Wet wet wet

It’s raining. We take the bus to Zennor. Mistakenly, we start the coastal path to St Ives. Within an hour we’re soaked, aborting through a field path to the road. Squelching on, we’re saved another few miles by a bus.

There’s one table left in the cafe and we take it. The toilet is big enough to change into dry clothes, but there’s nothing to be done about our socks and boots. Claire’s RNLI jacket is now proven to be porous. We buy a replacement.

The rain continues to fall. The streets are crowded with dispirited holidaymakers brandishing umbrellas. Galleries offer paintings of sunny seas.

A taxi takes us back to the Tinner’s Arms. We have a late (for us) tea and play cribbage, practicing sucking our gums.