The picture on my home page is of my daughter and my step-daughter a few years ago in wonderful Polzeath, in Cornwall. As a family, we are in love with this place and the thought of not going in the summer is actually depressing. Luckily, this year we managed it, even though we hadn't planned to go and, as always I felt choked as we arrived, with that incredulous feeling one has after setting off at 3am and finally getting there, that we are really, really here, and we're allowed to stay here for, in this case, a whole week. After the first couple of days I feel restored, as if my batteries have been recharged.
I am thinking of changing 6thFormGirl's name to SurfGirl, which is maybe what I should have called her in the first place. Now that we are back in our beloved Polzeath, I am reminded of her passion for the place and, not least, the surfing. In any case, she hasn't actually started the 6th Form yet and doesn't do so until September, so until then, SurfGirl it is.
SurfGirl has her own surfboard, which she bought with her own birthday money last year. It has a green design and is easy to spot in amongst the garish blue and yellow hire boards. She has always notched up the hours in the water and often stays in , riding those waves, until her lips are blue. Not that I'm an expert or anything but she does look very elegant on her board, and I love sitting on the cliffs above with my binoculars, looking out for that green board. The first day when the waves are good, SurfGirl and her friend stayed in for something like four hours. After watching from the cliffs, JP and I snuck off for some garlic prawns and sticky toffee pudding at the nearby Salt Water Bistro, as you do, and when we got back to the holiday abode, were pleased to see the girls had returned safely, their boards and wetsuits lying outside and the front door unlocked. It was so quiet we wondered if they had so exhausted themselves that they had gone to sleep. After a while I decided to go and check they were actually in and found surfGirl's friend who reported that SurfGirl had gone for a coffee - she met someone.
Me: What sort of someone? Who has she met?
SurfGirl's Friend: Oh, just some surf person...
Oh my god, my daughter has just gone off with a complete stranger! JP said not to worry, it's probably that boy we saw her talking to out at sea sitting on their boards.
Well, yes. That may well be - but who is it? Is it some crazed 26 year old, tattooed, bearded, drink-driving, drug-crazed lunatic? Or is it a boy her own age? And in any case what about her friend? And for the next half hour, until she returned, I alternated between silent panic and self-calming attempts to tell myself - this is normal, she is 16, she's gone out for coffee - BIG DEAL! When she got in:
Me: Oh good, you haven't been kidnapped. Who did you meet that you went for coffee with?
SurfGirl: Oh, just a person I met surfing.
Me: What's his name?
SurfGirl: Tom
Me: Is he nice? (!)
SurfGirl: Yes.
Me: Well, who is he? How old is he?
SurfGirl: 15.
Me: oh, good. So, not some dodgy man then, trying to give you a ride in his car.
SurfGirl (looking at me as though I was quite mad): No Mum, don't worry.
And of course, I shouldn't worry. Because SurfGirl is trustworthy and probably quite a good judge of character. Will this maternal compulsion to protect my offspring from any harm whatsoever ever diminish? Because of course, this is all to do with nature, innit? As soon as we give birth we become responsible for keeping a whole other human alive and safe and out of harm's way... Daunting, eh?
And now to my encounter with Harry Enfield...
Actually, an encounter is probably pushing it, but lovely, smiley-faced, twinkly blue-eyed Harry Enfield was there, running down the coastal path steps behind me and I had to get out of his way and so of course he had to thank me and...well anyway, perhaps it can be counted as a small encounter? or even a brief encounter? There is always someone there we've all heard of... Last year it was Nigella Lawson, who was wafting down to the beach with an enormous hat and an even bigger entourage. She didn't look like she was on holiday though, more as if she was doing some kind of windswept photoshoot. She didn't have that relaxed, weathered look that everyone gets in this magical place, she was simply too glamorous for Polzeath. And then of course, there's Hugh Grant, he seems to be there most years, dining and playing charades in the Atlantic Hotel, which has sadly been turned into time-share flats now, and has been spotted body boarding on an old wooden board, without a wetsuit. Last year someone said they saw Colin Firth...
When I recognise someone famous on holiday, I have to fight a compulsion to talk to them, telling myself they are on holiday and probably don't want to be disturbed and interrupted by people they don't know, but who think they know them. I have to remind myself that just because I have recognised them, it doesn't necessarily mean they will recognise me, seeing as I've never been on the telly and am not actually famous for anything. I suspect most of the sorts of people on holiday in Polzeath are English enough and polite enough not to disturb Harry and by now, he's probably wondering why no one has recognised him!
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