In which E.V Thompson talks about his writing career.

The following is a rough transcript of the interview I held with EV Thompson at the recent St Austell Library Reader's Day. Neither of us recorded it but I kept a copy of my questions and so I e-mailed them to EV. Between us we've tried to cobble together the interview as it ran.

Churchyard and Hawke is your 38th novel, your 39th Beyond the Storm is about to be published and your writing your 40th. That’s a huge number of books and you’re clearly well loved in the UK but I’m wondering if you have a worldwide audience? How many languages have your books been published in?

EVT: Translations have varied over the years, some books doing better than others. CHASE THE WIND did best. When it won the award as Best Historical Novel of the Year it went into 13 languages.

Do their covers vary from country to country?

EVT: Oh yes, they vary enormously and authors and publishers rarely agree. In early days I was never entirely satisfied with them and one day, when having lunch with Winston Graham he agreed with me, saying that my covers were of the type he turned down in the 1930's! As a result I had it written into my contracts that I have to approve them - but at the end of the day the publishers really decide.

I imagine that you run into a lot of conflict with publishers? For you, writing is a creative process for them it's a commodity? How much say do you get?
EVT: Usually my relations with publishers are very amiable, but the publishing world has changed dramatically during the 35 years I have been writing professionally. I was lucky with my first editor whom I had for 15 years. He was of the 'old school' and became both friend and mentor. We would occasionally have differences of opinion but would discuss the matter and not argue about it. He always stressed the fact that it was my work and that the final decision on any point would be mine. My present publisher is a similar type of man - but you are right, for many of today's publishers a book is a mere commodity, there to make money for them.

Some of the audience may not be aware of the fact but you are a meticulous researcher. If you say a river flows along side a bush, then that's exactly what it does. Do you enjoy the research?
EVT: Yes, I thoroughly enjoy researching. Had I enjoyed a University education I might well have become a researcher. When writing a novel I need to learn all I can about subject and place. The look, feel - and even the smell of a place is important. My research has taken me to some of the remotest places in Africa, Asia, Canada, USA, Australia, etc., but I sometimes end up disappointed with my findings. I once went to Texas to check on the estuary of a river, only to learn that the Texans had not liked the place where it flowed into the sea, so they had changed its course some years before and it now flowed into the sea some 25 miles from where I had set it in my book. Fortunately, I met with a local historian who gave me maps and photographs of the original place!

So which do you prefer, researching or writing?

EVT: I enjoy both immensely. Never 100% happy unless writing - but can also become miserable if research not going well. Was once told (In respect of research for book mentioned above) by wife to "Push off to Texas, find out what it was I needed and perhaps when I returned the family can live a normal life again."

Do you write for yourself or your audience?

EVT: Always have readers in mind, but write for myself, could not do otherwise.

You're best known for your historical fiction but you've also written various non fiction titles as well, are you interested in writing modern fiction?

EVT: I brought my saga of Retallick family up to the 1st World War but do not want to carry it any further forward. I find I can use life's experiences in Historical Novels without having readers speculating on whether I have been in similar situations. Besides, I enjoy history, it is, after all, what has made us the people we are today.

I was chatting to you earlier and you've had such a varied career have you ever considered an autobiography?

EVT: I have thoroughly enjoyed the life I have led but am basically a very private person and prefer to keep my personal life private.
Which of your books are your favourites and why?

EVT: CHASE THE WIND has to be my first favourite. When it won the award for Best Historical Novel with £7,500 prize (quite an amount 35 years ago), plus guaranteed publication in America it changed my life completely and was the realisation of a dream. But also enjoyed writing DREAM TRADERS, BECKY and CASSIE. They were of places and types of people with whom I am familiar.

What are you currently reading and are you enjoying it?

EVT: I read very little fiction, enjoying many books on various facets of history, but have always enjoyed the writings of Leon Uris - EXODUS, ARMAGEDDON, etc., and was fortunate enough to meet him and have a long chat about his writing.

From the audience. How do you write?

EVT: I need to use a Word Processor and it does make work a loot easier, but for sheer personal satisfaction I refer to use a pencil and pad and will write that way when time and commitments permit. I have about 100 pencils in pots around my study and use them until they all need sharpening.

