We went down to St.Ives for two weeks - late September and early October 2006. But before I discuss that I'd like you to know why I love St. Ives in Cornwall. Surprisingly I was a part-time hippy there in the '60s while I was doing a thesis on Penwith. I loved it. During September I sat on the beach by the harbour wall & wrote this with the help of a diary.

I chose a spot and curled up by the harbour wall, staring up at the cumulus clouds rolling inland on the westerly winds. I had sat on similar sand on the same spot in my university days. It ought to have provided continuity, and I thought reading my diary of the time might help.  I had the beach to myself.  It was quiet, and I was out of sight from above and the beach was empty. A few boats lounged about on the water. The colours were very bright, almost lurid.  With some difficulty I struggled to concentrate on the words, reading aloud to a gull that was pecking my foot.

“Days on days the old man dragged on the weathered briar and listened, listening through the clank of spades and churning cars for the call again of the huer in a stone hut on Clodgy, now silent with only stones smothered in brambles to bear witness of those times when in a curl of broken surf,  the waters browned and seine boats put to sea. His tired eyes born of salt winds remembered all this and more, the sturdy shapes of women in long shawls balancing cauls high on broad shoulders, rattling their chains in the fog. Steam pulsing out sideways from the stone shed where barrels of pressed pilchards were prepared for sea and Italy. Days of sail and storm, in the thoughts of the old man who was watching me closely. I’m here but I do not belong.”

I thought that I would find a kindred spirit amongst the hippies, beats and drop-outs of that time. That first encounter, after the pub, and where their lanterns swung, by the shelter - I could see them still, frozen in time and space, a film forever running inside my head - trivial moments, memorials to discarded ideals and hedonistic pursuits.

I lay back and stared at the pale blue sky. I saw them again and heard their voices.  Jane shaking her head plunging in and out of the breakers with ‘Home rule for Cornwall' painted across her jeans. ‘They had hopes' for me in Falmouth,’ she laughs, silver nails bright in the sun, scraping rust with scissors from the concrete strengtheners in the harbour wall. ‘Must have lost my shoes -- well I hated them, don’t you think so, hateful.’ Talking to Pam lost in reflections of herself, harvest hay streaming down her black and white barreled sailor’s shirt. 'It’s a tricky business,’ she drawls about life and happiness, ‘its so dull now with no-one to make you laugh,' strumming quietly on a five string and singing "Go tell it to the Mountain" to Jill whose ‘always happy’ and had a limp from polio when she was young. ‘Look out. I don’t like him I’m sorry.’ George swayed towards them and talking to Alex ‘Oh feel like a bit of the old skirt tonight. Orgh -- she’s lovely. Hello darling. Yeah. Had her in Harry’s studio last week “why didn’t you tell me you were like that?’ she says -- stupid woman. But orghh she went on all right, she was all right.’ Alex stroked his spots and smelt of sweat and worried about the beard he had shaved off and walks off now because poetry is not important. Archie had changed the subject ‘I’ll show you a bit. Ah here we are,’ bringing the crumpled paper proudly into the sunlight ‘published this in Punch I did’- four lines scrawled and hesitating. ‘It's natural, you know, comes straight off the pen, you know.’ He was more confident than Barry who exclaimed. ‘He just sat down and wrote it, right in front of my eyes, he wrote it -- better than anything I’ve ever done. He just wrote it”. He just sat there in the evenings his fingers on the keys waiting, waiting.

Archie of course was really a painter -- red, blue and yellow on his faded jeans, his baby chasing up the beach clutching between his firm and naked buttocks. ‘You never see his wife -- they have an understanding,’ says Pam as she watches him kissing Jill behind the ears. ‘You’re a lovely girl,,’ he drones ‘how long you down here for’ but she’s Johnny's lover. ‘He’s my boy friend you remember Johnny, played the guitar.’ Johnny was carted off in a police van. ‘Rammed some bird I did. Father’s hopping mad. Looking for me all over’, he said plucking his twelve-string ‘freight train, freight train, goes so fast.’ But his mother's on his side. Jill smiles, ‘Really pleased I am. I’m his boy friend you know.’ Birmingham brought forth Karen. “I don’t know anything about politics. I’m ignorant really but you ought to have heard her go on at me -- she really gave me hell for leather and I only dropped the tray -- could have been dropped by anyone. Do I owe you something? I’ll be seeing you tonight anyway.’ Her thin legs lost inside her skirt, her smile shifting where it was sought but in the general opinion she talked just a bit much though.

I added watching them moving out to their place in Zennor. ‘Now he’s a chap I envy- a rod, gun, a sack full of herbs a dog and the girls. You’d be OK with him, knows everything there is to know about living off the land. I’ve seen him peering around the pools, bloody intelligent too you know. He can hold a conversation on most any subject - funny how he turned out that way.” I see him still - hair uncut, uncombed, broken spectacles hanging loose peering, watching, and waiting. his dog barking, his women shadowing and spray raining on their smiles. With that man I can identify. But he does not speak to me nor I to him. I’d prefer it that way. He is a legend now and it is better that way."

If you stay in St.Ives it is worthwhile remembering that it lies beneath steep rises to higher ground. We rented a flat on the seafront & I used the expensive portable concentrator to walk a bit round the port. However if I go there in the future I should rent a mobile scooter and use the Freedom 300 Air Products cylinders.

There are great beaches, however, and the light has a special quality that has inspired so many artists. The water is clear and enticing. In short it is perfect for a visit out of season. There is the Tate Gallery and many attractions both within the town and on the Peninsula.