Day Two: Bodmin to Padstow

'Obby 'Oss



Pikey Funfair







Day Two


The Number 555, 556, 556 and 556

Andrew shepherded me back to Bodmin in the morning (right, I'm dropping the Christian theme now). I asked a woman at the bus stop whether she was going to the May Day celebrations in Padstow. She looked at me without hiding distaste. 'I've never had the slightest interest,' she said. Oh. In my head, I had built this festival up to be of great importance, both locally and to my trip. After this little exchange the reality struck me. The enthusiasm for the 'Obby 'Oss is not as universal as I thought. And why should it be? It's similar to what that bloke said in that thing that time, once: 'Even before the revivals, folk music was never something that everyone participated in; it has always been something for the enthusiasts and die hards.' I guess it's the same with folk festivals too.


Once in Padstow, I took the 556 out to Treyarnon. The YHA is situated there, looking out over Constantine (?) Bay. I looked at the footpath round bay and, sucking my teeth, considered staying here and forgetting the 'Obby 'Oss: it's so much easier to let negativity persuade you than optimism. It's a stunning location, although to get to the beach you have to walk through a field of identical holiday cabins, all of them with fearsome TV aerials sticking out the top. I wondered what they were trying to get away from.


Back on the 556 into town. Padstow looked spectacular. The entire town decked out with flags. I managed to catch a glimpse of the owd 'oss before I turned around and completely coincidentally bumped into Joel and Gen, two of the Norfolk crew from home. We mooched about, ducked into a pub with a catch of owd sea dogs having an impromptu sea shanty sing along, and finally parted ways after a look round the pikey fun fair on the harbour.


The 556 was becoming a favourite of mine. Back to Treyarnon. Having not found Rick Stein's fish shop in town (and being worried that it constituted a chain), I instead took a stroll to St Merryn to Fryer Tucks. Superb work. It took me back to my trial run and Peter the Pleater. Good bit of fish, chip, mushy pea and battered sausage. Lovely. It didn't seem to matter that it was raining on the way home.


In my dorm I met an American whose favourite shop in England, he told me, was Picnic Fayre, my Stepdad and Mums' delicatessen in Norfolk. How queer. It was a nice night at the YHA. But I didn't see one cop, american indian, builder, sailor or biker. I don't know what they're talking about in that song.


Padstow is smart.

Day One - 17A, 14, 27 & 529

Gonna try and keep these next ones short, or I won't even make it as far as D'Erby.

17A

There was a man at Penzance bus stop - huge beard, broad brim straw hat, waistcoat, shorts and pink fleece - sat bellowing at everyone who passed, 'Bodrum and Dalaman!' He was stabbing a squat little finger in the air, accusatively. He got me in his crosshairs. I didn't know what he was talking about any more than anyone else did. 'Up there mate,' he said. He was pointing at an Easyjet advert on the side of the bus. Finally he leant right over and asked a man with a flightcase standing at the next bay down. This man had dark hair and tan skin. 'Hey! Bodrum and Dalaman! Do you know where that is?'

'Yes,' the other man said. 'They're in Turkey.'

The beard didn't stop. This seemed to confirm some point for him. The 'foreign' man knows the foreign place. A man holding a cigarette in fingers with long manicured nails peered over the top of his sunglasses at the beard, past a poor schoolgirl sitting nervously between them, and said, 'Stop being such a silly sod.'

The 17A left shortly afterwards, aiming for St Ives. I took it and got off at Wyevale Garden Centre.

14

Dora, let's call her, came out of the garden centre and waited with me at the bus stop. She had two bags of Pogonias. She's going to put them in her driveway. Usually she wouldn't get the bus down, her husband would drive, but he's only just come out of hospital and can't get out of bed for a few days and she wanted to pick up the the Pogonias before the bank holiday because they'd all be gone afterwards of course so she took the bus but they move everything around so much in there that she took longer than expected and was worried she'd missed the number 14 home so she was eversogladtoseemestandingtherecosthatmeantsheprobablyhadn't. Dora was the first friend I made on the buses, but she had an unfortunate case of verbal diarrhoea. I don't think she drew breath once apart from to gasp when she dropped her flowers on the bus floor. But we had a nice conversation. Well, she did.

27

The 27 bus driver was a barrel shaped beast. He had a long goatee and a once colourful tattoo on his arm. Small eyes. He looked solid, tasty, a real bus driver.

In Truro a load of Pensioners got on the bus having done, I presume, their bank holiday weekend shop. They nearly filled the bus. Despite asking very politely, the driver was suspicious of me taking my collection tin around. 'Don't force anyone, yeah?' he said. I was warned. But I cleaned up. I felt like I was doing something wrong at first. Taking money off old people under the pretence that you're raising it for charity when actually you just need it for skinny jeans and Gap's summer range isn't wrong, right?

529

My first Greyhound bus of the journey. Not to be confused with the Greyhound Coaches operating in the United States of America. Easy mistake to make.

When I arrived in Bodmin, the end of the line for today's bus travel, my first cousin once removed came to pick me up. Let's call him AB. AB is a Vicar. We were driving towards his house when we found a lamb, a hoggett, stuck between a bramble hedge and a barbed wire fence. After a few minutes of it running backwards and forwards between the two, I managed to catch it and lift it to freedom. Its mother, aunts and extended family seemed very grateful. I got back in the car with my cousin, the Vicar, and wondered if I had just been involved in a Christian metaphor.

Lens' End

To the ends of the earth, they're watching.

Start

Land's End. Off I go.

The Second Most Fun Thing I've Done On A Train

The Sleeper

Now I want to do the whole thing by sleeper train.

A reminder of the rules

In the way of 'rules', this:

1. I will only use local bus services, or coaches on designated local bus routes which accept the disabled person's bus pass.
2. I will not pay for any bus ride (except in emergencies)
3. I will not use taxis, coaches, trains, trams, planes, ferries, public mules, tuk tuks or any other public transport (except in emergencies)
4. I may walk
5. I will not go to Milton Keynes
6. I will not buy food from any supermarket or chain store
7. I will not accept lifts apart from when I will be dropped back in precisely the same spot later in that same day or early the following day
8. I will not accept sweets from strangers

Additional Notes: In regards to rules 2 & 3, this:

'[E]mergencies' consist of medical emergencies and situations where I might be stranded somewhere with no prospect of sleeping safely.

Or if I need a Starbucks Caramel Frappaccino.

Radio La La

My first radio announcement. Thank you BBC Cornwall and Martin Bailie.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p007gkz2/Martin_Bailie_28_04_2010/