*This event took place prior to social-distancing being introduced in the UK
Due to the potential impact of Covid-19 on our range of oven-ready Chinese meals, in particular the “Wuhan Special”, it was axiomatic that a Director’s meeting should be convened post-haste at the usual venue of Perranporth. Unfortunately, Jurgen was unavailable but myself and Geoffrey would be joined by the noble Earl of Longfield (Sir Ian), who would make the perilous journey from south coast to north coast, stopping only to partake in refreshments at the Railway Tavern. As usual, his commitment to the cause is unwavering.
The meeting commenced in St Agnes with a guided tour of Chez Geoffrey, including the novelty of a swimming pool in the garage. Setting out for our destination, we soon reached the old cemetery where we encountered a group of local women and their canines who were keen to discuss Geoffrey’s plans for the day. It was only then that I realised that he’d actually reached cult (I think that’s how it’s spelt) status in St Agnes. If I had a cap, I would most certainly have doffed it. The woman somehow assumed that alcohol would feature during the day and bid us a fond adieu.
We walked down to beautiful, rugged Trevellas, up onto the cliff path and onwards towards Perranporth, passing the remains of an old RAF airfield that was home to the last operational Spitfire squadron. Conditions were wet underfoot and, at this stage, the precipitation began. Fortunately, we were in the vicinity of Cligga Quarry so were able to utilise an old building as shelter. The floor was covered in condoms, bags of dog faeces and empty crisp packets – I really must ensure I empty my pockets BEFORE I go out next time.
The rain abated so we continued on our journey, passing a dog-walker along the way. Approaching Droskyn, eagle-eyed Geoffrey spotted a mobile phone lying on the coastpath. He made it his raison d’etre to establish who owned the phone and return it to its owner. Geoffrey was able to contact a friend of the owner, whose phone number was in the phone case, and ascertained that the owner was, in fact, the dog walker that we had passed sometime earlier. It was agreed that the phone would be deposited behind the bar at the Green Parrot for the owner to collect – however, in the interim, Geoffrey was able to call family & friends in Australia, order take-away pizzas and buy some love beads from Pervs R Us for Sir Ian (with free delivery).
Having arrived in Perranporth we headed immediately to the Green Parrot in order to deposit the mobile phone. We decided it prudent to rehydrate so sat in the busy premises awaiting Sir Ian’s arrival. Following an exchange of text messages, the noble Earl arrived but despite frantic semaphore signalling towards him, he seemed unable to identify our location. After eventually joining us, the conversation soon turned to the important issues of the day, such as the cost & abv of alcohol. Further sustenance was required and Geoffrey was keen to attend to our needs. However, on his return to the table he was followed by an irate Mancunian who accused him of stealing his pint off the bar. First there was a Mexican standoff, followed by Geoffrey returning to the bar to ascertain the legitimacy of the gentleman’s complaint. It transpires that our friend from Manchester was perfectly correct and Geoffrey had, in fact, removed the man’s pint from the bar without permission, believing it to be his own. However, it ended rather amicably with the pair becoming ‘blood brothers’ for life.
Following further imbibition, we decided to adjourn to another licensed premises. However, on alighting from the premises, we found a heavy precipitation in progress. We therefore targeted the nearest establishment, The Deck. On arrival, we could see that it was ‘changeover’ time between the afternoon and evening shifts and the place was very busy. Fortunately, three patrons sitting at the bar obviously realised that we were ‘players’ from out of town so they vacated their seats in order that we could sit down – obviously our reputations had travelled before us.
We always enjoy our visits to The Deck as the entertainment is first class. The unfortunate thing about it is that the clientele has little idea of the joy they give to their audience. During this visit, the remnants of the afternoon shift seemed to be performing their own version of Strictly Come Dancing. Entertainment of the highest order.
As always, the meeting came to a close all too soon and it was time to return to ‘normality’. Unfortunately, our next get-together is likely to be some time away so, in the meantime, everyone please staff safe.
With the Government obtaining an extension to the deadline for leaving the EU, the directors felt it essential to convene an emergency Board meeting to consider the economic viability of opening a chain of beach bars in Slovakia and investing in a proposed ski resort on the Algarve.
It was unanimously agreed that the location for the meeting would be St Ives, the Davos of Cornwall, where liquid refreshment would be readily available.
