Moaning All The Way West

When you make the move to Cornwall as an outsider, you commit to taking the long and arduous journey coming back from anywhere that isn’t in Cornwall, back to your house. There are no motorways in the county (it isn’t really wide enough for four lanes anyway) so it s dual carriageways all the way, and the odd detour through a sleepy oddly named town. Travelling down from Pompey yesterday we encountered more slow traffic than any sane human could tolerate baring in mind the minimum travel time you can expect for this journey is five hours. I know I’m guilty of indulging in the favourite British past time of complaining about traffic (it is also raining as I type this, with storm Katie still to blow through over the next few days…) but it wasn’t all that bad. Looking on the bright side, what better journey home than on coastal view country roads, through quaint villages decorated with pretty stonewall cottages nestled on top of hills and hidden in the winding valleys of little England, with not a cloud in site. Lovely.

Me and mama Poults had plenty to natter about since we were last together back in February for her birthday, and we were chinwagging all the way to Exeter.  A vegetable pastie and some overpriced maltesers from the services did much to refuel, but little to reenergise in preparation for our impending date with the Bodmin roadworks. Long story long, we got back around tea time and proceeded to crash in the lounge to the sounds of Ben Fogle getting a little too excited about whales than a man with a lengthy wildlife documentary career probably should. Sorry Ben, we know you’ve seen it all before.

It’s a blessing in disguise to have a change from living in a space where you’re not confined to just a bedroom and student-maintained kitchen. A relief from the cabin fever of university accommodation. My cosy cupboard with a single bed and a desk where I clatter away at this blog post is no luxury lad pad, but its warm’n snug and I like the  comfy vibe of my bedside lamp and the golden evening sun softly illuminating my slice of home. There’s also something about sleeping in your own bed, coming home to crisp fresh sheets that’s special too. On the other hand, this comfort is conflicted with the constant stress of failed to send message notifications and the eternities spent watching the buffering circle of doom when trying to stream anything over 240p quality YouTube video. I don’t understand how Cornwall can have a space-port while I have to get my family to turn off all their devices so I have enough bandwidth to upload a pixelated selfie to my Instagram. Catch up Cornwall! A friend jokingly suggested that the broadband here ran off power from the sea, and that this was the reason for my connection qualms. It would be quite the opposite case if wave power was the energy source, considering the surf you see in these parts!

I took a trip with the fam this evening to a restaurant called Hubbox in Truro. Think Truro-hubbox lightsdoes hipster Shoreditch coffee, expensive beer, and burgers. I arrived with high hopes for this place. From the large trendy font name outside, and the naked light bulbs hanging tastefully inside, dimly lighting a sea of cool and attractive mid to late twenty something’s. We tipped up at 6:20pm attempting to avoid the 7pm rush, nonetheless we were waiting a good half hour at the bar before we could take a pew in the less busy far left corner. I opted for the “I am a vegan” (I appreciate the tasteful vegan dig in the name) dish consisting of spicy sweetcorn, beetroot & chickpea fritters served in lettuce cups with charred pineapple salsa, with a side of hand-cut fries. Sounded like we were onto a winner. But as I’m sure you’ve guessed by my tone this was not so. The falafel balls arrived charred and worrying shade of black. I cut into them and was greeted by a appetising pink cross-section raiseing my hopes, only for them to crash back down in an overdone barbecue sort of way. I persevered for two balls and a handful of rather bland chips, but even mayo hubbox insidecouldn’t salvage the situation (not a proper vegan don’t judge) and could not stomach the third. I used to remaining falafel ball as evidence when I made a polite complaint to the waiter, whom was very gracious in their chefs defeat and offered to take the dish off the bill and a provide cappuccino on the house. I accepted their genuinely sincere apologies and would be willing to give them another chance in the future. I’m just that sorta guy you know. Notwithstanding, on this occasion Hubbox achieved no more than a 2/10. I’m sure this was just a one off as my brother had no complaints on his previous visit with some pals. No love lost for Hubbox.

And thus concludes my first 24 hours in Cornwall. Hopefully there can be a few beach days and coastal walks squeezed in-between the treacherous forthcoming storm. It would be criminal to miss out on some good hiking related blog content whilst in the west country. I’ll keep you posted.

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