The Birthday Boy 2.

Saturday the 3rd arrived and with it my 43rd birthday, for some reason had believed I was 44, I guess the passage of time had some what pickled ones brain.

I opened my cards and some presents, given to me by Mrs. Beard and my sister and we settled downstairs for our breakfast, the Inn during the day light presented as a mixture of different time periods, difficult to pinpoint with any accuracy which parts were original, the Inn was built in 1750 and due to becoming quite busy had an extension built in 1778 which included stables and a coach house.

There is some question as to its naming origins with some saying it is from the use of as a smuggling den to the naming in honor of a local family who had made extensive wealth from their time as governors in Jamaica .

It holds the dubious reputation of being a haven for smugglers which was rife throughout the many hidden coves of Cornwall. Tea and rum were heavily taxed during the 17th and 18thC and locals would banned together to lure ships into the rocky shoals in order to crash them and rob what expensive goods were aboard, owing to its position as the main turnpike between Launceston and Bodmin it was often reported being the stop off for the less than clean and holy.

We partook of a rather lovely if somewhat filling full English before we departed for the days adventures along with our companions. First driving the short distance to the famous Bodmin jail, it would seem the mist had not departed since its arrival yesterday and remained stuck to the mostly uninhabited places or sparsely populated hamlets of the winding and twisting roads and tracks. It was definitely an eye opener to imagine being an unfortunate prisoner sentenced to life or death in this most miserable of places, a rough and harsh carriage ride across open moor to arrive at somewhere that would not of looked out of place in any good gothic horror novel.

Ravens flew around the outside of the building providing an excellent story point to regale my companions with, the story of an unfortunate lady labeled as a witch but in truth nothing more than a healing lady known for mixing herbal remedies and providing cheaper cures to those in the area. She had befriended the local raven population and soon discovered how clever they were, being thankful that she had been feeding then and like their crow or magpie counterparts, they began taking shiny objects, silver, pocket watches and so forth from people, anger as they were and no doubt encourage by the local clergy she was found guilty of being a witch, brought to Bodmin the ravens joined her and spent their time harassing guards and other prisoners attempting to steal keys and silver wear for their master. She unfortunately passed whilst awaiting sentence and the ravens never left.

I do sometimes wonder why this kind of knowledge is retained in my brain as in ordinary day to day life serves little purpose.

We took part in a brief but excellent 4d experience in the bowls of the center, the wrecking of the ship is definitely one to experience, before being guided along and into a very small section of original cells where differing displays told the stories of life there, one we found hard to digest were the tales of children as young a 8 being interned with their parents for no other reason than they had been born to a convicted and a sentenced criminal. We all thought though it would of been nice to have seen more of the original jail but i guess most has been turned in rather expensive hotel accommodation.

We departed and headed over to Tintagel once again, the roads winding and narrow speckled with the mist hanging like a wet woolen blanket over the landscape, still it was less spookier in the day time. We arrived and parked within easy walking of the castles start, as paying English Heritage members we were allowed in as part of our membership fee, this is probably one of the most middle age things we do, apart from myself running around at Christmas trying to locate all the Marks and Spencers biscuit tins.

We made our way down through a simple but wide and well maintained footpath towards the base of the ruins, before slowly making a gradual climb up, taking in the many photo opportunities and majestic rock formations that bordered our way. Entering through a simple check point we were soon inside the start of the many and sprawling ruins, large walls having stood since the 12thC created secure and wind free court yards, offering both photo opportunities and a much needed break from the wind blowing in from the Westwardly squall of the Celtic sea.

around us also lay the ruin of the earliest inhabitants being 5th and 6th Century, don’t fret I have covered much of Tintagel’s history in another blog, the place buzzed with crowds from all corners of the globe today, families took the opportunity to capture those moments never to be revisited, pictures were taken at ever moment, cliff tops were explored with stunning views of the staggeringly beautiful coast line.

We wound our way along the path, one of our companions taking time out to capture selfies perched sitting on the cliff side much to his partners horror, she opted to walk away instead of bear witness to his untimely demise much to our amusement, but both she and Mrs. Beard took a brief interlude to grab one of their own.

Once at the top, we grabbed the obligatory picture with the most impressive King Arthur sculpture and then opted to take in the most bracing of winds and views, here I remarked that I could write a book based upon the best 50 places I have pooed in the UK, whilst our friend screamed in joy that she could fly like a bird as the wind blew heartily around her propping her up.

Myself and Mrs. Bearded opted to take the Landrover back up to the top as my feet were now starting to hurt, it instantly took me back to when I was a child and trundling around in the many skip like metal boxes we used to own, we had great fun though and as we rattled along the paths and every single inch of the vehicle made some form of dissatisfaction.

After a hearty Cornish pasty, we left for our 3rd and final destination of the day, Goliath falls. Passing familiar roads now clear for a change and into a realm that would not look out of place in tales of fairies and otherworldly magicians, moss and Deadman’s fingers covered every possible space here, tress usually dark greys and browns became almost illuminous green with streaks of grey/green blues hanging freely from exposed and tort branches, we would of loved to have stopped but the narrow road prevented any opportunist photos.

Pulling into the car park for Goliath Falls, a selection of small cabins took up one end, a cafe, moonshine distillery and a BBQ smoke house made a promise for the end of our walk. We set off swiftly, a short 20min round trip through ancient native woodlands, green moss covered every square inch reminding me of many a scene from Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Water soon sounded our destination was coming close, the roaring sounds louder as we edged closer and multiple waterfalls fells and gained speed through the little valley, we spent a short time here, by now unfortunately I was about done, my feet stung with the few miles they had covered today and so heading towards the Smoke house BBQ and after an amazing thick and creamy milkshake and some small bbq items for later, we headed back for a much needed nap until the evening meal.

There was little in the way of excitement that night, the energies of the day spent walking and exploring had taken their toll upon us and we opted for a quieter evening, meal completed, I was surprised with a happy birthday song and candles in my most delightful chocolate fondant.

A few drinks finished of a most delightful day before bed and the long drive home the following day.