I arrived at Penmere Station to find the Earl of Longfield engrossed in his newspaper and doubtless extremely concerned about the overnight collapse of share prices on the Hang Seng. My own concerns centred on whether I could avoid accidental bowel evacuation before reaching the relative safety of a depository.
The journey was unusually straightforward and punctual. Along the way, we picked up fellow directors Geoffrey and Simon and purchased our tickets from the guard who seemed shocked, nay nonplussed, that such a fine group of homo sapiens could be in possession of ‘senior’ Railcards. The look on her face clearly said “I didn’t realise Westlife had reformed”!
On arrival at St Ives, our in/out referendum was clearly won by the ‘in’ side (meaning that we would begin our deliberations ‘in’ the Three Ferrets). We were greeted with bonhomie by the barmaid before partaking of the amber nectar and tucking into Easter eggs sitting invitingly on the bar. We decided to remain by the bar in order that the daytime drinking clientele could benefit from our wit and wisdom.
We decided that an adjournment was required and the Earl, our guide, was keen for us to visit some of the previously unsampled delights so we set up base camp in the lounge bar of the Golden Lion. There were a small number of customers in residence but it was difficult to ascertain whether they were humans or manikins, such was the lack of emotion. The Earl had clearly been rehearsing his ‘one liners’ and was in full flow when a mouthful of beer went down the ‘wrong way’ culminating in it reappearing and being deposited on the table and floor – something you’ll never witness Michael McIntrye doing!
The Rum & Crab Shack, one of our regular haunts, was next on our agenda. We sat looking our over the harbour and continued our machinations on the state of the world, with particular reference to the cost of alcohol. At various times, various people came and sat adjacent to our location but seemed to move away quite quickly. This may have been due to our in-depth highbrow discussion or possibly excessive and decibel-enhanced use of various Anglo Saxon expressions.
Our next port of call provoked some discussion. We decided to visit the Upper Deck, another of our long-standing favourites, for some al-fresco quaffing despite a strong breeze circulating. Between our arrival and receiving our alcohol, we’d moved to four different tables, which confused the server immensely. It was sufficiently cold that it felt somewhat like approaching the summit of Anapurna. There was only one thing for it – an in/out referendum. ‘In’ was the overwhelming winner and we therefore de-camped to relative warmth.
From here, the Earl wanted to introduce us to another recommended establishment but, upon arrival, we were deeply concerned to find nothing but an alleyway full of refuse bins. After an expedition into the back of beyond, the Earl found a small entrance that opened into the Pilchard Press. This seemed like an atmospheric, cellar-type place specialising in real ales, cider etc and appeared to be inhabited by the inteligencia and members of the middle class. The Earl chose his alcohol but our requirement to be furnished with lager seemed to be greeted with astonishment and I’m sure I heard the word “plebs” being muttered. Nevertheless, a nice edition to our portfolio.
Onwards and upwards – this time it was back the Three Ferrets, with a stop en route for my colleagues to avail themselves of sausage and chips but I held to the maxim that ‘eating is cheating’. On arrival, the barmaid, clearly impressed at our stamina, uttered “Jeez, are you lot still on it?” A remark received with the same incredulity that it was given.
It was soon time to put ourselves into the care and compassion of Great Western Railway for the return travail back to civilization. It was a punctual and largely unremarkable journey, except for the final leg where we sat adjacent to a young student returning to University after the Easter break. She did her absolute best to ignore us and maintain her composure in the face of some burbling conversations but was unable to contain a smile & guffaw on several occasions. The People’s Republic of Peranwell beckoned for Geoffrey and Simon before the Earl and I alighted at Penmere. Until next time……..
Following the failure of the Prime Ministers “Meaningful Vote”, the directors felt it incumbent upon ourselves to hold an emergency meeting to find a way through the current impasse.
It was decided that the venue would be Perranporth, the Davos of the North Coast and a much sought after venue for high-level meetings such as this.
Unfortunately, neither Simon or the Earl of Longfield were available so the tough decisions would have to be taken by Geoffrey and myself. In fact, the Earl was on company business in Thailand where he was opening our first franchise called “Me Love You Long Time”. As the name suggests this is our attempt to get into the wedding anniversary card market in Bangkok.
