Once upon a time, many, many years ago a man celebrated his fortieth birthday. The Panther, for it was he, said: “Let’s go to Tintagel Castle. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
So off we went. In those days, before Boy Three was even a leer in his daddy’s eye, going off was considerably easier.
We spent a couple of days in the bizarre Camelot Hotel, overlooking the castle. However, the weather – it was January – was determined we wouldn’t see Tintagel any closer. Sadly, the wind kept on blowing as we ran out of time and had to go home.
Six years on the dream came true for the Panther as we finally conquered Tintagel Castle. And managed not to lose Boy Three off a cliff, a much bigger achievement.
Boy Two had a huge strop for much of the day. It seems the malevolent Prince Puberty is casting his tiresome spell.
English Heritage works very hard at persuading people to join up, but until they have a free entry from the off to sites across the UK you won’t get my vote.
The way the very fat Cornish gulls swooped on our crusts showed where Daphne du Maurier got her inspiration.
The ice cream of the day was pink grapefruit vodka sorbet.
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