Up country and down the Roseland peninsula to the other, the posh soft, St Just for lunch in the sub-tropical church yard and then a tranquil, soothing wander round to Messack Point and back.

Origami unfolding.

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Dragons tiptoeing into the stream.

dragon paddle
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Penny pies in a shambling Cornish hedge.

hedge pies
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What you lookin’ at? Come on then … think yerr ‘ard enough? A sort of Waitrose Rack of Lamb farm full of beautifully cared-for sheep, all with shaved arses like a maternity ward.

mother and child
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And finally to Messack Point itself looking across the Carrick Roads to Falmouth harbour.

fal trees
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With its own spontaneous, emergent art installation.

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And then back through the woods along the Fal.

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And a spectacularly crippled oak, broken-backed but still immensely powerful … positively majestic.

broke back oak
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The weather was sublime and I totally failed to catch the little pod of dolphins we saw, porpoising upstream on camera … bugger … ho hum.


face in stream
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Just a pebble in the brook … OK. Know how he feels.
Oh, to not live in interesting times.
Pareidolia: as in the Face on Mars or the Man in the Moon

The Desolation of Capital

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Spent the afternoon clambering around the post-apocalyptic scifi, giants’ legoland desolation of the St Just Mining District (a World Heritage Site).

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Must have been hell on earth as men delved far out under the sea, digging for tin, copper or whatever was profitable this week, and men women and children processed the stuff up on the cliffs above, smashing rocks and scraping arsenic with their bare hands … at the edge of the world … spending their lives making money for scum.

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And thankfully there have been no attempts to prettify or sanitise anything.

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It is hard and raw and grim and still wild and beautiful …

until it all disappeared into the gloaming and the fog.


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The other day I read someone’s photographs described as: “aggressively boring”. Liked that. Interesting. Weird.