The adventure is drawing to a close as the little Ford Fiesta beetles along the A394 into Cornwall, eventually coming to rest near the quay in Penzance where I'm on the lookout for pirates, but nary a one in sight.
I am comfortably ensconced for the week in an apartment opposite the quay and above the Boat Shed restaurant, owned and operated by the charmingly boyish Nigel who has converted his upstairs nightclub into snazzy holiday lets.
By some miracle I've found a spot to park the car when I arrive in town after driving on and off all day. I ask everyone in sight if this is Dock Lane and where is the Boat Shed restaurant? A staff member at The Dolphin, an historic inn which is said to be haunted by the ghost of an old sea captain, directs me to the Boat Shed. No Nigel in sight and restaurant shut until dinnertime. Try his phone, no luck. Into the gift shop opposite and ask the lady if she knows where I might find Nigel.
She's a very nice lady with a wonderful Cornish accent and yes, no problem she will ring Nigel and get him to come and fetch me, which she does. She's used to this, she gets a lot of his tenants popping in here looking for him. When he arrives, in two ups, I can see why she is more than happy to provide this service. She is obviously madly in love with Nigel, as I suspect are most of the female population of Penzance!
She delays him as long as possible chatting about a thumping great boat which is blocking everyone's view of the water. Rumour has it that it's setting sail later in the week. Nigel's very pleased about that because the customers in his restaurant would sooner look at some sparkling water than a grey metal hulk.
So at last, with profuse apologies, I am shown to 'Sunny Corner' above the Boat Shed. The access to this ancient quayside building is via a flight of sixteen narrow stone steps between it and the Customs House, or, at the top of the hill, from a similarly narrow U shaped lane lined with parked cars.
Nigel says my car will be fine in the lane until early on Monday after which time it's likely to be clamped! I decide to play it safe and park down on the busy quayside road in an elongated wedge between the footpath and the front wall of the next building along from the Customs House. To get your car into this spot requires mounting the footpath when, hopefully, there is no one walking on it.
New chums need be wary because there are four flagpoles right here, and you can easily be sandwiched between cars with a pole at your side. I cunningly foresee this possibility and park where there is an open getaway.
What I haven't factored in is the enormous trucks that line up along the roadway right here in the early morning, waiting their turn to unload cargo onto the ships in the quay opposite. But I'm in luck this morning because my destination is but two miles along the coastal path following the arc of Mount's Bay, the in-coming tide sending spray up over the sea wall as I cycle to the magical island of St. Michael's Mount, which you shall hear all about in the next episode.
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