We commenced our journey to Perranporth with an invigorating 5 mile stank from St Agnes. On climbing the steep cliff out of Trevellas, we were somewhat surprised to be overtaken by a well-equipped (in the hiking sense) gentleman of considerably advanced years who bade us a cheery adieu, only to overtake us on several more occasions. We couldn’t work out how he managed this. Our inadequacy was compounded when we were walking down a steep, slippery and muddy scree slope only to be passed by a lady walking a very large dog and with a baby strapped to her chest. She also overtook us on several occasions. It seems our fitness levels are not as they were.
On arrival, our first Meaningful vote decided that we would commence our negotiations in The Deck. We were able to find seating in what can be described as the Remand Wing, where we could view what appeared to be shift changes. We saw the afternoon shift leave and the tea-time shift arrive. As we left, the tea-time/early-evening changeover was occuring.
We then adjourned to the Green Parrot in order to consider whether WTO terms would mean alcohol would be cheaper or more expensive. During deliberations we decided that input should be sought from the Earl of Longfield, an expert in the field. Being 2.25am in Thailand we knew that the Earl would be only too pleased to give his input so Geoffrey sent a “selfie” but, unfortunately, our requests went unanswered. Presumably our esteemed colleague was otherwise engaged.
Our next Meaningful Vote culminated in a visit to the Perranporth Inn. On nearing the establishment we saw a crowd gathered outside on the pavement. We presumed that our visit had been advertised in advance and that this was a welcoming committee. Alas, we were incorrect – it seems that it was purely a number of people requiring a simultaneous nicotine “fix”.
Undeterred, we entered the premises to continue imbibing alcohol. #lagermeanslager was, after all, our slogan of the day. Having felt the need to utilise the lavatorial facilities, I felt it appropriate to break the habit of the lifetime and wash my hands afterwards. A decision I came to regret.
The washing facilities appeared to contain a nozzle without any method of turning the water on/off. I struggled with the concept for some minutes before being joined at the facility by a fellow urinator. I explained my predicament but it was immediately obvious that his English was as extensive as my Lithuanian. After much gesticulating, the gentleman undertook an examination of the nozzle which resulted in him being drenched with water. Such is life.
I felt that an extension of Article 50 (ie drinking time) was necessary but, unfortunately, this was refused by our chauffeuse and we had to go home.
Can’t wait for the next board meeting.
Due to the recent adverse publicity regarding street drinking and drugs in Penzance, we decided this would be the ideal location for our quarterly board meeting.
Buoyed by the prospect ahead, Sir Ian and myself boarded the train at Penmere to commence our journey. The quorum was achieved when we reached the People’s Republic of Peranwell, where Geoffrey and Simon joined us. The train guard was highly amused by the number of Senior Citizens Railcards on display (yours truly excepted) and seemed determined to announce it in a very high level of decibels to all other passengers on board, much to the chagrin of my fellow directors.
At Truro, our connection to Penzance turned out to be one of GWR’s much vaunted new trains. Comfort was obviously not uppermost in the mind of the designers, as the seats felt like one’s posterior was positioned on a cheese grater (so I’ve been told). It also appeared that the guard was unlikely to be appearing on Live at the Apollo in the foreseeable future.
On alighting at Penzance, we were greeted by a precipitation so unanimously decided that sightseeing & photography was off the agenda. We therefore moved a motion to convene at a nearby local hostelry. Sir Ian, somewhat of a ‘spoons aficionado, suggested that our meeting should commence at the Tremenheere.
On arrival, we were astounded by the number of patrons inside. Only one table was free, from which we were able to pontificate about the important issues of the day. We were incredulous to understand why the Government spent two years negotiating #brexit, when we were able to resolve the contentious issues within 5 minutes. Along the way, we also came up with an appropriate soundbite for the day – #lagermeanslager. We were, however, unable to comprehend the reason why there were so many drinkers on a wet Monday at the beginning of December. One of life’s unsolved mysteries.
From there, we adjourned to another location. Having agreed that it would be rude to walk past a pub and not allow them to benefit from our custom and sparkling repartee, we entered the White Lion (which had recently been the recipient of a drugs raid from the Police). Having purchased our beverages we sat down, only for mine hostess to exclaim to someone at the other of the pub “all I seem to have done for the past few days is serve tossers!” After hearing our remonstrations, she insisted that we weren’t the target of her ire – the jury is still out. Prior to our departure, I felt the need to utilise the facilities. However, I wasn’t prepared for what I encountered, which appeared to resemble a prison cell. It looked like something from a film set – Papillon, The Count of Monte Cristo or Colditz springs to mind. Either way, no-one was going to break in or out.
