Salcombe calling

I live by the ria…

I often court controversy down here on the film set, and one of my major bugbears is light pollution. One of the deplorable consequences of the rising energy costs might be fewer lights being switched on? Indeed, a sad consequence of the likes of Liz Truss and her unfettered capitalism. Thinking that the stock market knows best. That idea bit her on the bottom. Ironic, don’t you think. A country that is on the road to nowhere. Like the bus route to here?

I was talking to a friend the other day, and I discussed the fact that, compared to last year, my wheels of steel did not trundle as far as I did last year. In fact, I trundled far less than during the whole of lockdown. A strange fact.

I looked in the mirror the other day, and noticed that my ‘frown lines’ have grown deeper. A consequence of getting older, or a consequence of having more to frown about? My concern is that fundamental rights are being destroyed, and the majority are unconcerned; this so-called ‘moral majority’ want to control the agenda. Not in my name. No way.

They say that as you get older, you get more right wing? Well, I must be the exception to the rule. My ‘tiller’ always steers to the port side. As always, a member of the awkward squad. Wishing that the Co-Op sold hope? Something that is in short supply, even in this beautiful place to live in. Fear and trepidation is on special offer, though. Two for one.

Salcombe is a town of dreams, people ‘aspire’ to live here. Me, well, I got stuck, and I am lucky to be here. My aspirations were elsewhere. Plans often go awry. I think I have seen the best of times down here, and I am grateful for that. My aunt frequently says that the town’s development, is going to kill the goose that lays golden eggs? Only time will tell. Overdevelopment is not a Salcombe specific problem. One ‘golden egg’ is the creation of the Salcombe Community Land Trust. Its looking good. Keep up the good work.

Soon the winter will throw ‘Mårran’s cloak’ over the town. Mårran will descend from the cold caverns atop the Lonely Mountains (near the church) to wander down Fore Street. Maybe she will find warmth beside an open log fire in the King’s Arms? If fuel poverty gets worse, her quest for warmth and light may not be apocryphal. We may all be searching for warmth and light. It is no joking matter.

It’s grim down here in the South West.