Readers ' Day

I mentioned the other week that I was trying to prepare a bookshop for the St Austell Library Reader’s Day; well the event has been and gone and it was a huge success. It was well attended, all the authors turned up, the books sold well and the day flowed without a hitch.

The day had been organised by Debbie Wallis from St Austell Library and was a complete credit to her; she wanted a theme of “home and away” Cornish tales and tales of remote places and perilous journeys, even more perilous than trying to cross the A30 at Goss Moor before the bypass. I was entranced by Clare Dudman’s “A Place of Meadows and Tall Trees” about the exploits of the Welsh miners in Patagonia. I know at the bottom of every pit there’s a Cornishman but I bet he’s sharing his crib with a Welshman. On listening to Clare’s tale EV Thompson mentioned that when in was out in the Kalahari, researching one of his books he travelled 1000 meters down a Copper mine and met two men from Camborne.

The day was full of little tales like this, authors laughing about shared experiences, readers and writers joining in on the experiences and sharing their own. It turns out that James Michener, the rather famous American author has a team of researchers to do all the research work for him. All of our authors felt that that would remove them too far from the story, and then fell around laughing and asked who they thought they were kidding?

Many of the authors were new to me but great fun and very interesting; thriller writer, John Tagholm was very entertaining and a great salesman. A lot of the audience had read his books and there were some very frank and enjoyable conversations, it seemed to all about the sex scenes but I might have got that wrong. No sex but lots of skinny dipping from Tessa Hainsworth writing about her new life as a Cornish post woman. I’m in the middle of her book at the moment and what with running over various wildlife, skinny dipping and paddling in creeks I wonder that I get my mail at all some days. Mind you her love of Cornwall is so wonderfully infectious I’m surprised we’re not overrun with converts from London delivering our post.

Phil Cope has published the most beautiful collection of photos of the Holy Wells of Cornwall to follow on from his Welsh Holy Wells, the images are stunning and made me itching to go out and discover them. They look rather chilly though so I’ll probably keep my clothes on.


My next book is going to be Mr Rosenblum’ List by Natasha Solomons who was also there on the day. It’s her first book and it’s already going to be turned into a film, a fabulous boost for a new author. At the other end of the scale EV Thompson modestly revealed that his entire back catalogue is about to be re-issued, what a glowing endorsement from his publishers.

Raining cats and dogs. July 21st Cornish Guardian.

So, there I was out on an early morning stroll with Harry, there had been a terrific load of rain and wind the day before but the day had started bright, blue and warm and I just donned a t-shirt and leggings and headed of up to the Tor. It was a gorgeous start, I was stomping off looking at how lush all the vegetation looked and Harry was having a field day bouncing around after all the rabbits; he would no sooner run one down to ground in a bramble thicket than another would pop up behind him and leg it across the path.

Instantly, the present quarry was forgotten and off he dashed in pursuit of more exciting prey. We were having a lovely time with Harry acting the loon, the rabbits clearly having got the better of him and playing tag with great dexterity when I noticed a change in the light. Suddenly everything was glowing, the green was shimmering the orange moss was electric everything had the wonderful glow and I was kicking myself for not bringing my camera. My dismay about the camera only lasted about 2 seconds though because I know full well what causes that sort of beautiful light. The sun shining on dirty great big, rain sodden clouds. I’d been too busy looking at Harry and the rabbits to look up but sure enough, when I did there was the rain cloud. It wasn’t just black; it had gone that very special shade of blue black that you get to see so rarely. What a treat.

Suddenly the beautiful light dropped as the sun was swallowed by clouds and a strong wind swept in to replace it. I picked up my tempo; I knew the car was a good 15 minutes away no matter how fast I walked, would I make it in time? I tried to convince myself that the “moist” air was no more than mist and I had bags of time when the heavens just opened. There is something glorious about being caught in a downpour, and if you can’t run for cover the inevitability of accepting your fate can be quite liberating. I had these happy, hippy thoughts for about a minute and then I was just cold and wet.