Having bid adieu, Sir Ian (our guide) escorted us through a maze of backstreets and into the emporium known as the Seven Stars. Upon arrival, we were greeted by a small number of patrons who appeared to have been in residence for some time & seemed to be welded to their bar stools. “Boys day out is it?” and “Where you from, uh?” were the greetings. After we satisfied the customers & staff of our origins, we were accepted with much hospitality and bon homme. We were encouraged to avail ourselves of the free pool table and set about playing with much gusto but little skill or ability. One elderly patron, resplendent in a 3-piece suit, obviously doubled as an Elvis impersonator and provided excellent entertainment by belting out any number of Elvis ‘classics’.
Once again it was time to adjourn elsewhere so we decided to head to the top of Causewayhead and pay homage at the Farmers Arms. We were greeted outside the establishment by mine host who seemed rather disgruntled that service was required before he had completed his nicotine fix. Once inside, Sir Ian set about ordering the requisite refreshments but the available selection was wide and it proved to be somewhat onerous to choose the appropriate alcohol. At one stage, a punter enquired as to how many of us there were. When we apprised him that there were 4 of us, he was somewhat confused as to why we’d ordered 14 pints. His erstwhile drinking partner disgracefully assumed we were on a ‘stag do’ – what gave that impression remains a mystery.
We then decided to retrace our steps, which meant another visit to the Seven Stars. The same people seemed still to be in residence, including ‘Elvis’. After a brief interlude, the lure of the pool table proved too strong and we took up the cudgels once again. There was plenty of good music (& Elvis) and even some flashing disco lights. Proceedings became surreal, whereby the four directors were sashaying around the pool table belting out renditions of “Return to Sender”, “Hound Dog”, “All Shook Up” and many others. I think we stumbled upon a little gem!
A further visit to the White Lion to consider ‘any other business’ was required. After collecting our refreshments, we sat quietly in the corner for further pontification and were soon joined by a gentleman who seemed to have landed from a parallel universe. He was totally phased that we had arrived in the establishment before him – even though we’d never met him before. Very strange.
We soon realised that we were in danger of missing our train so we therefore hastily consumed our alcohol and headed for the station. Unfortunately, there was no time to stop and purchase large portions of pommes frites so, without the food of the Gods, the directors went hungry.
After changing trains at Truro, we met a comedian on his way to do a gig at Toast in Falmouth – I rather suspect that we were the hardest audience he’d had in a while.
All-in-all, another successful board meeting and Penzance was an excellent choice of location. It’s rather a pity that there aren’t a few more ‘real’ hostelries in Falmouth & a few less ostentatious ones.
The scheduled board meeting took place at Perranporth, a familiar location, on Thursday with a view to finalising our strategy to launch a coup d’état in the Peoples Republic of Perranwell. Three of the directors felt that their best form of inspiration came through imbibing copious amounts of alcohol and therefore arranged to rendezvous at St Agnes, in order to walk the cliffs across to Perranporth, thus working up an appropriate thirst. The fourth director, the Earl of Longfield, repeatedly reminded the board that he had been an alcohol-free zone for 6 weeks and therefore felt that sufficient thirst had already been ‘worked-up’ without the necessity of a stank so would meet us in the boardroom instead.
On departure from St Agnes, the sun disappeared and was replaced by grey skies and, on two occasions, some condensed moisture falling from the sky. We occasionally intertwined with a group of people on a walking holiday who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. However, the gentleman bringing up the rear seemed extremely concerned as to whether there was any method of obtaining alcoholic sustenance in Perranporth. After being assured that there was, he went merrily on his way.
By the time we approached Perranporth, blue skies & sunshine had reappeared and we headed down to meet the Earl. We arrived simultaneously so headed off to the boardroom in the Green Parrot to commence our meeting.
Our first agenda item was a comprehensive discussion to analyse where England went wrong at the World Cup. It’s amazing what can be achieved if you get the brightest and best together, as we completed this task thoroughly and effectively in less than 20 minutes. Our findings and action plan will be communicated to the FA and Gareth Southgate in due course, together with our consultancy fee invoice.
