All good things must come to an end. *sigh*
I have more to write about my week, but for today as I make my return journey to London, I’ll just pay homage to the charming B&B that I called home the last five nights.
This is the heart of Daphne du Maurier country, which was no coincidence when I planned this trip. In the posts to follow, I’ll document my literary pilgrimage of sorts.
But for now, I heave another *sigh* in departing this peaceful region where the farmland meets the sea, the air doesn’t turn my snot grey, and strangers actually reciprocate friendly smiles and hellos. (Gasp! Can you imagine that, Londoners?! Looking up from the pavement and breaking through your barriers of fear and preoccupation to meet someone’s eye?! The horror…the horror…). Home-made and jarred marmalade, crisp vegetables straight from the local earth, and eggs straight from the local chickens’ va-jay-jays, purchased on the honor system at the end of a farmer’s driveway. Coastal paths with something new around every bend and questionable signage that lets you get good and lost a few times in the fields and woods, all in the spirit of things.
Cornwall agrees with me.
And my hosts have been most gracious, making me feel part of one big happy household, complete with Tilly the Terrier and the more elusive Barney the Cat and Charles the Chihuahua. Even a pair of other guests nearly brought me to tears (I’m serious) with their pure and utter loveliness. So blessed. So happy. So coming back.