Do you know the ditty that says “a stranger came up to me and said “Smile, things could be worse” so I smiled and lo! Things were worse”? Well I must admit that was where I was, standing on top of a Tor where the tallest thing after me was the low lying heather in the middle of a storm hoping and preying that despite the size of the clouds that it didn’t turn into a thunderstorm because I was feeling pretty exposed and not just by my sodden top and leggings.

For the last part of the walk Harry is always on the lead and we have to get back to the car along a path flanked by bracken, but under the weight of the rain and the strength of the wind many of the plants had keeled over onto the path, so now I had a very concerned spaniel who had transformed into some over exited Arab shying at every frond. He’s a lovely dog but he can be a dopey wuss. I had to coax cajole, push and pull him through every clump. My leggings, already wet, were now saturated, my skin was beginning to absorb water and what water it couldn’t take on rolled down into my trainers.

Eventually a wet smelly dog and driver made it to the car to return home to find the street bone dry. As I walked in the rest of the family, sitting eating breakfast, all very gallantly roared with laughter. Roll on August.

Incidentally, The Passage by Justin Cronin started really well. Very reminiscent of Stephen King, imagine The Stand or Firestarter, the ending wasn’t so strong and I have a sneaky feeling that with so many unanswered question it may be the start of a series but it was still a great read.




For more blogs about Cornwall in all its glories read my other blog where sometimes the sun shines. http://cornwalloutside.blogspot.com/

Flags and fanatics. July 14th Cornish Guardian

There’s been a lot of talk recently of flags and English colonial oppression and a lot of it has been very aggressive and unpleasant. I’m a bit alarmed by this, I don’t remember oppressing or subjugating anyone recently, although my boys may have a different opinion on this. I felt sure that my days of looting and pillaging where behind me and I can’t remember the last time I sacked a monastery or annexed a county but I am a working mum and have been known to forget things. Although surely I’d remember oppressing all my lovely neighbours?

The fact of the matter is that I just don’t understand fanatism; I don’t hold it against anyone who is fanatical about anything it’s just that I’m not. If it’s a black and white issue I’ll find the grey, if it’s a clear cut issue I’ll be waving from the blunt edged fence. I know I’m quite extreme about seeing both sides of nearly everything, fanatical some might say, but the majority of us sit somewhere in the middle of most viewpoints.

I mean, I know we’re all individuals, each of us unique and special, but we’re also pretty much the same. We’re all roughly between 5 and 6 foot we have two legs and two arms all coming off our body in the same place with a sort of round head at the top. And in the same way that our bodies are pretty similar so to are our personalities and beliefs. Saints and sinners stand out simply because they are so different to the norm. Imagine a society full of fanatics but fanatical about different things, imagine if those fanatics hold opposing opinions, well we don’t have to imagine do we, we know how violent and bloody that looks like. So it’s just as well that the majority of us bob along in the middle of the river. We need the saints and the crusaders no matter how tiresome they may seem. Can you imagine what it must have been like kicking along with Mother Teresa of Calcutta? You’re all for a hearty meal and an early night but she’s going to work on until she collapses. Please! Talk about making you feel bad. So if we get the saints we get the sinners and if we get the crusaders we also get the fanatics.

When I write this column I tend to write it myself and it doesn’t occur to me that someone might read it but today a complete stranger came into the shop and said she enjoyed the column! I was thrilled, I was more chuffed than Ivor the Engine and it was wonderful. Now I’m wondering though if some irate reader is going to start shouting at me for not understanding the terrible burden that they have endured. If they do I shall be calm and as the Nun’s used to say “Rise above it.” Mind you, I’ll also be tickled pink that they read it!

I’m back on water and various cordials to try and make it taste better, I was listening to Marina and the Diamonds on Youtube and thinking what a great voice she had when I clicked onto one of the related links and flicked years back to Shine On by Pink Floyd. A stunningly good song. Doubt Marina will ever produce anything that timeless but she’s definitely good in the here and now. I’ve just picked up The Passage by Justin Cougar, a post-apocalyptic chiller, it’s huge but starting well, I’ll let you know

Happy School Days. July 7th Cornish Guardian

Well, here we are, July and a milestone in our lives, our eldest boy is leaving primary school. How did this happen? Where did the time go? It really did seem like the other day when he first toddled into school looking ludicrously cute in his tie and blazer. I remember looking at the tall, confident scruffy Year 6 boys and wondered what it would be like, to be the mother of such a grown up child. Five years on and I look at my tall, confident scruffy boy and realise that he is still 5 in my heart and probably always will be, no matter how much he hates it!

