More from Fowey

I went to school in Fowey, and I suppose I was spoiled rotten, although it did not seem that way at the time as it was a toughish comprehensive that made Grange Hill look like Linbury Court. Still it is a lovely little town and nowadays is thriving with many intresting shops. It also welcomes free-spending barbarians.

Restricted zone. Fowey’s mediæval streets are even narrower and twistier than Mevagissey, and driving my enormous Audi around the old town felt rather like navigating a billion-ton oil tanker up the Norfolk Broads.

This is the King of Prussia where we used to go for a crafty pint or twelve, there is something nice about having a drink in a genuine olde-worlde pub in a fishing village and then being able to stumble out and fall straight off the edge of the quay into the river.

It is Daphne du Maurier country of course, and though she probably wrote a good many more books than she really ought to have, it is keeping local bookshops in business to this day. Intrestingly you can see Sally Beauman’s excellent Rebecca’s Tale in this picture, which is one of the few literary ‘sequels’ to actually be any good.

Unlike most people brought up in Cornwall, I am hopeless with boats ekcetera and do not know my aft from my elbow. It is a shame as I am in love with the romance of the sea, but get unromantically sick if I go anywhere near it. Except if it is one of those giant ferries where you can pretend it is just a big building full of drunk children and bad entertainers.

keithlondon

Joie de vivre

Phone pictures out and about in springing London.