Catch the 22.30 train from Chester to Crewe, then change to the 23.30 from Crewe to Par in Cornwall. Eventually find the no-smoking compartment. Settle down and relax. Nutter enters compartment, immediately lights fag, produces whisky bottle plus glass from flight bag. Starts talking. Claims to be Bob Dylan. Try to avoid eye contact. His life being filmed apparently.
"Hey, life's a film man, know what I mean?" A great start.
Saturday 4 September.
Arrive at Par station at 7 o'clock in the morning. The place is deserted. No pay phones or taxis. Start walking the five miles towards Fowey. Hills all the way. Sun beats down. No fun, as I am six months pregnant and carrying suitcases. Try hitching. Get lift 100 yards from farm gates. Kev states: "It's changed a bit since 1965." Book in. Caravan filthy. Fly colony in residence. Sleep.
Sunday 5 September.
No buses. Trudge to Fowey along country lanes. Beautiful - but wet, since it rains all day. Kev has toothache.
Monday 6 September.
Rains all day. Miss bus. Stagger miles to beach. Look at sea. Stagger back. Kev getting tetchy.
Tuesday 7 September.
Suggest dentist. Kev growls. Catch bus to nearest town. Visit chemist for aspirin. Rains all day. Agony in St Austell.
Wednesday 8 September.
Rains all day. Kev's toothache worse. Paroxysms in Plymouth.
Thursday 9 September.
Rains all day. Kev now silent. Misty-eyed in Mevagissey.
Friday 10 September.
Rain. Run out of aspirin. Kev gets drunk. Walk back to caravan site in dark. Piles in Polruan.
Saturday 11 September.
Homeward bound. Most miserable week of my life. Rows, cows, and toothache. Sun comes out. Consider divorce.
1997 - two children and 15 years later - still married. Never revisited Cornwall.Reuse content