On the school run this morning I had three 11 years olds all saying their favourite word. We had a 5 minute recital of Bum, Freak and Wag where they sounded like the frogs chorus with my 9 year old laughing his head off. They then launched into Postman Pat and promptly forgot the words. It was a fun trip and I was thinking how much they enjoyed going to school, I don’t remember much laughter when I used to go to school. Surely the mark of a good primary school is not where it sits in league tables but where it sits in a child’s heart.

Over the years the boys have learnt to sail, surf and swim, played in football matches and run cross country for their school. They’ve walked the Saints Way from south to north coast and run miles for Sports Relief, they’ve cooked for the Royal Cornwall Show, taken part in concerts and hosted radio shows. In amongst all of this they’ve also learned to read, write and count to a squillion. As parents we’ve joined the children on bike rides, trips to the Minack, humiliated ourselves in the parents’ swim race and joined in the family feel of the school. That is what a good school should be, part of an extended family. It should be a place where a child runs in every day laughing, where they discover teachers that they will remember for the rest of their lives, where they try as hard as they can because they want to not because they have to. I’ll confess at this point that my children aren’t always that motivated, before any teachers reading this choke with laughter or disbelief. Like any family there are going to be grumpy days as well as good ones.

Too often schools seem to be criticised for failing to gain suitable SAT levels, teachers are deemed unsatisfactory if their paperwork isn’t properly presented. Head’s are stressed by the amount of hoops the have to jump through, introducing initiative after initiative whilst wondering where the money is going to come from. But surely primary school should just be about developing a child’s love of learning, keeping children safe and happy. Secondary school is going to be tough enough without children already arriving disenchanted. When I worked at Newquay Tretherras I saw such world weary, fed up children arrive in year seven and I would wondered how rotten their primary years must have been. So thank you to all the teachers out there, that love and care for their pupils, who know that a happy, motivated child is more important than SAT levels and attendance figures. I’m glad that you are in the majority and I hope that you all enjoy your holidays. On a personal note, thankyou to all at Roselyon for helping transform my stumbling toddler into a confident, happy young lad.

http://www.roselyonschool.com/index2.php

Feast Weeks and Reader Days. June 30th Gornish Guardian

It’s all go today, sometimes it can be quite quiet in the shop, chatting to customers and tidying shelves, finding orders and organising displays. Today however, has one or two other things to sort out, namely getting all the stock in for St Austell’s first Reading Day being hosted by the Library. They’ve got poets, travel writers and authors including EV Thompson and Tessa Hainsworth, there’ll be Du Maurier’s archives as well as lunch and informal sessions. It’s going to be really interesting but if anyone wants to buy any of the authors’ books I’d better get on with it. It’s a balancing act to make sure that I’ve got enough for everyone but not so much that I have loads left over afterwards. If I get it wrong you can look forward to a few columns praising the merits of so and so and their “must have” book. Knowing my luck I’ll err on the side of caution and get glared at by all and sundry as we sell out within the first hour! The event will take place at the College on July 14th, why not come along and meet the authors and see whether I got my numbers right. Tickets are available from the Library.

I’ve also got to get the window dressed for Feast Week. For those of you who don’t know, every year for Feast Week the shops all dress their window as a song title. This year the theme is transportation. I’ve chosen my song and am now trying to make my window match the song. The public go from window to window trying to guess which song title belongs to which window. I was so “clever” one year that most people thought we hadn’t bothered. This is the first one I’ve been allowed to do since then. We have a blackboard outside our shop which has a weekly puzzle on it, hopefully people will find my window easier than the puzzle. Incidentally, the puzzle this week is “A woman has 7 children half of who are boys. How is this possible?”

