ISLAND
RACE
"Just off to walk the dog!"
You know the sort of thing.
On this occasion we had made a choice among choices. It was a battered old building, newly boasting a lick of Sandtex and leaning into the winds. And as they say on some twee television programme, location, location….
On a gloriously windswept day, when waves were more than guests of the coastline, I was sat by the fireside in The Pilchard Inn on Burgh Island. As I slowly turned into a Hog Roast and the landlord gleefully added more coal, I sipped at my scrumpy and let an island comfort take me in its arms. I could have stayed beyond the call of the bell with the chunky rope and just practiced mellowing until I had got it down to the finest of arts.