past numerous caves, interesting rock formations and thousands of mussels clinging to the rocks.

The next day was the day for moving sites and heading back towards home. It was only about an hour’s drive to the site near Tintagel. In theory, there should have been more lovely views through the driving rain. Having set up the van we took advantage of the sun coming out to admire said views and set off to walk a short way along the coastal path which runs by the site. The wind was on the invigorating side and the path typically ‘undulating’ aka lots of steep clambering up and down. Not shingle this time just slate. ‘Good job it isn’t raining or this would be very slippery’, I occasioned to remark. One thing with invigorating wind is that it blows the clouds away swiftly. Sadly, it also works in reverse and twenty minutes into the walk we were caught by lashing rain. I wasn’t wrong about the slippery slate. We were now clinging to ice-like narrow ledges on the side of towering cliffs, with a sheer drop to one side, in a howling gale. I normally have issues with walking in varifocals on rough ground. I need not have bothered about the usual difficultly, judging how steep steps are, as the rain meant I couldn’t see the steps anyway. Add to that a no-longer waterproof poncho flapping all over the place and we decided we needed to squelch back to the van. Fun it was not. We could not have been wetter if we’d jumped in a swimming pool.

Still feeling the after-effects of the previous day’s expedition, we opted for a gentler day. Annoyingly, two of the places we wanted to go were temporarily closed so we chose the nearby Vale of Avalon at the gruesomely named Slaughter Bridge, held out to be the site of King Arthur’s last battle against Mordred; well, spearheads have been found locally. Allegedly, Arthur was the first leader in Western Britain to use cavalry, which gave him an advantage over the Saxons. It is also one of the longest-standing tourist attractions in the country, as John Leland visited in 1534. Another battle is record in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle as having taken place here in 823, when the Saxons, led by Egbert, beat the Celts, many of whom fled to Brittany.

We weren’t sure what to expect but for the princely sum of £3 for ancient types, it seemed a bargain. This was a lovely wooded site that exploits the local Arthurian connections. It is also a site of both archaeological and special scientific interest. It did look a little tired in places but definitely worth a visit and the refreshments were highly recommended with coffee in sensible shaped cups; why is coffee always served in ridiculous wide cups so that it loses its heat quickly? ‘A coffee’ was a cafetiere that filled the cup three times and ‘a tea’ was a large pot containing four cups; the cake was good too.

We tied a thread to the cloughtie (rag) tree and made a wish. We were able to see the remains of the thirteenth century longhouse, part of the abandoned Melorn Village, which has been excavated, along with a cider press that may be a similar age. There were some trees growing though the decking, reminiscent of New Zealand. Lady Charlotte Falmouth, whose dower house was neighbouring Worthyvale Manor, laid out a garden here in the 1740s and this has been reconstructed, although I think Lady F is sorely in need of a gardener, as it was very overgrown. The nine foot long, moss-covered, ‘Arthur’s stone’ can be viewed from above; it has been dated to 540. It is just possible to see signs of the inscription, which is in Latin. There are several interpretations of what the inscription, written in an Irish runic script known as Ogham, says. One interpretation is, ‘Latinus lies here, the son of Magarius’. Others interpret the end to read Mag Uri or Great Arthur.

We followed this trip up with a walk round Boscastle. The evening was spent trying to get the allegedly half-decent wifi, which so wasn’t, to allow me to start a meeting and then remain in it! Probably not helped by the site being full and everyone trying to stream the evening’s soap operas. Mission was just about accomplished.

As always, you aren’t getting these posts in real time so apologies if I am saying it is glorious sunshine and it has been pouring with rain with you. May was supposed to be a quietish month so we booked a trip to Cornwall for some R & R. So much for quietish! I have four meetings to attend this week and a heap of writing to do. Nonetheless it makes a change to be somewhere different. As Cornwall is next door and earliest entry to caravan sites is 1pm, we had a leisurely start. I did have a slight panic when, despite what the website implied, on checking the site handbook for directions, I discovered that the wifi was hot spot only. All was well however as by choosing our pitch judiciously, I could avoid standing on one leg under a tree whilst attending my meetings. At least I hope I can. Internet and emails are slow but working, so fingers crossed that Zoom works too. As a bonus, we have one of the best views on site, looking out across the spectacular north Cornish coast.

Arriving at lunchtime provided opportunities for exploration in the afternoon so we set off for a gentle stroll along the south-west coast path, close to the caravan site, heading for Porthtowan, which, on the map, looked about that close (when ‘that’ is not very far). I really should know better. The clue is in the name. We are staying at St, Agnes Beacon. Beacon = high up. Porth = port = sea level. In between there was a lot more upping and downing. We really are too old/too out of practice for six or seven strenuous miles of sliding up and down cliff paths with plenty of loose shingle as an added hazard. The bonus was our encounter with the iconic Cornish coastal landscape, compete with granite cliffs, abundant wild flowers and abandoned tin mines. Limping and panting back to the van, we decided we should have settled for the mid-point at Chapel Porth instead. We survived but resolved not to try that again.