I like Feast Week, the village, always pretty, fairly dazzles when all the flags and bunting are put up, we have a load of new flags this year around the harbour and it’s positively shimmering. There’s always so much going on, catching crabs and pavement art and of course the Raft Race which has added obstacles this year, hopefully not a stampede of escaping crabs though. The Flora Dance performed by the children always reminds me of a grudge match at Twickenham, I don’t know why rugby springs to mind but there is something in the grim determination of the girls’ faces that the boys will skip properly that makes me smile.

It’s all go today, sometimes it can be quite quiet in the shop, chatting to customers and tidying shelves, finding orders and organising displays. Today however, has one or two other things to sort out, namely getting all the stock in for St Austell’s first Reading Day being hosted by the Library. They’ve got poets, travel writers and authors including EV Thompson and Tessa Hainsworth, there’ll be Du Maurier’s archives as well as lunch and informal sessions. It’s going to be really interesting but if anyone wants to buy any of the authors’ books I’d better get on with it. It’s a balancing act to make sure that I’ve got enough for everyone but not so much that I have loads left over afterwards. If I get it wrong you can look forward to a few columns praising the merits of so and so and their “must have” book. Knowing my luck I’ll err on the side of caution and get glared at by all and sundry as we sell out within the first hour! The event will take place at the College on July 14th, why not come along and meet the authors and see whether I got my numbers right. Tickets are available from the Library.

I’ve also got to get the window dressed for Feast Week. For those of you who don’t know, every year for Feast Week the shops all dress their window as a song title. This year the theme is transportation. I’ve chosen my song and am now trying to make my window match the song. The public go from window to window trying to guess which song title belongs to which window. I was so “clever” one year that most people thought we hadn’t bothered. This is the first one I’ve been allowed to do since then. We have a blackboard outside our shop which has a weekly puzzle on it, hopefully people will find my window easier than the puzzle. Incidentally, the puzzle this week is “A woman has 7 children half of who are boys. How is this possible?”

I like Feast Week, the village, always pretty, fairly dazzles when all the flags and bunting are put up, we have a load of new flags this year around the harbour and it’s positively shimmering. There’s always so much going on, catching crabs and pavement art and of course the Raft Race which has added obstacles this year, hopefully not a stampede of escaping crabs though. The Flora Dance performed by the children always reminds me of a grudge match at Twickenham, I don’t know why rugby springs to mind but there is something in the grim determination of the girls’ faces that the boys will skip properly that makes me smile. My favourite Feast Week memory is when I bought my brother some huge crabs sold off for at the end of the Fish Festival. I popped them in his sink and left him a message on his phone. Turned out he went away that weekend. He came back 4 days later to find that the crabs that hadn’t been dead at the time had escaped the sink and roamed the flat until they found suitable dark and awkward crevices where they duly hunkered down and died. I understand the smell was extreme. Feast Week is on all this week at Mevagissey, pop down and join in the fun.

My favourite Feast Week memory is when I bought my brother some huge crabs sold off for at the end of the Fish Festival. I popped them in his sink and left him a message on his phone. Turned out he went away that weekend. He came back 4 days later to find that the crabs that hadn’t been dead at the time had escaped the sink and roamed the flat until they found suitable dark and awkward crevices where they duly hunkered down and died. I understand the smell was extreme. Feast Week is on all this week at Mevagissey, pop down and join in the fun.

I’ve been drinking a rather palatable Chenin blend “Coolest Cape” from Ken Forrester, apparently he is the Stellenbosch king of Chenin Blanc and this wasn’t a bad drop. It’s gone down rather nicely whilst reading Lavinia by Ursula Le Guin, a tale based around one the characters in Virgil’s Aeneid. Despite being full of blood and battles it’s a very calm, quiet read.

Surfing and the World Cup. June 23rd Cornish Guardian

If there’s one job I wouldn’t thank you for right now it’s being a goal keeper, not that anyone’s asked me, mind. It seems that for 90 minutes or even longer you successfully stop all goals, for 2 seconds you let one go in and you’re Judas. Suddenly everyone in the country has an opinion and the belief that even they could have stopped that one. It amazes me that we do so poorly for goalies in this country because apparently there seem to be enough experts around who could do a better job, including my 9 year old son, the barmaid, my brother in law and of course my husband. Incidentally my husband could also play forward or on the wing. In fact if Mr Capello just contacted Steve and asked him to step up I’m sure he could win the match single handed.

