Christmas by the coast

While it’s not quite shrimps on the beach, the coast was never far away this Christmas, some thirty degrees cooler but still as splendid. My time down in Plymouth was mostly spent eating but included a few forays on public transport to the sights of Devon and Cornwall. Prior to Christmas Day it seemed the whole country was shrouded in cloud with an easterly chill, the impeding closure of Woollies adding to the general doom and gloom, the novelty of a winter quickly disintegrating into a Dickensian bleakness. The gloom was slightly less doomy, brightened by the charming narrow streets of Polperro on the south coast of Cornwall, where I meandered and rambled from cobble to coast path to cream tea.

And so Christmas Eve was upon us and, after a visit to Aunty Pat’s, it was time to pop into town for one last look in the shops to make sure I had everything possible, including topping up on any missing food groups Mum had not already bought in copious quantity. Tagging along was Bethany meaning a visit to Toys R Us was included in the itinerary and exposure to the shameless money-grabbing cult of High School Musical. We’re in this together…

Christmas Day arrived and I think I had been a fairly good boy, receiving a few nice pressies to try and squish in my suitcase but, more importantly, receiving a warming, sumptuous Christmas feast with the family and more than making up for last year’s vegetarian Christmas dinner!



Following was a mass doze and hour upon hour of stupid soaps on TV… I think there were two dead bodies, a few punch ups and several flakes of snow in soapland but best of all was Peggy Mitchell expressing surprise that Christmas dinner didn’t turn out to be a “nice, relaxing time with the fairmly”. Honestly Peggy, even I, extradited in Australia know as early as July that your Christmas dinner is never going to be a simple, normal occasion.

On boxing day I kept up with tradition by eating more food and going up Argyle with sweets in the coat pocket for the soccer ball demonstration, in which the Argyles of Plymouth beat the old town of the South Hamptons by two points to love. The football triggered an epiphany in the skies as the clouds disappeared and were replaced with clear cold blues for the next few days, and I took advantage of this with a trip to Newquay to walk off some of the lard along the coast.

With the scarf, gloves and hat combo, the walk was quite warming along the cliff tops to Porth and then back again to the Headland for an early sunset. It’s quite a pleasant place in winter, devoid as it is of stag party chavs and holidaying hoons, more a place for a good stroll with the fairmly.



The next day took in more coastal landscapes as well as country cottages and cosy pubs, meeting me old mucker Georgina who I spent some time with in the early days of Canberra life. First up was Cockington for thatched cottages and log fires, and, importantly, the basis for Canberra’s number one tourist attraction, Cockington Green. The real thing was just like the model village and I felt just like one of the little wooden men coated in paint, trudging to the pub for a heavy lunch. Back in the real world, the cobwebs were well a truly blown away at a perishing cold Berry Head.

I have to say it was rather nice to get out, get some fresh air, but the cold really was off-putting, my time in Australia making me less hardened to easterly gales and freezing fog patches as I used to be. While Canberra has its frosts and winters it just doesn’t seem as cold as here… maybe it is the day upon day of near darkness and knowledge that there are at least three more months of this! Part of me feels jealous of those celebrating the festivities down under but there is something about a cold Christmas which feels right and, importantly, accentuates the warm, comforting, homely food, drink and good times with the fairmly, as I’m sure Peggy Mitchell knows.