All it lacked was the friends who have made this place special for us: Rendels, Goldmen, the Anglo-Dutch, jolly Googlers and of course all our family some of whom are not far off an age to start fishing. And, for the record: six pollock (J3, K2, P1 but it was enormous).
There are some more photos here.
When your son rings up from London
Says he thinks the tides look right
And the weather forecast's looking rather good.
And he jumps upon a train
Travels down, he's Truro bound
And you spend the evening eating out of doors.
Then you up and drive to Cudden,
Piskies beach and fishing rock,
And six pollock give their lives from turquoise sea;
Oh the fresh air and the fishing
They can banish what is waiting:
All those pressures that you had stacked up on Friday last.
You're soon absorbed in tussles
(Catching fish needs guile and muscles)
And the thoughts that scampered round your tortured brain
Will soon be passing through the ether
Lost forever from your mind, like a
Chinese lantern fading out on darkest night.
When the sun is still bright shining
As you round grey Helston town
And the evening looks like lasting until spring.
Then you simply cannot ask me
Why we live where e'er we do.
I can't explain to friends who're up the line.
But I thank our lucky stars
That we can do this when we will
For tomorrow's now a much, much brighter day.
Postscript: the day was helped by eating fresh crab sandwiches on the beach at lunchtime and a seafood platter of simply-cooked scallops, mussels and fresh pollock fillets for supper.
Postscript to this: while we do not usual bow to informal comments we are very happy to confirm that no day could be truly perfect without all our family around us, including the very youngest. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to clarify this.
