Thursday 16th September
On the follow up from the smashing (accidentally) of Kayla's yo-yo, I made enquiries at the toy shop in the centre of the budding metropolis of Tintagel, a beautiful little Cornish village boasting the sprawling ruins of Tintagel castle (more on that elsewhere).
The rosy-cheeked shopkeeper looked at me balefully and peered cornerwise into some realm where her distant memory seemed to reside.
"Yo-yos," she murmured as if I had asked her for a glazed ham with sparklers on it, "we had some of them..."
"Perhaps you have some in the back then?" I enquired optimistically.
"Oh no, love," she replied with a reproachful shake of the head, "the last time we had yo-yos here was about two or three Christmases ago."
Which only goes to show that the events and the period between events in a place where nothing happens ever all the time - it is easy to allow the period between these events to stretch into profound antiquity commensurate to priority and a paradoxically immediate recall.
Much in the same way a farmer in the Free State would say: "There's nothing so important that it can't wait two weeks..."
I'm really beginning to like things about this funny little island - I am being surprised by the quirkiest things in the best kind of way.
Goo goo ga joob...
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