Cornwall, day 8. Dark Satanic Mines

The gallery closes tonight and a few of us have the morning off. Later on we’ll all gather for a last attempt at wooing people inside with offers of free wine and nibbles, before packing away everything that hasn’t been sold.

It’s a beautiful sunny morning and I sit on a bench in the harbour with our friend Richard and a cup of tea, watching the sun dance on the water as the boats gently strain at their moorings. No crowds yet, just the people who work here getting ready for the day.

Richard suggests breakfast at the beach cafe, Chapel Porth - a small cove near St Agnes, which is a short drive up the coast. After the most amazing Croque Monsieur (in a home-made granary roll) and a decent coffee, we walk a few miles up the coastal path to the old tin mines and engine houses.

These buildings are quite extraordinary - like something from a war zone - surrounded by gorse and heather. As I take this photo I’m struck by the quiet and desolation - just a few swallows for company.

We can see St Ives in the distance across the bay. We have to return to the crowds and the seagulls of course, but up here I can see what all the fuss is about. Now I get Cornwall.