Pros Travelblog - Day Ten - Saturday - Cornwall and Up
Sunday, 24 May 2009 07:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
byslantedlightSaturday was the saddest day, cos we left ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cheshirecity2 and started the long trek north... though we cheated and popped into just one or two more little proper Cornwall places first...
...like the Minack Theatre, which is absolutely gorgeous - can't you just picture MS and LC performing on that stage? Together? (Well, if you're gonne dream, dream big, right? *g*)
And actually there was a wee bit of Pros fic location there, because although we never did see The Scillonian, these plants made me think of the ones Bodie kept looking at in the Scillies in Island Innocents... *g*
On northwards then, although we passed this place...
Leaning his cycle against a large granite boulder, Bodie picked up his binoculars and strolled towards the makeshift bridge that crossed the stream at Cot Valley. Once across, he climbed the steep, grassy slope to the rocky outcrop which overlooked the incoming tide. Gazing out to sea through the glasses he made a mental note of the seabirds visible. Herring , Common and a solitary Great Black-Backed Gull and several Shags standing sentry on the rocks. Not exactly exciting.
He sighed deeply and sat heavily on a ledge. It was failing to inspire him this morning - this glorious coastline. Granted it was a dull day, but it had never mattered before; come rain, come shine, he had always found something here to interest him, but not for the past week. He knew he'd become listless, saw too that Mrs. Trembath was concerned, but had still not been able to stir himself into life.
He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back against the rock, looking out across the wide expanse of ocean. It seemed almost as sluggish as himself; no energy to create anything as grandiose as waves, it lapped indifferently against the shoreline.
Of course he knew what the problem was. He'd not been able to get a certain Mr. Doyle out of his head. Those strange eyes and that expressive mouth had firmly entrenched themselves into his subconscious, until little else occupied his thoughts. Was this love at first sight? It couldn't be. It took time to fall in love - real love - this had to be lust and the thought dismayed him. At thirty two he'd thought himself too mature for such shenanigans; a sensible, albeit light-hearted, adult should be. It appalled him to discover that he was just as susceptible as a callow youth, no matter how much he fought against it.
Well. Nothing doing here, nor up at the Cape for that matter. Ruefully he realised a legion of Roman Centurions could have marched past with Hadrian at their head, and he probably wouldn't have given them a second glance. A drink perhaps? The Star ought to be open by now. He glanced at his pocket-watch, almost twelve, perhaps a beer would lift his spirits.
Back at his bicycle, he dropped his binoculars into his saddlebag and began the long push to the top of the hill. Still trying, valiantly, to banish those eyes from his mind.
o0o
Pushing open the door, Bodie strolled into The Star's dark interior and approached the bar. Several men were already seated there, old codgers having a yarn, as the locals called it. Their version of a good gossip, as Bodie had discovered very soon after his arrival in the area. As he waited to be served, he could hear Old Will in full flow behind him.
"So this 'ere young curate, bit wet behind the ears like, looks at the drowned sailor on the beach and says to Granfer ' What is the procedure? ' And Granfer says, quick's a flash ' Sarch 'is pockets!' "
Old Will cackled delightedly and his companion laughed heartily in unison.
Bodie smiled to himself. These tales the locals enjoyed entertaining the rare tourist with were definitely to be taken with a pinch of salt. He wouldn't exactly have called them lies, but the idea was to elicit as many pints of beer out of the hapless victim as possible. This victim though, judging by his laughter, seemed to be enjoying himself hugely and Bodie turned to observe the man. His head snapped back immediately in horror. He fervently hoped the colour of his face was lost in the gloom; he was sure it must be scarlet.
Doyle. His heart was beating out a tattoo. The landlord approached and Bodie had to make a very rapid decision. Run? Or stay and brazen it out? "Good mornin' Mr. Bodie, what can I do for 'ee today 'en?"
The voices behind him had fallen silent and Bodie knew his name had been recognised. No use hoping otherwise, in a county full of 'Pens' and 'Tres', 'Bodie' stuck out like a sore thumb.
He steeled himself. "A pint of Cornish please, Tom."
On again, to Cape Cornwall...
And from there to Tintagel...
