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.

After more than ten years, we decided to make a return visit to The Eden Project. We arrive early and are directed to Lime 1 car park, which is nearer to the entrance than some. We walk down to the entrance and wave our annual passes, which were the same price as a single in advance ticket. Last time I came, I qualified for reduced student status entry. We wander round the pathways surrounding by a stunning variety of plants. The round the world allotments are fascinating, each growing vegetables that feature in a different international cuisine, that is now represented in the British cultural mix.

Next it was time to enter the biomes. This is the nearest I am going to get to the tropical rainforest. Perhaps it is because there is less contrast with today’s outside temperature but it doesn’t seem to be as unpleasantly hot as we remember from our previous visit. I spend some time trying to photograph the roul roul. These are birds that live in the biome in order to control the insects. They all seemed to travel in pairs and some had chicks. The photography was tricky for several reasons. These little, quail-like birds never keep still, continually making a backward scratching motion with their feet, presumably hoping to bring insects to the surface. They also like to shelter under the leaves, making it quite dark and using flash was not appropriate. My cheap camera is really not up to this. We climb the aerial walkways but pass on the very highest look-out. We then move to the Mediterranean biome, a foretaste of our upcoming holiday.

There is a building called The Core, which I think was being constructed last time we were here. This includes some art installations that I am not sure I fully appreciate. Infinity Blue, billed as a breathing sculpture, is however fascinating. Periodically, it huffs out smoke from apertures around it’s twenty-five foot high form. More not hugely successful photographic attempts ensue, as I try to capture the smoke rings.

I climb round a grassy area to photograph some wild flowers. It is only on my way back past a barrier that I spot the sign that reads no admittance – oops. The whole regeneration concept of Eden appeals to me. It is sited in a former quarry, a legacy of the china clay trade. I would like to see a bit more of the history represented but the use of the site as a way of ‘promoting the understanding and responsible management of the vital relationship between plants, people and resources leading to a sustainable future for all’, is admirable. Being a former quarry, the site is decidedly slopey and we have done our fair share of walking up and down hills over the past few days. We decide to head back to the car, especially as there are black clouds looming. We wander up, we wander down. There are helpful signs directing us to various parts of the site. None seem to indicate the way out. Shades of Glendurgan once again; are we trapped here forever? It seems not and evetually we are on our way.

On our outward journey we passed through Luxulyan. I have Cornish ancestors; much of this part of my family history has had little attention for more than forty years but Luxulyan rings a bell. We stop off so I can take a quick photograph just in case. The rain comes to nothing and I take a look at my Cornish ancestry in preparation for a tour round some ancestral parishes in a few days’ time. I may have made a minor breakthrough.