In order to make best of use of the ambient conditions, we adjourned to The Upper Deck. This is one of our favourite establishments where a warm welcome can be guaranteed from the clientele that always seem to resemble the inhabitants of the Remand Wing of our local prison. A good time was, once again, had by all.
We were able to discuss the benefits of Brexit & racism but when it cam to a discussion on sadism, necrophilia & bestiality it felt very much like flogging a dead horse.
The Seiners Arms was our next port of call. On our previous visit this hostelry had a pleasing laid-back atmosphere, conducive to chewing the cud. Unfortunately, as we’d landed in the middle of summer, the pub had been transformed into a large dining area so instead we sat outside overlooking the beach but, unfortunately, out of the sun’s rays. Two of my fellow directors then saw, from a distance, a former co-worker of theirs. They gesticulated towards the person and offered a warm greeting, quickly followed by advising the remaining directors “that bloke is a ****”. The minutes of the meeting will reflect that these two directors had more faces than the Town Hall clock.
We were then joined by the said co-worker, who put on a performance of such unintended comedic hilarity that the meeting had to be adjourned for a mirth break in order for us to regain some composure.
The final part of the agenda was concluded at the Perranporth Inn. This is normally a quiet & relaxing venue but, on this occasion, was awash with holidaying Sheffield Wednesday supporters, complete with replica football shirts, watching their team on several large-screen TV’s.
By this time, two of the directors felt the need for solid sustenance rather than liquid refreshment and set off in search of their El Dorado. They returned sometime later chip-less and slightly disgruntled. After fully re-fuelling we set off to rendezvous with our chauffeuse and a return to ‘normality’.
Here’s to the next one………
After a lengthy absence, a long overdue director’s meeting was called yesterday at the heart of the global business capital, Perranporth.
I met Geoffrey in St Agnes and we had an exceptionally agreeable stank across the cliffs to our meeting location. En route, amidst glorious sunshine, we were able to sort out a number of issues such as the war in Syria, the Salisbury nerve agent attack, racism, anti-Semitism, Brexit and the malaise of the England football team, before turning our attention to more serious matters of state like that knob-head (Ant or Dec, don’t know which is which) who’s just been banned from driving. Our deliberations were occasionally interrupted by communication from the Earl of Longfield, who had arrived at base-camp ahead of time and was demanding to know our location.
When we arrived in Perranporth, we were met by the Earl with the traditional greeting of “Where the **** have you ***** been?”. We headed straight to the meeting venue, The Deck, and were aghast to find that it appeared that ‘spoons had been closed and their clientele had transhipped across the road to The Deck. Their demeanour seemed to vary between ‘pissed’ and ‘very pissed’ but there was no shortage of bonhomie and we sat out on the balcony to enjoy the sunshine and imbibe our alcohol.
We then felt it necessary to carry out an investigation into the ‘spoons ‘mystery’ so went across the road to find out. Fortunately, the establishment was open as usual and was quite busy, albeit not with the traditional ‘spoons customers. Geoffrey had the added bonus of having a beer glass that had a life of its own and seemed to be rocking all by itself – perhaps it was haunted?
On previous visits we’d neglected to afford the benefit of our wisdom & experience to the patrons and staff of The Seiners so we felt duty bound to correct that oversight. There was a good atmosphere inside and we settled into comfy armchairs to put the world to rights. It was obvious right from the outset that everyone on the premises were hanging on our every word. That’s one of the things that accompanies being considered as some of the worlds foremost thinkers (at least, I think the word is ‘thinkers’!).
It was dusk when we left The Seiners and the tide had come in, which made for a very picturesque scene. Having soaked up the ambiance, we moved on to the Perranporth Inn for further alcoholic sustenance. We sat, once again, in comfy armchairs to consider the issues of the day, occasionally glancing at the ‘big screen’ which was showing a pile of shite, masquerading as a Premier League football match. There was a steady throughput of customers but it seemed that we’d ventured in on a ‘Phil Mitchell lookalike night’ as we were the only patrons with (various degrees of) hair.
