I was lucky to get this. The mists and rain lifted for just long enough for me to see the fishing boats at Cadgwith Cove.
It was a long walk down and an even longer walk back up after a lunch of various types of fish caught this morning in these very boats and cooked at the local pub.
It’s ironic really. We are in one of the most scenic and dramatic parts of the country and most of the time all we can see is a grey haze. St Michael’s mount was a grey blob on a grey canvas, The Lizard a grey streak somewhere in the grey distance, and Goonhilly just a flat grey nothing in a flat grey field.
I’d like to say that I’m rising above it, making the best of things, not letting it stop me doing what I want, and that I’m still having a great time. Sadly, if I told you that I’d be lying and I try very hard to always tell the truth, or at least the truth as I see it. I don’t like liars or lies. If you can’t tell the truth at least admit to being a liar and don’t pretend to be something else.
The greyness of this weather is like lies. Lies have no real colour and what little they might have is soon sucked out of them by the constant repetition of the lie by the liar. Eventually even the liar believes the lies and then that greyness sucks them in too. Just take a look at the lairs you know and you’ll see what I mean. They are made almost invisible against the background of their lies as people see right through them.
Oh well, I guess this is the ideal weather for smugglers.