press releases

 Western Morning News - Alice Band's Diary.   November 2008

I've always associated the word "shamrock" with the colour green, leprechauns and eager American genealogists whose enthusiasm for ancestry and being one eighth anything, preferably Irish, is better than just coming from Queens or wherever.  

Not so anymore. From now on "shamrock" will be synonymous with perfection. As Hubby and I picked our way down the cliffs off Whitsand Bay last weekend, I saw from the chimney of our chalet, smoke spiral its way heavenward. "There it is", I pointed to Hubby, my excitement barely contained, "there's Shamrock". Running the last 20 yards or so, we undid the little wooden gate which forms part of the picket fence that encircles the chalet and somehow adds to the mystical  effect that you are cutting yourself off from the rest of the world.   We let ourselves in. If at all possible , given the extraordinary 360-degree view afforded from every, myriad window, the inside was as gorgeous as the outside.  The wood burner had been lit in anticipation of our arrival and so, although bitterly cold outside, inside  it was as warm as toast.  Our every need had been catered for, whereas in the past, self catering had literally meant,  " if feasible, then please bring your kitchen sink," here they'd thought of everything our little hearts could desire to, well engender, desire..  "Look, they've even thought of some games," I said to Hubby lifting the Trivial Pursuit" ....  Let's go for a walk." And chucking his scarf in his direction, I made him take in the sea air.

The tide was out and the space was vast and wide and gave me a feeling of extraordinary freedom. I ran and jumped puddles and wrote "Hubby and Alice Band forever" in the sand with a vacated razor clam shell. There were only the two of us on the beach and it did occur to name that I could strip all my clothes off and lie provocatively against a mussel  encrusted rock .... 

 "I'm starving  " called Hubby called down, who being fitter than I, was ahead of me by a few grassy knolls "Shall we go to the Cliff Top Cafe?" I just about managed a thumbs up sign and  eventually arrived. Hubby was already ensconced with a newspaper "Hiya love, I'm having a big breakfast. What do you fancy ?" ...

Later , after a wonderful dinner at  The View restaurant, we giggled like teenagers back to the chalet due in part to an excellent bottle of wine, being thoroughly loved up, a sense of freedom; oh and the fact that we had forgotten a torch and out there, no only is there utterly no sound pollution but no light pollution either and we had no idea when the next boulder  would trip us up and send us crashing down the cliff. And as they say on Whitsand Bay, no one can hear you scream.  Evidently we made it eventually and fell into a warm, comfortable bed, cocooned by a thick heavy feather duvet. I awoke to the most sublime view in the South West of England and after tea and toast, literally had to be dragged kicking and screaming home to relieve my poor Dad of his overnight babysitting duties. 

It was a faultless weekend: no passport control, no queues, no delays, no cancellations. It took 10 minutes to get there, my kids weren't sick, nothing caught fire and no ceilings fell down. Perfect.

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