Diary of a St Ivean

[Tuesday] A bright cold morning of sun and clear blue skies. Halfway up Tregenna Hill I met Mildred with her grandson. Mildred is the Google of St Ives: feed her a name and she will instantly supply you with more information than you can possibly cope with. I wanted to know from her the address of the builder whose scaffolding has been up at the house next to mine since April 2007. Incredibly, this just for a loft conversion job and no work has been done there for three months. I've decided to write to the builder for 'a firm date' for its removal. If I don't do something, I'm fearful the scaffolding might be awarded a listed building status and become untouchable.

Effortlessly Mildred supplied the information along with some background detail of the builder's ancestry.

In a letter to Kingsley Amis, Philip Larkin once complained that the 'door-slamming Olympics' had commenced in the flat below him. This last evening I became aware that someone had arrived next door. But of course it's half-term for the south-east of the country (in Cornwall it was last week).

It was really quite cold with a brisk wind as I took my afternoon walk around the Island this afternoon, but when I got to Porthgwidden I saw two or three people on the beach wearing only shorts. A skinny-dipper, protective hand over his genitals, was, to the amusement of passers-by, pulling his trousers up over his bare white backside.

Before returning home I bought a copy of the Big Issue from the shivering vendor standing on the corner of Market Place.