Jamaica Inn, Bolventor

Last night's stop at the Britannia Inn was perfect for us. This morning we took a shower as we could refill Marge's water tank and empty our waste water. John lent a very young couple our hosepipe to fill their van with water. The girl was local, from Plymouth, living in the van full time. She said the trouble with driving in the area was there were just too many vans clogging up the roads whilst on holiday. Well one of those people has just helped you out you ungrateful little. O.K. Marge.  The grass the vans had all parked on had been freshly cut so we needed to give Marge a good brush out before leaving. The lady in a very nice Land Rover conversion near us was giving her sheepskin rug a good clean. If there's one thing you don't want it's your rug full of grass! It'll knit right into it. Aware the weather would change mid-afternoon we left by late morning heading to Bodmin Moor to the Golitha Falls.

Our journey meant taking the fast A30 across the moor. Marge did her best really going for it. The parking at the falls was a nightmare, and we had to wait a while for a space long enough to park the van in without it being in danger of someone running into it. Just when we could have shoehorned Marge into a more suitable space she decided to immobilise, big time. Thanks for that Marge, you're such an embarrassment. Now we've lost the spot to some little old sports car! Eventually, John coaxed her into firing up and we moved.

The paths to the falls were not well marked. We opted for one we thought would be fairly easy soon finding ourselves above the tumbling waters of the river Fowey. As older irresponsible people do, we climbed down onto the rocks beside it to eat our lunch. The power of the water roaring in our ears as it bounced from rock to rock. Right which way now? You guessed it, the wrong way. Our walking boots slipped on stones and got caught in tree roots as we criss-crossed the steep incline. Angela held on to John for fear of falling, forgetting if she did, they both would. A decision had to be made about our way back to the main path. We needed to climb further up. Below us the churning bubbling water gave us purpose. Eventually we found one of the main paths which wound its way through towering beech trees. Mounds of moss, smooth as green baize pushed up between a carpet of bluebells in their last throws of flowering. Back at Marge, we could hear her saying, here they are, bloody fools!

Our guide book recommended we also visit the Hurler's stone circles; a group of standing stones arranged in three circles. The site was surrounded by disused tin mines from a bygone age. We didn't really get the meaning of the stones as there were no information boards, so drove back towards Bolventor stopping at the side of the road to view Doniert's stone, erected in the 9^th century to commemorate the last known king of Cornwall, King Dumgarth. 

The rain now falling steadily we drove over the moor, beautifully manicured by the grazing sheep, cattle and horses to tonights stop. Cornwall's most famous smugglers inn, Jamaica Inn. 

The 18^th century coaching inn was immortalised in Daphne du Maurier's novel of the same name. The views from Marge tonight are beautiful, but the wet weather is relentless, which explains why the house opposite is totally weatherproofed in slate.

Tomorrow we will drive to Wadebridge to cycle along the camel trail to Padstow. Let's hope the forecast sunshine arrives.