We received communication from our chauffeuse to say she had arrived at the rendezvous point so we ‘necked’ our drinks and headed out to the car. On arrival, the vehicle was present but no sign of the driver. Fortunately, she eventually reappeared explaining that she “just nipped to the shop”. We then headed back to our homes, agreeing that a good time had been had by all. Arrangements are in hand for an Extraordinary General Meeting to be held at St Ives at the beginning of June.
With an extraordinary general meeting of the board being hastily arranged to discuss the fallout from the recent general election and to consider a disciplinary offence against a fellow director, I boarded the train, in company with the recently ennobled Earl of St Ives, and headed for the meeting place. Along the way, we were joined by the remaining directors and placed ourselves in the hands of the Great Western Railway to get us to St Ives at the appropriate hour. Unusually, we were not to be disappointed – the Orient Express it was not but we arrived in one piece & on schedule.
On alighting, the station car park was exceptionally busy and I drew the inescapable conclusion that the Road Traffic Act 1988 had been amended to include the provision that ******* driving personalised-plate Chelsea Tractors were now able to park wheresoever they deemed fit, irrespective of inconvenience caused to others – personally I blame Brexit!
We proceeded, post-haste, to our boardroom (otherwise known as The Three Ferrets) in order to take sustenance on board prior to the meeting. We were greeted with traditional bon homme and a cheery “day out is it boys?” from mine hostess. It was difficult to know whether she thought we were some form of “Last of the Summer Wine” outfit or thought we were on day release from an institution, rather than a group of high-powered, go-getting entrepreneurs.
After suitable refreshment and reaching the inevitable conclusion that all politicians are a bunch of *******, we adjourned to the laid-back surroundings of the Rum & Crab Shack – a particular favourite of the directors. Here, we had to undertake a disciplinary hearing against one of the fellow directors. It appeared that the person in question had betrayed the trust of the other directors by working part-time for a well-known national courier/delivery firm. Neither the company or the individual, who will be called “Frank Ifield” for the benefit of this report, can be named due to legal reasons. “Frank” insisted that this was only to be a short-term arrangement and, in mitigation, stated that the company training was so comprehensive that he had recently broken Steve Backley’s British javelin record when he managed to launch a parcel marked “Fragile” over 90 metres. With this in mind, we decided to take no further action.
After quaffing more effervescent liquid, carefully selected by our Treasurer (the Earl of St Ives), based on the criteria of taste, strength & cost, we further adjourned to the Upper Deck to discuss ‘any other business’.
On first inspection, it appeared that all the tables at this alfresco location were taken but our ‘spotter’ Simon, soon found a temporary refuge and we were soon able to relocate to a more suitable table overlooking the harbour and in direct line of the sun. It was here that we were astounded to hear that the Earl of St Ives was now a pensioner. I’m sure he hadn’t mentioned it on more than 30 occasions throughout the day. It was also noted that “Frank” was shortly due to become a pensioner & it was agreed that a board meeting would be appropriate to celebrate the achievement. The only pre-requisite for the location was that copious amounts of alcohol MUST be available.
All too soon it was time to return to the care & comfort of the Great Western Railway. Prior to returning to the station, the directors agreed on the need for a ‘comfort break’ and chips! This is where the Earl of St Ives came into his own. Knowing every urinal & chip shop in St Ives certainly has its advantages. His fellow directors were mesmerised with his detailed knowledge of such things.
The trains, once again, ran to time and we were returned, safe & sound, to the south coast at approximately 8:30pm. The only thing of note on the return journey being the Earl of St Ives inability to comply with the rules & regulations at St Erth Station (see photo).
A hastily arranged Board meeting was convened yesterday in Penzance, in order to contemplate the vexed issue of whether our beautiful county can possibly absorb any more refugees coming from England.
I met my fellow directors, Geoffrey & Sir Ian (Baron Longfield) at Penmere & we began our journey to Penzance via Truro. Confidence was high that our connection would be delayed at Truro & we weren’t disappointed. The chirpy announcer told us that the delay had occurred because of “animals on the line at Castle Cary” which, I think, is number 397c in the First Great Western book of excuses.
The train duly arrived & the remainder of the journey was uneventful. We alighted at the nations most southerly & westerly station where we were greeted by a guard of honour composed of chavs & chavesses, obviously on leave from one of our great educational establishments.
