My August

I had an important birthday this month and was thoroughly spoiled. By friends who gave me this delicious cake. (None left to share - sorry). And from friends and colleagues at work these wonderful flowers and a large sum of cash, so that I can spoil myself.

My birthday week was spent in Cornwall, so I suppose a few shots of coastal prettiness wouldn't go amiss. This year I didn't really look forward to my holiday as Teenage Boy refused to come. Teenage Boy said that he wanted to stay at home and would be quite capable of looking after himself. EEK! Usually he can't throw his quilt back on his bed and he is totally incapable of bringing a glass or mug downstairs.If he uses the toaster there is usually a trail of breadcrumbs across the worktop, not to mention smears of butter everywhere.Dirty clothes breed on the bedroom floor and never find their way into the laundry bin. No, you have to come I said. No, we can trust him said Mr. F. So I went on holiday without Teenage Boy.

Below is the cottage where Antonia Barber, author of the 'Mousehole Cat' lived. The cottage features in the illustrations of the book and really doesn't look any different from Mowzer the cat's home. Mousehole pronounced 'Mowzel' has to be one of the prettiest fishing villages, although now it relies heavily on visits from tourists to earn its keep.

From August 2012

There are many hidden lanes and courtyards here.

Plenty of prettiness to keep my camera busy.

I also love Cornwall for it's boats. The sailing boat below in dry dock for some restoration.

And those in the harbour ready to put out to sea, as day boats I expect, leaving the safety of the harbour each day to catch fresh fish that is sold on inland. A hard life for the fishermen who do it and not much profit either.

This one is on its way home. I hope it was a successful trip.

We hadn't visited The Lost Gardens of Heligan for many years, so decided that it was about time we re-visited.

Still as lovely as ever, with a surprise around every corner.

And how did I spend my birthday? Wave watching of course. Followed by a meal at the pub in the evening. What else could any glamorous fifty year old want or need?

And what about Teenage Boy? Was there carnage when I got home? Had the house been trashed by six foot boys? Were there smears of lipstick left on mugs?

I'm pleased to say that both Teenage Boy and the house survived the week. I did find cigarette butts in the bin(I don't think that they belonged to him) and there were plenty of crumbs on the worktops but overall he didn't do too badly really. And bless him - he got the results needed from his GCSE's to do his college courses. Not a bad August really.