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.
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