The GI's library

I found this plaque by chance in Bude. It's a standard joke among family and friends that I can find a library or second hand bookshop almost anywhere. I have biblioradar, even for historic libraries. Of course, the troops would have been here preparing for the D-day landings. My book recommendation, about this period, is Secret Army, by Leslie Thomas.

The journey to Bude took me more than five hours by train, train and double decker bus. Bus route (from Exeter) was scenic, the rest of the journey overcrowded to sardine-level. Fortunately I had a seat reservation, so I zoned out of the madness and read magazines.

Bude is charming, my hotel is more than ok, but my real find so far has been another, larger hotel with a restaurant. Attracted by the name An Mor, which looks like something Big in Gaelic, but apparently means Cracked in Cornish, I went in for a recce. The menu looked appetising. More than just the ubiquitous posh burgers.

A large Norton motorbike in a glass case takes up most of the space in reception, topped by a 2ft standing plastic meerkat. Winston Churchill's face looms out of the wallpaper, supersized. In the restaurant, the sound of repeated hammer blows is heard offstage left. I am seated next to a wall papered with Hanoverian monarchs, (the ones with wigs). I order the Sea Bass, but it's finished. I opt for three-pea risotto instead. The food for the people sitting nearby arrives. I'm impressed by the portion sizes. No skimping or Nouvelle cuisine here.

I wait what seems like ages. The hammer blows turn into live folk music, with much rhythmicstick-banging and laughter. I hear someone say it's Morris dancing. Of course! Winter is the season for practising. It's dark enough for winter now: I almost got lost on the footpaths on the way here.

The risotto arrives, delivered by the chef with a flourish. A forest of pea shoots garnishes it. The other peas are garden-variety and mangetout. The prawns are plump and juicy. I realise it has been made from scratch.

I think I've just found food heaven in this in this infinitely cracked Cornish hotel. Later, I ask the waitress if the Sea bass will be back tomorrow. Should I get here early? She goes to ask the chef, who says it will be delivered first thing tomorrow morning. Reader, I shall return. Possibly not at breakfast time, but definitely for dinner.

Reader, I realise I have switched tenses in this account. I believe the restaurant experience has drained the blood from my brain. The Morris dancing continued as I left. I sneaked round the back for a look. I've never seen the dancers in their civvies before.

Truly the Food Gods, and the cracked ones, smiled on me tonight.