So after being woken again by the breaking sun, another morning of tea and sausage baguettes ensued. Mr. White and myself took another drive down to the beach to see how the surf was, and it was like looking at an empty swimming pool. Flat, calm, very nice looking... but no good for surfing. ARSE!
Still, as we were in Cornwall to visit the beach, we got our gear together and headed down there. Even though the surf was non-existent we still had a great time down there, playing more beach football (my poor feet are now fcuked - cut, bruised, blistered...), more chucking of the novelty flying disc, and for some reason one of our party has a fetish about being buried (I guess it's kinda like auto-erotic asphyxiation?) so we of course obliged. (Bear in mind, we are all in our mid 30's here...). Once he was satisfactorily encased in his sandy tomb (he didn't want his face covered - poof) all manner of hilarity and japes occurred. Sticking Oreo's to his head in the hope of attracting seagulls, covereing his head in his t-shirt so he couldn't see anything and then playing football around him, seeing if he could feel the rocks we were dropping down at around groin height. Oh, the things we do to the ones we love.
We then decided "Hell, we're at the beach, we might as well go in the sea" but we didn't want all the faff and hassle of cleaning the wet suits afterwards for what would amount to about 15 minutes in the ocean. So we all decided to 'man-up' and go in just in our speedo's. Fcuk me. I think my balls dropped out of my body sometime around sunset that day. Still, once you were in and got used to it you found tha... no, I'm lying. It was cold, cold, cold. After staying in there for about 5 - 10 minutes, we were all out again to dry off and doss about a bit more on the sand. And before we knew it, it was nearly 14.00 and time to go home.
Sunday afternoon was spent "chilaxing" (I know, its a shite word, isn't it? But I kept on thinking it over the weekend and it was getting very annoying... by I digress).
Then, we went into Padstow for drinks and dinner at the divine Pescadou fish restaurant. And after a post dinner livener, it was back to the chalet for one more nights sleep on the world most uncomfortable sofa.
Note: If you've never been to Padstow, and don't mind the connection with Rick Stein, I heartily recommend you going. It's a lovely place, with nice pubs, nice restaurants, and a beautiful little harbour. I will be posting some pics of the weekend, including Padstow, when I can get them off my phone.
Anyway - Monday morning, and time to pack up and head off for sunny London. One comment that painted a very vivid image - two of my friends were sharing the bedroom with bunk-beds, and the one on the bottom said to me in the morning "Now there's a lovely way to wake up. You sit up and take a deep breath and feel good, and then stand up into the cloud of noxious arse gass that has been seeped into the room over night. Gagging happens. It's not nice". A near-record breaking sub-4 hour journey later, and back into the bosom of my family.
So there we go. It was a great weekend, and I was right to look forward to it. I would say we are planning the same next year, but all of us are having rather large changes in our circumstances over the next 12 months and so I don't think we can get there for a while. Which is a shame.
I'll post some of the photos (when I've got the necessary permission / blanked out the faces to stop prosecution / photoshopped them to buggery) soon, so stay tuned. Peace.