Why they decided not to shoot Friends in Truro

I always longed for untameable corkscrew ringlets. But my hair is just sort of medium-curly.

However, I have noticed that I'm definitely curlier in Cornwall.

The humidity and frequent mizzle are a delight for mosses and fungi.
And for my hair.

But this brings me to my main point.

This was the main reason why they decided not to shoot the hit comedy show Friends in Cornwall after all.

It is likely that the first attempt to film the series Friends took place in Truro (the glittering metropolis).

Every day the glamorous set would be ready – a flat in an ex-warehouse overlooking the Truro River.  Phoebe, Joey etc would be standing around bantering about the tourist traffic on the A30. Ross would be waiting for Rachel to arrive with an armful of scones for a proper cream tea (jam first). 

But where would Rachel be?

At length somebody would go to find her and she would finally arrive. She would be crying but it would be hard to see the tears as her head would be surrounded by a cloud of magnificent curls.

“My hair,” she would sob, “It just won’t stay straight.”

So it is purely down to Jennifer Aniston’s unreasonable attitude to curly hair that the whole show had to be moved to New York.

A sad loss.

Just think how much better Friends would have been if Central Perk had served pasties.

How unromantic can Valentine's Day be?

Nigel and I spent Valentines respectively in Northumberland and Cornwall, visiting our parents.

We WhatsApped.

Not terribly romantic.

However, paradoxically, sometimes it’s when an occasion is meant to be most romantic that it falls short.

On holiday last year, we found what we thought was a lovely restaurant until…

 “Nigel, there are no prices on my menu – does that mean it’s going to be fearsomely expensive?”

 “That’s funny.  There ARE prices in mine.”

Nigel figured out the reason first.

“We’ve been given His & Hers menus.”

“No! How horribly sexist!”

Did we leave?

We were weary and hungry, so no we did not.  We sat firmly on our principles.

We watched as other couples drifted in and the women were handed a menu from one pile, the men from another.

Until two men, clearly also a couple, entered the garden. 

We watched intently to see what happened.

The waiter automatically picked up the His & Hers menus then did a double-take at the couple in front of him.

Pause.

Stare at menus in hands.

Gawp again at couple in front of him. 

Finally, put down the Hers menu and pick up a second His menu.

Romance wasn’t dead at this restaurant – just half a century behind the times.

Photo by Jesse Goll on Unsplash

Clod-hopper

In summer 2018 I had an operation to fuse joints in my arthritic left foot. Eleven months later the consultant told me it was now probably as much better as it was going to get.

Frankly I was disappointed. My foot was still delicate. However, this winter I have truly got much better, enjoying brisk six mile walks again.

It makes the whole of me feel much better as walking is essential to me.

Walking is my mindfulness exercise. I never isolate myself with headphones. I am aware of wreathes of mist and rays of sunshine. I hear the staccato chirping of goldcrests and long-tailed tits and smell wood smoke from somebody's fire.

Walking also provides creative headspace for my writing. I often puzzle over plot quandaries or spool through the rhythm and order of words I have chosen.

But one of the best things about getting my feet back is being able to go hiking with Carol, Caroline and Diane. I always used to grumble about the clods of clay that adhere to my boots crossing the fields in winter, but this year it felt pretty good to have the muddiest boots in the world.

Child Substitutes

Last weekend, Nick and Jackie were listening to Nigel talking about our doves and how he had built an extension to the dovecote for them.  I explained how we had got them through an outbreak of coccidiosis (a fatal bird disease). Then Nigel showed how we hand-feed them.   

“Ah,” said Jackie, “Child substitutes.”

I’ve been considering this.

Jackie is wrong because:

a I cannot tell the doves apart, whereas I can tell my children apart (even though I constantly mix their names up).

b I do not expect my children to sleep outside.

c I do not exchange news and anecdotes with the doves.

d And finally, the doves are often at home and seem pleased to see us.

However, it was Perran and Carenza’s birthday on Wednesday – we were both at work and so were they (for such is adult life) so we post-poned a get-together until the weekend.

It did occur to me that if I were to bake a birthday cake and take it out to the doves there would be no suspicious queries as to whether it was fully vegan or health worries about the sugar and fat content.

  They would be simply delighted and gobble it up.

I still don’t think they are a child substitute, for me at least, but they do offer certain definite advantages…