...and finally on to a bed and breakfast in the heart of Devon... *sighs sadly* Is there any Devon-lads fic? Can't think of any... Rediscovered in a Graveyard, perhaps? Still can't remember where that's set...
cheshirecity2 and started the long trek north... though we cheated and popped into just one or two more little proper Cornwall places first... ...like the Minack Theatre, which is absolutely gorgeous - can't you just picture MS and LC performing on that stage? Together? (Well, if you're gonne dream, dream big, right? *g*)
And actually there was a wee bit of Pros fic location there, because although we never did see The Scillonian, these plants made me think of the ones Bodie kept looking at in the Scillies in Island Innocents... *g*
On northwards then, although we passed this place...
Leaning his cycle against a large granite boulder, Bodie picked up his binoculars and strolled towards the makeshift bridge that crossed the stream at Cot Valley. Once across, he climbed the steep, grassy slope to the rocky outcrop which overlooked the incoming tide. Gazing out to sea through the glasses he made a mental note of the seabirds visible. Herring , Common and a solitary Great Black-Backed Gull and several Shags standing sentry on the rocks. Not exactly exciting.
He sighed deeply and sat heavily on a ledge. It was failing to inspire him this morning - this glorious coastline. Granted it was a dull day, but it had never mattered before; come rain, come shine, he had always found something here to interest him, but not for the past week. He knew he'd become listless, saw too that Mrs. Trembath was concerned, but had still not been able to stir himself into life.
He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back against the rock, looking out across the wide expanse of ocean. It seemed almost as sluggish as himself; no energy to create anything as grandiose as waves, it lapped indifferently against the shoreline.
Of course he knew what the problem was. He'd not been able to get a certain Mr. Doyle out of his head. Those strange eyes and that expressive mouth had firmly entrenched themselves into his subconscious, until little else occupied his thoughts. Was this love at first sight? It couldn't be. It took time to fall in love - real love - this had to be lust and the thought dismayed him. At thirty two he'd thought himself too mature for such shenanigans; a sensible, albeit light-hearted, adult should be. It appalled him to discover that he was just as susceptible as a callow youth, no matter how much he fought against it.
Well. Nothing doing here, nor up at the Cape for that matter. Ruefully he realised a legion of Roman Centurions could have marched past with Hadrian at their head, and he probably wouldn't have given them a second glance. A drink perhaps? The Star ought to be open by now. He glanced at his pocket-watch, almost twelve, perhaps a beer would lift his spirits.
Back at his bicycle, he dropped his binoculars into his saddlebag and began the long push to the top of the hill. Still trying, valiantly, to banish those eyes from his mind.
Pushing open the door, Bodie strolled into The Star's dark interior and approached the bar. Several men were already seated there, old codgers having a yarn, as the locals called it. Their version of a good gossip, as Bodie had discovered very soon after his arrival in the area. As he waited to be served, he could hear Old Will in full flow behind him.
"So this 'ere young curate, bit wet behind the ears like, looks at the drowned sailor on the beach and says to Granfer ' What is the procedure? ' And Granfer says, quick's a flash ' Sarch 'is pockets!' "
Old Will cackled delightedly and his companion laughed heartily in unison.
Bodie smiled to himself. These tales the locals enjoyed entertaining the rare tourist with were definitely to be taken with a pinch of salt. He wouldn't exactly have called them lies, but the idea was to elicit as many pints of beer out of the hapless victim as possible. This victim though, judging by his laughter, seemed to be enjoying himself hugely and Bodie turned to observe the man. His head snapped back immediately in horror. He fervently hoped the colour of his face was lost in the gloom; he was sure it must be scarlet.
Doyle. His heart was beating out a tattoo. The landlord approached and Bodie had to make a very rapid decision. Run? Or stay and brazen it out? "Good mornin' Mr. Bodie, what can I do for 'ee today 'en?"
The voices behind him had fallen silent and Bodie knew his name had been recognised. No use hoping otherwise, in a county full of 'Pens' and 'Tres', 'Bodie' stuck out like a sore thumb.
He steeled himself. "A pint of Cornish please, Tom."
On again, to Cape Cornwall...
And from there to Tintagel...
...and finally on to a bed and breakfast in the heart of Devon... *sighs sadly* Is there any Devon-lads fic? Can't think of any... Rediscovered in a Graveyard, perhaps? Still can't remember where that's set...