Now this might sound like a girlie moan about football but I actually enjoy the World Cup, it’s a time when the whole world seems to be focused on the same thing. If you type in World Cup on Twitter you are engulfed with strands of text in every language and alphabet possible. It’s wonderful, so many people are happy and desperately focused on hoping that their country succeeds. As countries are knocked out teams develop new fans, suddenly we’re all backing Ghana.

I’ll watch the odd match and enjoy it but I’d rather be doing than watching so when I was offered the chance to have a yoga and surf lesson a few weeks ago I jumped at it. The session was being organised by Catch A Wave CIC They believe that surfing should be enjoyed by everyone, not just young gods and goddesses. Now I’m not saying that I’m not a goddess but I’m a goddess that’s a bit lumpy and achy and not quite as young as I once was.

We started with a yoga session and stood on the sand and stretched and loosened our bodies until they were wonderfully long and supple. We were tall, majestic and glorious. Then we ran down to the waves where we got pummelled and rolled and looked like flotsam that the sea had spat out.

Surfing for me was a bit of a hit and miss affair; the simple advice was grab your board, jump up, stick your butt out and crouch like you’re going to the loo in France. Now due to my basic anatomical structure, sticking my posterior out was not a problem and having frequented French roadside lavatorial facilities I have no problems with crouching but “jump up”?! There were some serious gravitational issues to be overcome here with, I have to confess, limited success. I really tried to stand up but it seemed that every time I got up, the momentum carried me forwards and I’d run off the end, again and again and again.

Even though I was rubbish and didn’t have the strength, agility or fitness to actually ride a wave standing, I had a blast. And despite the amount of time I wiped out in spectacular fashions I honestly didn’t ache the following day and I put that down solely to the preceding yoga session. This is their whole ethos, life should be fun for everyone no matter how infirm and the sea is a free and fabulous resource available to all. Nothing is as much fun as screaming down the face of a wave even if it’s just lying on your tummy. I was reminded of how inclusive surfing can be the following day at the beach when two ladies who were easily in their 70s, walked out of the waves, one was in a cossie carrying a state of the art boogie board, the other was in a state of the art wetsuit carrying one of the old wooden belly boards. Both ladies were grinning ear to ear.

I wish Catch a Wave every success, incidently, Steve doesn’t surf but if he did I’m sure he be an expert at that too!

Photo by Christina Draper

All praise the fishermen. June 16th Cornish Guardian

Like most shops the nation over we have a counter and on that counter we have a charity box and like most counters we only have space for one. For us it was an easy choice, the RNLI. We work in a coastal village; we play by and in the water all year long. I dive and if ever I was to get into trouble it would be the RNLI who would be first on the scene to summon a helicopter and get me to safety. Most importantly my sister is a crewman over in Pembrokeshire. When things go pear shaped Anna and other unpaid volunteers like her run out into usually horrible weather and put themselves at risk to save others. Anna would very modestly point out that she generally just ends up towing back windsurfers who’ve ended up heading for America.

So for us it’s the RNLI but if we had the space for a second box what would we have? A medical charity for me would be too painful and personal. I like Shelter Box enormously, I think what they do is great and simple so they would have initially been my second choice but a while back one of the fishermen asked why I didn’t have a box out for the Fisherman’s Mission. Now I have to be honest I’d never heard of them, it conjured up Methodist choirs standing in draughty halls sucking revolting pastilles, but Jimmy had nothing but praise for them so I investigated a bit further. Over 13,000 men and women work in the UK's toughest and most dangerous peacetime occupation: deep sea fishing. At sea, they face death and injury on a daily basis. On land, many face insecurity and debt. And life for the 50,000 retired fishermen and their dependants is no better, with debt, inadequate pensions and scant savings meaning no respite from hardship once the fishing’s over.* The Fisherman’s Mission provides emergency aid when tragedy strikes and looks after injured fishermen or grieving families. They offer financial, practical and emotional support. They look after retired fishermen and fight their cases in tenancy disputes, ensure their homes are safe and that they are coping.