Looking for something somewhat gentler on day two, we drove to the south coast seeking  Pendennis Castle, which after a slight detour, we located. It is nearly forty years since my last visit. Pendennis is one of forty Henrician forts, erected in the sixteenth century, as Henry VIII fell out with many European neighbours. The impressive wooden portcullis was constructed from oaks felled in 1541 but it did seem that wood might not have been the greatest idea if the enemy arrived with fire-power. Guide David took us on a tour of the Tudor part of the fortifications. The castle was built on land owned by the Killigrew family, who provided the first three captains of the castle. The site was subject to continued development, with the large garrison block dating from the early twentieth century and this was still in military use until 1956. There were more incredible views across Falmouth Roads to the companion castle at St Mawes.

After some refreshment, we completed the ‘moat walk’ amidst more spring wild flowers and climbed down to see ‘Little Dennis’ another bastion on the shoreline. Then time to return to the van, via a short walk at Wheal Coates, close to the van. There are records of mining here that go back to the seventeenth century but the buildings that remain are nineteenth century. The tin mine finally closed in 1914.

A later start today, as we work our way along the coast eastwards to Boscastle. There are some boats for the fisherman of my acquaintance to view and we wander down to the harbour. Then a tax-deductible visit to the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic, which was founded by Cecil Williamson in 1960. Sadly, some of the exhibits were lost or damaged when the 2004 flood reached roof level, although many were salvaged. I make a few notes with my presentations on seventeenth century witchcraft in mind.

We move on to Port Isaac. We are here to see Fisherman’s Friends again, this time in what they refer to as ‘their natural habitat’. They began as a group of friends who sang together locally until they were discovered by a holidaying record producer. With the increased exposure following the cinema screening of a fictionalised account of their lives and the continuing good weather, it is likely that there will be many people heading to Port Isaac tonight and I am anxious to secure a parking space. We reach Port Isaac at 4.00pm and have to queue to park. By the time we have walked along the coast path to the harbour, there are already people marking their spot for the evening’s performance. We decide against eating in one of the food outlets. The rising popularity of Port Isaac, not only because of Fisherman’s Friends but also because it is the location of television’s Doc Martin, has impacted on the prices. So it’s takeaway pasty on The Platt and a game of foil the seagulls. Us 1 seagulls nil. It might seem ridiculous to spend three hours sitting on very hard, ridgy concrete waiting to listen to a concert but it is what we came for and the crowds are swelling by the minute, so that’s what we do. I think I may be getting a bit past this sort of thing!

The disadvantage of not eating in a restaurant is that we need to use the public toilets. Keen to extract as much as possible from the visitors and who can blame them, the council charge 20p to enter. I have no particular objection to spending 20p to ’spend a penny’ (ok, well I probably do) but it does mean you need to have the correct coin. We have ensured that we do have one each, as a result of the pasty purchase and I head off to use mine. I insert my coin. The door buzzes. I turn the handle and enter, only to find a surprised gentleman in full flow (it was a unisex toilet). I hastily apologise, although it was his fault for not locking the door and back out. Now I no longer have my 20p. Fortunately, someone held the door of their toilet open for me. Back on The Platt and the seagulls get their revenge. No more 20ps means no way of washing this off my hair, so we go for dabbing a bit and hoping my grey streaks will disguise it. The concrete is feeling less hospitable by the minute but we enjoy people watching and identifying those who are likely to lose their gourmet burgers to the seagulls.

The band arrive; they are fielding nine members tonight. In a way it is a shame that their popularity has made these charity evenings such a big event and that it has lost some its informality but it is certainly big business for Port Isaac and fair play to them for making the most of the local business opportunities. It is lovely that the band seem as excited to see the large crowds as we are to see them. Tonight’s is their largest audience ever; perhaps some two thousand people. I hope they realise how much they would have to pay to hear this band elsewhere and even though they have to bring their own chairs, sit on concrete or stand, I trust they will give generously when the collecting bucket comes round. The Platt is full and there are people lining the paths on both sides of the valley. The music is, as always, stirring and a wonderful representation of our sea-going heritage. The backdrop of the harbour adds to the atmosphere. As the sun dips behind the cliffs, it does get a little chilly. In an attempt to mitigate the ill-effects of the concrete on my anatomy, I am sitting on my coat. I now have to make the decision between continuing to sit on the coat, thus being chilly and putting it on to keep warm but being more uncomfortable than I already am; I opt for the former. All too soon the evening is over and we decide that the atmosphere made the long uncomfortable wait worth the while, although we would do things differently if we came again, including bringing a supply of 20ps. To top it off, there is a wonderful sunset over the sea as we walk back to the car park. It seems we were lucky with our car parking as many of the audience have been directed to a field about a mile away.