Doin' it Dreckly

Hedluv and Passman in full swing

If you have read my previous entry, I'm sure you will be pleased to learn that with the assistance of travel sickness tablets and a much more benign sea, our return to the mainland from Jersey was far less traumatic than our outward crossing five days earlier. I'm going to reflect on our time in Jersey and the camping experience as a whole when Hannah and I return from phase 3 of our trip that is just about to begin. This entry will cover the short second leg of our West Country jaunt, our two days in Cornwall.

The reason for our visit was to attend the 80th birthday party of Rose, my artist aunt, who I wrote about back in January in my first Holidays of a Lifetime post.

Rose enjoying the Cornish rapping

Rose is a lovely, exuberant and very talented person and the warmth felt towards her by every one of the 100 guests who made their way from far and wide to the marquee set up in her garden in Botallack was clear for all to see. The sun duly shone throughout the afternoon and early evening and everyone present seemed to be having a fabulous time. Much alcohol was consumed, more by some than by others. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but rather than describe everything about the party I'm going to write about two aspects in particular.

The first concerns an Anglo-French diplomatic incident in the food serving area that I observed as I queued to fill my plate from the buffet. Chefs are well known for being temperamental and French chefs perhaps especially so. On this occasion the beautifully prepared salmon was taking an eternity to be served to the queuing guests by the Gallic gastronome and Bo, Rose's son and my cousin, understandably wanted to hurry things along and so started to divide up some of the remaining fish into individual portions. Hands on hips the chef downed his tools and stared scarily at Bo, who carried on cutting.

"Look at me" thundered the chef "Can't you see how angry I am?"

"I'm only trying to help," countered Bo, "the queue is moving too slowly."

"Do you understand why I'm angry?" continued the chef "Nobody interferes with my food."

"I'm Rose's son and you need to speed up" Bo replied, unfortunately without producing the desired effect.

"I don't care if you're the son of God", the chef interjected, "you don't touch my food!"

At which point Bo, having completed cutting all of the salmon, made a closing remark [censored] and stormed off. Avoiding the gaze of Mr Angry, I quickly collected my food and moved away. No blood was shed but there was a definite hint of menace in the air.

My other abiding memory will be the cabaret. Now, when you read on the invitation for an 80th birthday party that the afternoon's events will include cabaret, the kind of thing that comes to mind is perhaps a mature singer belting out covers of hits from the fifties and sixties. Or perhaps a scaled down version of the Glenn Miller Band. On the other hand, a pair of twenty something rappers probably wouldn't feature too highly in most peoples' expectations. But that is exactly what we got, and what's more they were absolutely astonishing and went down a treat. Rose had been to a Hedluv and Passman gig a couple of months ago, been bowled over by them, and - ever with a penchant for the unconventional - decided to book them for for her big day.

Their style was actually a mixture of singing, rapping and interesting microphone effects as they delivered their ironic and very funny slant of life in Cornwall and various other humorous topics. The lyrics were very clever and often accompanied by vigorous dancing and thrusting that added to the spectacle. Surreal in the extreme at times, their act had me crying with laughter more than once. Their signature number, 'Doin' it Dreckly' has a very catchy hook that is still going around in my head as I finish writing this entry nearly a week later, 'dreckly' being a Cornish dialect word loosely meaning 'later' in a similar way to how the Spanish use 'manana'. Hedluv and Passman's act is so unique, I'm not going to attempt to describe it in any more detail - you need to be there to appreciate it. If you're ever in Cornwall (or perhaps elsewhere as their fame spreads) and get the chance to see their act, take it without hesitation.

Our stay in Cornwall was very brief and unfortunately there was insufficient time on this occasion to return to our childhood beach at Nanjizal, which is now only reachable by a lengthy walk along the coastal path. It's a definite for next time though. We did have time for a quick visit to St Michael's Mount, though, making use of our National Trust membership to enjoy the well preserved castle at its peak and take in the lovely views over the ramparts.

More visitors crossing the causeway to St Michael's Mount

We weren't under canvas for this short section of our holiday, but stayed in one of the four bedrooms built out the back of the The North Inn in Pendeen, a small old fashioned no thrills pub that serves good beer and simple hearty food, including a great cooked breakfast. 

Accommodation at the North Inn Pendeen

Amongst the overnight guests for our second night were some Germans which brought about a vivid flashback to my schooldays thanks to the utterance, on a number of occasions, of the word 'Spiegelei', the German word for fried egg. Apart from having a wonderful resonance in its own right, Spiegelei was also the nickname awarded to my first German teacher at school, a very strict, bald as a coot, stern looking man with very small round wire glasses. So fixed in my memory is he as Spiegelei, I can't actually remember his real name, but he was an effective teacher for the inattentive and mischievous schoolboy I was at the time, and laid firm foundations for my learning of German which I subsequently went on to study successfully at A Level.

A colourful memory of this visit to the far reaches of Cornwall will be the vivid orange Montbretia that was in evidence all around, and in particular along the side of the narrow country lanes.

Montbretia and Heather beside the Pendeen Lighthouse

In the sunshine it looked amazing and complemented the gorgeous purple heather that was omnipresent on Botallack Moor to stunning effect. This part of Cornwall is very remote, and undoubtedly bleak at times, particularly in the winter but it is undeniably a beautiful part of the world.