Diary of a St Ivean

The man of the overpowering bathing product is gossiping in the newsagents on Tregenna Hill but today he doesn't seem to be talking Rubrik Cube or playing card magic - but I don't have time to eavesdrop this afternoon. A freezing cold day but he's stoically wearing his shorts.

Across the road there's a notice in the window of the shortly to be opened SubWay ('restaurant' or 'store', depending on which country's SubWay website you visit). They sell sandwiches and salads. The notice advertises vacancies for staff amongst which 'sandwich artists' are required. So I shall expect something rather more than the bread with fillings they show on their website menus.

Standing in the cold behind a couple of tourists at the money machine, I quietly curse the time it's taking them to complete their transaction. The care with which they peer at the buttons and screen makes me think that perhaps they're landing the Space Shuttle rather than merely withdrawing £10.