Fishing is one of the three traditional Cornish industries along with farming and mining. Well the miners have pretty much gone now and the farmers continue to struggle but the fishermen remain in a perilous industry unaltered in generations. I wonder how many of them have private health care, company pension schemes, how easy is it to go to a bank and raise a mortgage if you pay packet depends on winds and currents and sheer good luck? When I see the fisherman on the jetty mending their nets and shouting back and forth, laughing and joking I’m just glad that there is a Charity that steps in and helps when times get tough. Maybe I will have to make room for a second box. * http://www.fishermensmission.org.uk/

This week I’ve been reading The White Queen by Philippa Gregory, not impressed; drinking very bland wines, even less impressed and been listening to Tik Tok by Kesha as the boys love it. I’ve now heard it about a million times. Unimpressed all round really.

In which I fail at the Royal Cornwall...again. June 9th CG

I know the Royal Cornwall Show is a fabulous occasion, I know it brings people together, I know it is a time when the county shows of its finest but for me it’s a time of dread. Each year, it looms over me until the awful letter comes home from school, the one inviting the children to take part in the honey cookery competition. Every year, the school invites the children to take part and every year the children choose to make the fudge. I could scream, I hate the honey fudge recipe. The children have taken to picking fudge, I am sure, just to see my reaction.

Now I know the purist (and the judges) amongst you will be exclaiming, “Surely, the children do the cooking?!” but if you think I’m letting primary school children boil and pour molten sugar you’ve got a screw loose. So what we will do this year will be what we have done every year; the boys will read the recipe, gather and measure the ingredients, tip them in and stir until it starts to heat up. At this point I will step in and ruin it. Every year I step in and ruin it. I don’t know how but each and every time something different occurs. Over the years, the boys have handed in black fudge, brittle fudge, fudge that couldn’t be broken with a toffee hammer, fudge that melted off the presentation plate and so on and these were the second or third attempts.

The boys love it, they get to eat the first failures and then proudly take in the mess that I have made of their cooking. As you might have guessed they have yet to win anything for fudge in 5 years. I should imagine that the judges look at the two plates of the sorriest looking fudge on record and comment that here are entries unsullied by the help of any adult. It would be funnier if it wasn’t so mortifying, I’m normally a decent cook but honey fudge is clearly my nemesis When it is the youngest boy’ final year I’m going to the fudge shop in Mevagissey and getting their finest honey fudge and putting it on a plate.

Thankfully the boys don’t have the hindrance of their mother for the other entries and have great fun making the school scarecrow, planting up flowers in unusual containers, making insect masks and various other entries. I love walking around the competition tents on the show day to see what all the various entries. If you’ve not popped into that tent before it’s really worth the time to see what the local schools have been up to. My one regret is that it only seems to be a handful of schools that take part each year. I understand the constraints on the time and resources of schools but a county show is a wonderful occasion for us all to see what each of us has been getting up to. If you do look in though please walk past the honey fudge table quickly.

This week I’ve been drinking Boddingtons strawberry cordial with tonic water ( gorgeous but I’m missing my wine) reading Wolf Hall which was hugely disappointing and listening to Linkin Park – Hands Held High seems to fit the blue skies at the moment. (the link includes bad language)

Exploring the backyard and discovering treasure on Par Beach. June 2nd CG

It’s easy to overlook what we have on our doorstep but I’ve recently learnt to love Par Beach. Until last year, the only time I went there was to litter pick with the school, it was always cold and drizzly, the work was dirty and boring and I would trudge away aching and wet. Then we got Harry, an exuberant Springer (is there any other type?) and we started to look around for walks; our warehouse is in Par, so the beach was an obvious choice. It’s never going to be a beach I use to sunbathe on or swim in but there’s so much else to do.

Throughout the day the life of the beach ebbs and flows. The sun rises on fishermen digging for lugworms and riders stretching their horses as they plunge through the waves; dog walkers give way to sun worshipers as the day progresses, children spill onto the beach after school and then kite surfers tear along the surf blowing a day’s work out of their hair. The sun sets and barbeques are lit and eventually the beach returns to the wildlife. At low tide in winter there are cockles and razor clams to be harvested. In summer the paths running through the sand dunes are drenched in the scent of dog roses and gorse.

