It's been a long time since Betty came out to play. She has been over wintered in a barn just outside of St Ives, and we have missed her dreadfully. Marc and I live vicariously through her coolness. She is a total babe, who gets stared at wherever we go. Japanese tourists have stood and had their photographs taken next to her. Our beautiful icon is 40 this year, and is just hitting her stride.
We drove the coast road out of St Ives, through Zennor, Morvah, Pendeen and St Just. To Cape Cornwall and Priests Cove. I packed hot dogs and hot chocolate and Marc and Olly sat and munched their way through 12 in the car park overlooking the cove. I wandered around with my hot chocolate, breathing in the air and marvelling at the view.
I don't know what it is about West Cornwall, but it has my heart. It's not as lush and leafy as some parts of Cornwall. The landscape is rugged and stark. Trees are few and far between, and any vegetation has been gnarled and twisted by it's exposure to the Atlantic. The coastline is spectacular, especially viewed from Betty's front seats. There are many farms, their boundaries being marked by Cornish hedging.
You could almost call the landscape austere, and I would imagine that through the ages life has been tough here. However it is dramatic, and the colours are always breathtaking. There is a romance to the place that prompts people like me to stumble over cliches in an attempt to describe how it looks and how it feels to live here.
Forgive my lyrical waxing. I am a little in love with the place I call home today.