Cornwall Part Three

Cornwall is a fairly magical place. If you’ve been, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s as if, once past Exeter, you begin to slip into a different world. In a lot of ways, it is a different world. For one thing, no Waitrose, which I believe means that civilisation ceases to exist? Anyway. It certainly feels like a different universe, compounded by the fact that dodgy 3G and WiFi signals conspire to entirely cut one off from the real world.

Predictably, for the first few days, I was sunk. ‘BUT I’VE GOT IMPORTANT EMAILS’ I nearly yelled, marching around the streets with my mobile brandished several feet above my head. And not just emails: during the first week, I spent a few days trudging backwards and forwards to the library (£1.80 per hour for internet access, the bloody crooks!) to complete some job applications. Both were exhaustive, one required me to print out everything and mail it off, and I also entered a writing competition. I wrote over 6000 words in about three days, nearly wept when the whole lot was finally packaged up and sent off, and got to know the librarian by her first name. Florence, in case you’re interested. Good name, eh?

Once my obligations were done with, and I’d slaked my lust for writing about the Samantha Brick saga, I began to unwind properly. I stopped missing London – although I couldn’t stop longing to be in my favourite park, St James’s, when it got sunny. What? They’ve got hilarious birds, lots of blossom, and the people-watching is excellent! Anywhoodle. I walked for hours every day, nearly fell off a cliff while pretending to be a Thomas Hardy/Jane Austen/Bronte heroine, ate a stupid amount of food, and slept amazingly well. And once again, as predicted, I went from itching to get home to really, really not wanting to leave.

People aren’t exaggerating when they talk about the different pace of life Cornish chaps and chapettes seem to work at. I chatted to a girl who has only ever been to London three times in her life. Three times. IN HER LIFE. My mind boggled. I’m not exactly an urban gorilla – I mean, I grew up and still live in Sussex, for god’s sake – but I tend to be up in town around two or three times a week. Three times in a lifetime? No wonder she was quite scared by the prospect of going to uni there! To many Cornish dwellers I spoke to, ‘London’ was like this totally unknown, bizarre concept.

Anyway, I’ve been wrenched back, and I feel unbelievably refreshed. I spoke before about having a creative/writer’s/general block, and how I couldn’t seem to get anything done. It’s cleared! Thank you Pastyland, you’ve worked a treat. Here are a few assorted photos of the wonderful place, and may I recommend you consider it for your next holiday?

I was just thinking – this is the 2012 equivalent of forcing someone to it through a slideshow of your holiday snaps, isn’t it?

Cornwall Part One

Hi darling readers!

In an attempt to redeem my blog from being the digital equivalent of an empty plain with tumbleweed blowing across it, I’ve fearlessly tracked down some rogue WiFi in a Cornish cafe, which is where you find me today. Oh, it’s been a lark, this week. Holidays! Lovely lovely hols. However, the precise timing of my long awaited vacation (I violently refuse to say the ghastly phrase ‘staycation’ thank you ever so much) has coincided with a bit of a rush time in terms of job application deadlines. Yes, I’m back in the game. That’s IN the game, not ON the game, in case you read that rather too quickly.

Is it insane to say I’m really enjoying applying for jobs? I haven’t needed to use my CV in over a year – the work I’ve got I’ve chatted my way in to, and I’ve been furiously busy creating my own opportunities. I’ve been enjoying it an awful lot, but I’m suddenly craving a bit of structure, because as previously discussed, I’m not too brillo pads with not having much to do. It started with Edinburgh Festival applications. I’m hoping this year to finally achieve my goal and get up to the Festival, a feat I didn’t manage during my English & Drama degree, or in years of doing productions. El failio, as the Mexicans say. So this is the year! Come hell or high water – and I hear that’s exactly what Scotland’s like in August – I’m going.

Rather luckily, the simple act of getting out of my house has turned me into a working MACHINE. I kind of knew it would. I desperately needed a change of environment, and a place where I wouldn’t get distracted by stuff around the house. I think I’ve pretty much turned something in every day, I’ve rejigged my CV, I’ve written some articles, done an exhaustive application for one of the Edinburgh venues (I imagine the process of relocating to another country is probably less complicated), and while I was at it, I’ve applied for a few proper jobs too. Essentially, I’ve been angling after a part time job to work my own freelancing/writing/creative faffing around, because I think it may well be time. I know what I want to do, and I’m confident that I’ve started to build a really decent portfolio of writing, and begun to find my ‘voice’ (pass the sick bucket?).

Anypoodles. Cornwall! Yes, that’s where I was! The lovely St Ives. I’ve been there a trillion, zillion times (approximate figure), and as such, I decided to do something different every single day, just to keep it interesting. I’ll do another post on all the new things I’ve been up to, but for now, I’ve just shoved in a few not particularly interesting pictures of when I was packing, because I thought it looked pretty and stuff.  And I’m an idiot hole who likes to abuse her expensive Canon camera with photos of rubbish stuff. Yeeeah. There’s a few photos of insane stuff I saw around Ivey Spivey, like the Smurfs. More pictures of actual St Ives to come!