Autumn Blues

Sail Boat in the Bay

Sea Glass Pendant on Sterling silver bead chain

Aqua sea glass necklace

Our seaside steamie

Never happier than when doing the washing, eh girls?

I didn't know the British slang for a laundrette is a 'steamie' until today. Actually I'm sure there's another word for it, but I just can't put my neurological finger on it right now.

So we took our huge pile of whites, nearly whites and used-to-be whites along the road in an uber-useful Ikea bag, and loaded up one of the spanking new washing machines with all our precious holiday undies.




We didn't hang around, but as promised I took some pictures of the highlights. These gorgeous signs do look authentic; a great bit of kitsch just yards from our door.

We would never have discovered it if the old Bosch handed broken down!


Oh yes, here are those purgatorial wooden benches! This seaside steamie's benches even have lovely melamine coverings.

The bean and the peanut seemed to thoroughly enjoy it too.

Beach life resumed?

Back to beach life, kind of...

Dare I say it? After approximately two weeks the rain seems to have stopped. Sunday greeted us looking like the kind of day you could trust your washing with. There's not been many of those lately. The gallons of water that have fallen out of the sky have left us with knee high grass and rampant triffids that were once nasturtiums, strangling our garden. I ventured out there this morning, followed by my peg bearer (the bean), and we surveyed our little jungle with awe.

A rare moment of quiet on the roof

There is one thing around here at this time of year which is the same come rain or shine, the manic (Herring) seagull activity. You don’t just hear a few gulls exchanging pleasantries, not like civilised bird folk. On the contrary, having returned to breed yet again (it's the same pairs every year) these brutes are noisy – in fact entering the garden you feel like some hapless screw interrupting yard-time at the seagull slammer. There are gull gangs on every roof, as far as the eye can’t see (but rest assured they can see you), squawking raucously. Presumably they are warning the posse about something they think you might do to them or their offspring should you decide to fly up to their turf. They just haven't got it yet - no wings. This continues for the duration, whilst you're pegging out the washing, or any other suspicious activity you are engaged in. If they think you look really shifty, or you are a dog, they’ll even dive bomb you for extra sport.

Making friends

So this morning, after running the seagull gauntlet, with the washing out and flapping happily in a sunny breeze, we logged on and checked the tide times. Then we headed off for a spot of beachcombing, after we'd had a tip off about a great spot for some serious sea glass pickings along the waterline. It felt so good to be leaving the house with buckets, spades and toast, rather than wet weather gear, and to see the kids go free range on the sand again at last.

Sea glass Bonanza!

Our sea glass haul was fantastic. My wrecking crew and I found some lovely pieces that really glow. I have learned that this 'glowing' effect is caused by the prolonged immersion of the glass in sea water (chemical changes), often over years, and of course, there is nothing like the beautiful smoothed and frosted effects caused by the constant tumbling in the surf, against rocks and sand. I can’t wait to get down into the workshop.

Here are some I made earlier, these can be found in my shop

Green Cornish Sea glass and recycled beads
sterling silver stacker earrings

Sad day

St Michael's Mount, Penzance Bay

On the face of it, today is just another rainy, windy Cornish Saturday in July, an all too familiar scene during a summer that seems to have given up and gone away. Despite the obvious lack of opportunities to re-establish summer beach life (see June post), the downturn in the weather at least isn’t all bad. It’s given us a chance to catch up instead on ‘home life’ – well housework anyway – cleaning, and ‘sorting stuff’ - like tackling (culling?) that pile of things the kids need mending (“Oh dear, just put it there love, mummy 'll fix it later”). There’s a kind of cosy battening down the hatches feeling around here, an excuse to watch telly during the day, and eat chocolate before breakfast . We quite like it really.

But actually, something monumental is in progress as I write this. With a sad sigh of resignation this morning I realised that the roof of the new flats being built at the bottom of our road totally obscures our sea view from the back bedroom window. I guess it could have best been described as a sea “glimpse” really – a tantalising line of blue (well, grey on a day like today), and the tops of a few masts in the quay car park, seen between the surrounding roofs. From my calculations of where everyone’s windows are, I reckon ours was about the only house in this historic terrace with its own “sea glimpse” at the back.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the kind of view you would sit at the window admiring with the morning papers and coffee, far from it, but I now feel I didn’t appreciate it enough - such is the pace of family life. It was however a lovely thing to behold on the daily weather check, almost the first thing we do – a triangular sparkle of hope – if it was clear and bright. It also occurred to me that the occupants of this lovely little granite cottage have enjoyed that tiny glimpse of Penzance Bay since this house was built around 1850.

We have been watching with interest as the dilapidated garage at the bottom of our street has been fairly rapidly transformed into new housing. As they pulled the Victorian red brick unit down, we were disappointed to discover that it was to be replaced by flats, rather than much needed family houses, but then relieved to learn at least, the building wouldn’t be over two storeys high. We were even more relieved when the façade started to be clad in gorgeous Cornish stone and the new build was shaping up to be a considerable improvement on what was there before. It never occurred to me that the building’s roof, now in situ in skeletal form, would hide our little glimpse of blue. Barely noticed by us, it is now gone forever.