Due to the stunning weather, we decided to commence our meeting with a stank along the promenade to the fishing port of Newlyn & back. The smell emanating from the fish market was reminiscent of a Saturday night at Club International.
On heading back into Penzance, it was decided to continue deliberations with a visit to the Yacht Inn. When we arrived, the place was more akin to the “Marie Celeste” with no apparent human habitation. We therefore decided to seek solace elsewhere & Sir Ian led us through the back streets until we arrived at our Shangri-La – or Wetherspoons as it is known.
Sir Ian undertook a detailed perusal of the beer menu before selecting his alcohol of choice & we then sat for a moment of quiet reflection. The establishment was busy but, in all candour, there was more atmosphere on the moon. The necessity to use the facilities quietly crept up on me but they were some distance away. By the time I reached the toilets it seemed as if I had walked back as far as Newlyn. Upon return, I’m sure I had blisters on my feet that weren’t there when I started.
From ‘spoons, we adjourned to the nearest alcohol emporium, The White Lion, where we were greeted by stares from the mostly young patrons inside. This was a traditional pub, our server had a very pleasant disposition & the music was excellent. However, it did seem rather odd that the young punters frequently disappeared “out the back” to return sometime later with eyes bulging & very distant looks on their faces! Our receptacle replenisher informed us that this was a “quiet” day but when the fishing fleet is in port, things can “kick off” on a Monday. Your correspondent & fellow directors excluded, there was only one elder patron in the establishment, who appeared to find his way from seat to bar by use of a GPS system – very bizarre.
Sir Ian then marched us up to the top of Causewayhead & into the Farmers Arms. This was another traditional beer house, with a small number of regulars sitting up at the bar. We received the knowing “they’ve been on it all day” looks & we were served by mine host who had more than a passing resemblance to The Royal Family’s “Jim”, but without the charisma & panache.
After finishing our drinks, Sir Ian led us through the streets to the Crown Inn. Although it was Halloween, it was difficult to distinguish who was wearing fancy dress & who wasn’t! We arrived at our destination but, unfortunately, the volume of alcohol had got the better of Geoffrey & he decided to order a short (probably Dubonnet & lemonade or something of that ilk) much to our chagrin.
By this time, we were due to be reunited with First Great Western so made our way back to the station. Shock! Horror! The train was on time so we boarded & Sir Ian took the opportunity to suspend consciousness for a few minutes. We arrived back in Falmouth where Sir Ian & Geoffrey were devastated to discover that Penmere chippy had closed for the night. It seemed that their only course of action to gain some sustenance on the way home would be “Trick or Treat”………
All in all, another good day with a tick in the box for Penzance. Very different from other places that we’ve graced with our presence & certainly a different ‘vibe’ from Falmouth but still OK. Roll on our staff Christmas outing!
On a magnificent Cornish October day, our board meeting was convened in St Agnes & was undertaken whilst walking amongst the scenic beauty of Coronation Walk, Trevaunance Cove, Trevellas, climbing the path along to Cligga Cliffs, passing the remnants of RAF Perranporth (the last base to host an operational Spitfire squadron) & the remains of copper & tin mine workings along the coast before sighting the golden sands of Perranporth.
Stunning, rugged, beautiful, alluring, enthralling, dazzling, glorious, breathtaking – just a few of the words never used to describe my fellow director Geoffrey or myself but words that don’t do justice to this incredible stretch of coastline – it is simply awesome!
Along the way, Geoffrey & I pondered whether #Brexit means #Brexit, whether #Brexit means metamorphosis or could it even mean that England will get another shit manager? We also couldn’t decide whether it should be hard or soft. We did resolve to compile a list of those we wished the government to deport come the day of reckoning. The list was burgeoning when we suddenly realised that all of those listed were just British tossers that we wanted to get rid of, rather than anything to do with immigration. We did, however, decide to do our bit for net migration by pushing anyone with a non-Cornish accent off the clifftop.
We reached the golden sands of Perranporth & the only decision to be made was whether to go & build sandcastles or partake of refreshments. Not having brought our buckets & spades, Geoffrey decided that our first port of call would be The Deck. On entering, the music suddenly stopped & tumbleweed blew across the floor! After a couple of seconds, we were warmly welcomed by staff & punters alike. I particularly enjoyed my conversation with a friendly bandana-wearing ex-serviceman who was keen to tell be of his passion for seafood, particularly clams!
