This is the view from my living room window. The cottage is called Rosemary, and an elderly gentleman called Jim lived there until about a year ago. It's a dear little house, just big enough for one. When we first moved to St Ives, he would be out most days doing jobs around the garden. He had a fantastic Dahlia display in the summer months.
He was a lovely man, proper Cornish. He served in the Navy during the Second World War. He never married, and looked after his parents until they passed away. Sadly, Jim's sight and general well being deteriorated. He wasn't able to potter in the garden. He couldn't get out and about. Eventually Jim had to go into a home, and his house was sold. Geoff next door visits him, and says he's as sharp as a pin and often talks about home.
So I know that time doesn't stand still and all that, but a property developer has bought it, and is in the throes of applying to planning to plonk two three storey houses with parking on this site. So Rosemary will soon be lost forever, and where the Dahlias bloomed in all their fabulous glory will be parking for a people carrier.