May 7th 2018 8:46pm

We decided this Saturday to go down to the Weir Cafe and walk along the canal into Bude. Along the Atlantic Highway we could see billowing clouds of sea mist in the valleys and on the horizon like some impending nuclear cloud approaching. Should we just go back home and sit in the garden and pick our noses? Consensus was unanimously undecided so we finally arrived at the Weir Cafe.
It was bloody freezing there and all I had was a t shirt to wear, oh and trousers etc of course. We walked into the freezing fog like Spanish refugees expecting to see body parts dangling from the trees as in some Goya-esque horror etching. Our space blankets rustled as eerie silhouettes of figures like Ringwraiths could be seen now and again bobbing out in the spiralling mist. Finally Bude appeared out of the frozen sea pea soup and we decided to visit the shops as we had no idea where the beach was.
This was a great mistake, most of Bude was closed for Sunday! It’s a busy Bank Holiday weekend, time to make loads of money, yet they’ve all closed for the day; typical Cornish business, or could they be all at church? We decided against the £5 local pasties as £20 is not quite the price I’d like to pay for a quite snack! Back to the canal where loads of motor bikers were stroking and licking each other’s spotless machines . They’ve all got supercharged racing bikes that are only to be taken out if there’s sunshine, no rain and it’s exactly 18 degrees C. Then it’s out for a predictable Sunday in their colourful gimp leathers and a quick ride down to the Bude Canal for rancid corn oil chips and anaemic tea. After half an hour they’re home again to spend the rest of the day washing and bedding down their bikes. This is followed by spanking each other with discarded rolled up chip wrappers and having kinky sexy in their Suzuki leathers.
We decided to leave this ghost town and felt our way back along the canal in the freezing fog like Blind Pew. Finally we left misty Weir Cafe and just as we arrived back at Clovelly Cross the sun appeared. Not to self, don’t sodding go anywhere on a bank holiday just stay in the garden and stare at the the lump of purple pigeon poo on the decking!

As a footnote, I’ve had to throw a t shirt away because due to the cold my stiff nipples wore a hole through the material!