Cornish Courtesy
I might have possibly mentioned in my last blog that I have been away on holiday with my Long Suffering Husband (or LSH for short) and my two lovely daughters, Charlie and Bobbie. If I didn’t, I apologise but I was probably still in mourning for my lovely camera, which took a picture of the Isle of Wight and then died on me.
We were away for two weeks this year and decided to take the first week in the New Forest and the second in Cornwall. The New Forest is beautiful and I fell in love with the place while we were there, as did the other members of the family, except the LSH, who fell in love with it when he went there on holiday with his parents. I get the feeling that the Honeymoon period between him and the New Forest has lasted for the nearly three decades since.
We did encounter one thing that jarred a little. We found a higher degree of ignorance – i.e. lack of manners – than we would have liked. Our two daughters found themselves jostled when we went to the local Waitrose (admittedly just outside the National Park) and no apologies forthcoming. People up here (or oop north, if you like) will normally say sorry if they bump into you. We got the feeling that maybe some of the people perhaps thought themselves better than others (we did not get the feeling it was personal anyway). Sorry if you’re from the New Forest and you think that that is not a just representation of you and your fellow Nouveaux Foresters, but that is the impression we received.
Which is the opposite of the impression we received the following week in Cornwall. I was basically gobsmacked the whole time. I had my suspicions that things weren’t right when we were driving down a narrow street with cars parked all along one side. This didn’t leave room for two cars. Up here, I usually end up shouting “The obstruction’s on your side, you buffoon!” or something similar. In Cornwall (or St Blazey to be precise) we were gobsmacked as drivers pulled into the side of the road to give way to us. At first we thought that it was an isolated incident but several narrow roads later, we began to believe it was the norm.
Then there were the tractor drivers! Up here in sunny Lancashire, our farmers seem to take delight in driving their tractors along busy roads at peak times. They choose the roads carefully too. They should be used by plenty of motorists so a long line of vehicles can build up behind the tractor and it should be impossible to overtake without taking your life in your hands. This torture can carry on for hours on end. Okay, I’ve never been stuck behind a tractor going into work but I have been at every other conceivable opportunity.
In Cornwall, the only reason I could think of that the tractor driver would build up a long line of cars behind him would be to increase the pleasure he feels as he pulls over to the side of the road at a safe place for the cars to overtake and watch them speed into the distance with a beaming, avuncular smile on his face. I like Cornish farmers. I witnessed this three times and we never got stuck behind a tractor for long.
One other observation I made during my holiday was that Landrover Discoveries (and to a lesser extent Landrover Freelanders) seem to be driven by psychos. I spotted one that was driven off road (but on verge) so he could get past a stationary line of traffic to a roundabout. There were other instances too but, unfortunately, I was traumatised by them that I have blanked them out of my memory.
One last thing. The beer in Cornwall was beautiful. I’ve even put the link to open on a new page to make it more convenient for you.
Leave a Reply