Alice Dryden (huskyteer) wrote,
Alice Dryden

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The Bride Wore Aubergine

I've been in Cornwall since Tuesday for my boss's wedding. (None of you noticed, did you? Rotten lot.)

It turned out to be a jolly nice little breakette, thanks to fabulous weather and a friendly B&B (picked because they had the best website of all the suggested accommodations). I went swimming in the sea at 10:30 on Wednesday morning, and again at 11:30, and then I had to go and change into a dress.

It was a good wedding, as they go; the venue was an old fort overlooking the sea, the other guests were fun and my boss radiant in her dark purple dress (she had me worried with her claim that it was 'aubergine', which I imagined as a sort of light black). Her husband is a Special Constable, and several of his mates had come in uniform and used their truncheons to make an arch for the bride and groom to walk under.

On Thursday we discovered that the B&B didn't take credit cards. I'm such an urbanite this possibility hadn't occurred to me, and I certainly never carry a chequebook around. "Oh, you can post me a cheque," says Mrs B&B, who knows only my first name and my mobile number. In the end we walk up to the nearby hotel for cashback.

We took the passenger ferry from Cawsands to Plymouth, round Drake's Island, then wondered what to do with the three hours until the Paddington train, in Plymouth, on a Thursday. Shortly the Plymouth Gin distillery came into view, and we went on a tour. We were so enchanted by the big copper stills and the seven essential botanicals (juniper, orange peel, lemon peel, coriander, cardamom, angelica and orris, for the record) that we bought a litre of the stuff. So, cocktails round ours then?
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