Thursday, 1 May 2008
I towed a caravan down to Cornwall. The caravan belonged to a friend, and the car belonged to another friend. The caravan was going to live in a field north of Wadebridge, and this was my first and, hopefully, last experience of towing a caravan. I presented a blithe facade, to avoid worrying my friend, and inwardly quaked. We drove overnight, to avoid creating a twenty-mile tailback on that road that snakes north around Exmoor and over Bodmin Moor. We put it in a field. Then I fell asleep almost instantly.
Wandered around a little bit of North Cornwall the next day, gazed across the estuary towards Padstow, drank v posh and expensive coffee, pressed a sprig of fennel in my notebook, ate a Thai fish salad in a gallery cafe and cast a critical eye over the art...
Crunched on a beach looking for nice shells. Realised that it's been a long time since I've been in Cornwall.
And I didn't feel entirely there then, either.
And so home again, and I've spent the subsequent two days getting over the caravan lag. Like jet lag but slower.