I started the week with a lost voice. Talking too much? A sore throat? Probably, all of the above, and then just spending too much time whizzing here and there with not enough time to catch breath. Do you ever have that feeling, on a Monday morning, of thinking that you need another weekend straight away? That was last week.
Today is another Monday and I’m glad to say that I’ve turned that particular corner. It was another hectic week, here, there, everywhere…. ending up, on Friday, for work, in that beautiful stormy blustery grey and green part of Cornwall, down towards Lands End, where the light and sea glow like silver. We’re just starting work, remodelling and breathing new life into the dreamiest house in the most superb setting in one of my favourite parts of the country – which, as regular readers of the blog will know, is also my ancestral homeland. It was so good to be back in Penzance on Thursday night.
Friday was bright and brilliant, with fierce rain storms lashing us in between shimmering clear patches. 
We went for a break down at the beautiful Penberth Cove, now owned by the National Trust, which very regular readers of the blog will find familiar from time to time (such as this classic report from Cornwall three years ago, with Ruth). 
The cove is a dream. The seas were high. A seal played in the foreshore. 
I love the boats, with perfect names – Carol & David, Father Bob…
Then, a late lunch (or an attempt at lunch, the beach cafe was shut) at Sennen, looking heavenly in the storm. 
I got back to Dorset on Friday afternoon and breathed a sigh of deep relief. No plans AT ALL that weekend. A quiet supper at Dorshi, in Bridport, just with Charlie, on Friday night. On Saturday morning, we woke up early and had a good haul at the market. Then for a walk in beautiful clear blue skies and warm October sunshine, the hills glowing.
We went to the pub and read the papers and had lunch and came back and slept, and woke to the glow of a beautiful evening, ignoring, yet again, all the insane political shenanigans that afflict the headline news daily and yet – on days like this – which seem so utterly meaningless and irrelevant. 
Charlie’s garden has been overwhelmed by a ferocious alien species. It’s so beautiful. He’s waiting for a non-existent frost before doing a huge clearance. 
The light in the evenings is close to heaven. 
The dahlia border glows like fire. 
A rather rare sighting of Mavis….
A very rare sighting of Henry, the cat. 
We had that morning planned a very good and long-overdue catch up with our neighbours, Anthony and Harriet, down the valley. The sun was setting just as we went over. 
Pink clouds looked like a pre-Raphaelite painting.
Sunday morning – sparking dew-soaked lanes and hills.
The beech hangar is so beautiful, every angle like a Paul Nash or Ravilious watercolour. 
Nothing, nothing on earth feels as good as a morning walk over the chalk hills on a day of brilliant sunshine when you’ve slept like a log for two nights solidly. 
We had a long lazy Sunday lunch at Brassica, in Beaminster, and then back home to a quiet afternoon and evening doing very little at all, sorting ourselves out for the week ahead. I’ll confess, I haven’t felt quite so rested in a very, very long time. The season turns and we readjust mind, and spirit. Autumn really is, I think, my favourite time, especially on clear late October days like these.
