Friday, July 15, 2023 

It’s another slow start for us today, which, although it means we have less time to see the town, is really delightful. I take my time having multiple cups of coffee, writing, and existing. When we do eventually get out, it’s actually sunny! There are loads of people about, taking in the nice weather and enjoying Mousehole. 

We return to a few shops and pop in some we didn’t see yesterday, including one I noticed on my hike but was closed at the time. It’s called the Ark, and it’s the workshop of a man named Paul. He handcrafts everything in the shop. Largely it’s pewter, but he says he also works with silver and copper. What caught our attention was the window filled with tiny pewter mice and cats, but the shop as a whole is a wonder. There’s a tree in the middle of the room with mushrooms all over it, and tiny handmade fairies hang from the branches. On one wall there’s a little model of a town with shops that have doors and windows, and the tiny pewter items that Paul makes are displayed in these little windows. He sees me looking and chuckles, “The shops are open, have a look in if you’d like.” 

We wind up with a handful of tiny cats and mice. Mom’s just beside herself. I am too. Our love of tiny things runs in the family. If my grandma were still alive and with us, she’d be in ecstasy right alongside us. 

We catch the bus to Newlyn, aiming to have a late lunch at the Red Lion, which supposedly has great crab cakes. But when we get there, it turns out that they only serve until 3 and after 5. It’s 3:30, and I’m starving now, so we walk down the road in search of alternates. I spot a pasty shop on the corner and walk in excitedly, but they’re out. I’m getting really hangry now, to that point where I just want someone to make a decision for me and not do that dumb waffling back and forth on where to eat. So we walk to the first available open place, which turns out to be a seafood bar called Mackerel Sky, and it is delicious. Monkfish burger, chips, mussels. I am restored to the full version of myself. 

Our plan had been to take the Land’s End Coaster bus around the peninsula today, but it’s almost 5 by now and if we do that we won’t make it back to Mousehole. So we decide instead to just walk the promenade out to Penzance. En route, we pass the Newlyn Art Gallery, but it’s just about closing so it’s only a quick spin through the shop and back to the promenade. It’s a lovely day, high tide, and the water is crashing up against the walls below the walkway. People are walking their dogs. Dogs are so well behaved here. I hardly ever see one one on a leash; they just walk right by their people.

We wind up at the Jubilee Pool, a triangular salt water pool built in the 1930s. There’s a huge regular pool and a smaller geothermal one, one of the earliest in Britain in the modern age (but obviously the Romans beat anyone to this long before at Bath). Past that, it’s a bustling knot of people either going to or returning from the Isles of Scilly off the coast, and the traffic makes me so glad that we didn’t attempt to drive here.

We walk around Penzance for a bit, but most things are closed so not a whole lot of interesting stuff to report there. We waffle back and forth a bit about whether to take the bus back or walk and settle on walking. I’m glad we do, because, although there are a few moments of rain, it’s still largely a very nice night.

We pop into Lidl for a few groceries. The other day I discovered some very cute gummies at M&S called Percy Pig. Lidl seems to have an equivalent called Henry Hippo. We munch on them as we walk. They’re not Percy, but they’re pretty good. The image of Henry on the bag looks a little shifty, though, like he has a secret. What’s your secret, Henry?

Oh buoy. This blog is really lumpy and ugly today. 

Where was I? Back to the walk. We pass the Penzance Promenade, then follow it as the city gives way to Newlyn again. Then up a hill, past the Red Lion, and along a road next to a thick hedgy tangle. At one point the pathway drops down to follow a paved section of the South West Coast Path in the woods, then the coastline opens up. The sun is setting and the water is calm, at least compared to yesterday. I look hard for seals again and find none. I take deep lungfuls of salty air as if trying to store them up. 

We linger for a while at the rock pool, watching the waves, still no seals, lots of gulls. I watch the little critters in the pool scurrying around, try not to step on be-shelled creatures that cling to the rocks or concrete. The ocean is mesmerizing, the air fresh, the life good. 

Everything is just about closing back in sleepy Mousehole. We stand and take in the harbor and its boats and lights before heading home. I love this place. Mousehole just has something. It feels old and imaginary and cheeky somehow. It sounds like waves breaking on rock and seagull conversations. It smells old like wood and salt and cider. If towns are animals, this one is a cat. It slinks slyly into the loaming, out of the crooked-ceiling pub, down wiggly streets, and away—leaving you wondering if it ever existed at all, or only in your imagination.