We then went upstairs & sat on the balcony to enjoy a sparkling ale or two. The location was excellent, the sun was shining brightly, we were protected from the wind & all was right with the world for a short while.
Suddenly our attention was drawn to a shadowy “Wee Willie Winky” figure peering into all the windows of the pub opposite. We quickly realised that it was none other than our fellow director, Sir Ian Thomas of Longfield, who had made the long & perilous journey from Falmouth by public transport to join us in our post-stank refreshments. Geoffrey quickly made phone contact with Sir Ian & attempted to guide him to our location by means of semaphore. This wasn’t without its difficulties & almost lead to a helicopter landing on the roof of the pub.
As the sun began to set, we decided to move on from this excellent establishment (which, we gathered, could be like Aleppo on a Saturday night!).
We moved on to The Green Parrot. This is a Wetherspoons pub with a difference. The difference being that there didn’t appear to be anyone on the premises that had been drinking since 8am – how strange. After some mobile phone repairs, we moved on to the Tywarnhayle Inn. This is a pub that has been prone to flooding in the past & has had a significant refurbishment recently. It is now more of an ‘eaterie’ than a ‘boozer’ but staff were friendly & there was a pleasant atmosphere. The pub was busy, which we put down to our presence – we do tend to draw an audience when we’re in town!
It was decided that we would walk down the street & give the Perranporth Inn the benefit of our expertise. Having walked past earlier, we weren’t sure what to expect but we were pleasantly surprised. It was quite a large ‘sports bar’ with friendly staff & punters. We settled back into comfortably leather armchairs & continued our discourse. We politely declined to join the evenings pub quiz but soon came to regret the decision. Not only would we have been No. 1 seeds for the competition, the 1st prize was a £40 bar tab! Soon it was time to summon our charabanc but I hadn’t counted on the chauffeuse breaking the world land speed record to get to us, requiring the final drink to be ‘necked’ post-haste.
Another successful board meeting, with Perranporth exceeding our expectations. We will definitely be returning (though probably not during the height of the holiday season). The cost of refreshments was also significantly cheaper than in Falmouth too!
Following the flash flooding in Cornwall on Tuesday evening, it was decided to set up a working party to establish whether licensed premises had been adversely affected. My fellow volunteers & I decided that St Mawes would be the obvious place to begin our investigation so assembled at ‘spoons before heading down to Prince of Wales Pier to board our ferry. Unfortunately, when we arrived the vessel had left the jetty but the young skipper saw us & put the ferry back alongside so we could board – top man!
We sat on the top deck of the ferry, surrounded by fellow passengers who gave us knowing glances as if to say “we know why you 4 pissheads are going to St Mawes”!
On disembarkation at St Mawes we headed, post-haste, to the Rising Sun. Due to the fine weather it was very busy outside the pub so we found a table inside before eagle-eyed Simon found somewhere for us to set up base-camp outside. We spent an agreeable couple of hours discussing all manner of sporting, political, cultural, economic & social issues. Those around us couldn’t have been anything other than impressed with our breadth of knowledge & attention to detail of the various topics – it must have been awe inspiring for them.
Having catered for the plebs, we decided to adjourn to the Idle Rocks Hotel in order to give the gentry the benefit of our presence. We sat out on the terrace overlooking the harbour & continued our musings. The setting was absolutely stunning & staff were very welcoming. We decided on ‘one for the road’ (or one for Carrick Roads, to be more precise) before catching the last ferry. Unfortunately, the barrel needed changing so we decided to cancel our beers & head back to the harbour. On arrival, we established that the last ferry was, in fact, 15 mins later than we thought. There was only one thing to do – head to the nearby Victory Inn! The pub was very quiet so we decided to enjoy the sunshine & quaff our ale outside before rushing back to the ferry.
After a pleasant journey back across the harbour, we alighted at Custom House Quay & headed for Five Degrees to establish whether they had been affected by the flash flooding. Fortunately, they hadn’t so we were able to de-camp to the beer garden to chew the cud some more. Simon then had to leave to catch his train home, I couldn’t drink anymore so summoned my chariot & Sir Ian enticed Geoffrey further into town with the lure of more beer and chicken & chips. Another splendid day out!