Stomps by the river. High tide is High. Low tide is mud.
It was very amusing to see children sliding down the mud banks. Watching the parents cringe on the side of the river. How on earth will I get that out of their clothes.
Cocktails and food.
Much, much food.
Smokey flavors, with too many herbs. No such thing. Explosions of chili bombs. Ruined taste buds.
The sun. It was out. Boy it shone. Bright and warm. Secret places discovered with fat cats. A joy.
I would very much like to go back. I'd say next year. But there is no next year for Port Eliot. It's having a rest. A shame. But good. 2014. We shall meet there again.
I realise my posts on here are becoming an occasional event. Rather than my intense blogging, like I used to do.
It's because, yet again. A bee of busies, I have been, yes.
I could say to you that I will change this. And maybe post more. But it seems to happen very sporadically and mainly when I am bored. Like now.
If you see my Tweeting, you will see that I have been cheeking. Angling my way to do photographs for little festivals. Cider impaired lenses.
Managed, yes I did, to get a Press Pass for Farm Festival. A little field fest in Bruton. Show you I shall. I snapped and met a great and lovely band called Tall Ships while I was pottering around backstage. I can now admit that they where the only band there that I knew.
For all your informations. Anyone who wants to remember a night in a Somerset field... Do not drink more than three pints of Black Rat Cider.
The weekend before Farm Fest I went down to St. Germans in Cornwall, for a beautiful weekend next to the river at Port Eliot festival.
Lots of familiar faces popped up. Colours. Lights. Musics all over. Outside cooking.
SO much outside cooking. Delicious grub it was.
I may have paid. I tried to blag. But my skills may need some developing. And portfolio needs building.
Saying that. My website still needs sorting. After the initial motivation rush, things did slightly subside. And now once again I have other missions on my mind, which means the website may be taking the back seat for a while longer.
Mission number one: MOVE Back to Cornwall. Truro. Falmouth. I will be in one of you soon. A few months maybe. I am determined. After leaving Cornwall last time. I left with tears in my eyes. I'm not going to do it again.
Next time I drive past the wind turbines on the A39 outside of Truro, I will sure as hell know that I will be returning soon.