Tag: cornwall

A Cornish BroMoon

Four sweaty men and a few pints of cider.

Two years ago, in a moment of remarkable prescience for yours truly, I had an idea. Good ideas don’t come often to me so I had to act fast. Figuring (correctly) that COVID was going to last a while, I decided I needed something to look forward to other than a) pandemic weight gain and b) the weekly Okanagan doorstep wine delivery which was becoming a little too regular and comfortable. A walking trip would be ideal I thought, but when, where and who with?

Cornwall gives England the finger.

I contacted three good friends, all geologists like me, over WhatsApp.

Chaps, I said. We need to something to look forward to other than a) our pandemic weight gain b) and the weekly doorstep wine delivery.

Agreed, they said in a WhatsApp-in-unison sort of way.

So, says I, why don’t we book a walking trip in the UK for the summer of 2022? How about a week or two hiking along the Cornwall / Devon coast? If we book now we can pick the optimum window for a good old-fashioned sunburn, like mid-July to early August.

Oh yes. We’re in if you book it! they replied somewhat cryptically.

Righty ho. I replied. Will do.

We’re leaving (hopefully) on an Air Canada jet plane
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Superstition & Mining

It all spells trouble.

Miners have more than their fair share of superstitions. The nasty, smelly bowels of the earth aren’t kind to those who choose to grub around down there, and the more you dig into the old lore, the more you realise how hard a job it was. Death was everywhere. Most miners were lucky to live past the ripe old age of 40. If rockfalls or dead air didn’t get them, silicosis was waiting in line, so it’s no surprise that they looked for signs to warn them away from danger and protect what scant longevity they had.

No way am I going in there… Nope.

I’m a scientist at heart and not generally a believer in the supernatural. Even so, I do hold a few superstitions; ones that I like to think are grounded in common sense. For example, never stick your head in a honey wagon tank. It’s really unlucky and your friends will stop inviting you to the pub. Or, another one that’s seen me safely through to a ripe old middle age: don’t smoke huge cigars in fiery coal mines.

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