For my part I just walk Harry and thought I‘d seen all there was to see. In fact if you give me a grain of sand I can probably tell you which part of the beach it comes from. Of course there’s not just the beach front. There’s a great walk over the coast path to Polkerris and if the tide is low enough you can scramble back over the rocks going along Boolies beach. If you’re lucky (and Harry is not nearby) you can spot all sorts of wildlife. I clocked 22 different birds once; I couldn’t name them all mind you.

In fact it was my ignorance of what I was looking at prompted me to go on a free bird spotters walk hosted by the Cornwall Wildlife Trust (CWT). I turned up with binoculars and without Harry and discovered so much more about Par Beach. Did you know there are otters there! We walked around the pond and cut through the holiday park through the wood (there’s a wood!) and came out by the river where kingfishers have been spotted. There was so much that I had never seen before (I tend to avoid the pond as Harry and geese would be a lethal and noisy combination.) We also saw some of the work carried out by the Friends of Par Beach, a group of volunteers, who like volunteers the world over, work hard but keep quiet.

I discovered this walk in a small square book published by the council of all countryside events occurring in Cornwall both free and paid. So, many thanks, to the Friends of Par Beach, to the CWT for providing the fascinating walk and the council for putting together the free guide (try your local library or TIC for a copy). Harry and I will now explore new pastures with greater knowledge.

Click here for further photos of Par Beach.

If you want to read more of Harry's exploits have a read of my other Blog on outdoor life in Cornwall - Cornwall Outside

• This week I’ve been reading VAT returns (but sneaking in Asimov’s Caves of Steel), drinking water and listening to Patricia the Stripper – Chris de Burgh. I don’t like any of his other stuff but this has fabulous memories!

The holidays season is underway and Cornwall swells. 26th May CG

Flick. And just like that the switch has been flicked and Cornwall has swelled to twice the size. You queue to get into Asda, you queue to get out again, you watch in bemusement as caravans get stuck. You notice that Tesco’s has started to stock Pesto again and that your local newspaper has sold out before you get to it. Half term always seems to catch us on the back foot but like the migrating geese, instinct kicks in and we start to adapt. Back onto the back roads, up a bit earlier for the morning paper, going to Asda in the sunshine (everyone else is on the beach).

My bookshop is in Mevagissey, the lane outside my shop is cobbled and within 10 yards is the sea. In winter I listen to the gales, the rain, the seagulls, the peace and the quiet. In summer I listen to the laughter, the shouts, and of course the seagulls. I love this village and I love my life, I too, would come on holiday here but I can’t help but feel sorry for those poor holiday makers who’ve spent 4 hours stuck on the M5 engines humming, fumes swirling, temperatures rising, spirits falling. Who would enjoy that? Eye spy becomes tedious after 30 minutes, even a teenager can’t text for a whole 4 hours. Your 6 year old boy who is a restless chap at the best of times has already attempted to chew his way out of the car after the third hour. Then having sat on the M5 in a heat wave you arrive in Cornwall 5 minutes after the heavens open for 6 days non stop rain. The sun comes out on the seventh day – just in time for the drive home.

I know some holiday makers are determined that every second counts and wake up and drag their fractious, fed up children back into the car in search of character building exercises. If children knew who Torquemada was they might think he was alive and well and building cars. But I think the ones that have got it right are the ones that just arrive and stop. They stay where they are and spend the first day resting. Either kicking a football around the field, wandering down to the beach and jumping over the waves or just grabbing a book to read. There’s so much to explore and do in Cornwall but one of the truly marvellous things about it is how very, very relaxed it can be just so long as I can get my paper, don’t have to queue in ASDA and don’t get stuck behind a caravan on the back road to Pentewan.

All this talk of holidays has made me want to start planning mine. I bet the boys would enjoy climbing Ben Nevis. It’ll be good for them. Especially after a 10 hour car journey!

• This week I’ve been reading Of Mist and Bees, a bewitching fairy tale of family secrets, drinking Explorers Marlborough Sauvignon 2009 and listening to Story by Leddra Chapman. All excellent.
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