The holiday wasn’t expensive, grand or elaborate. It was positively bargain-basement; a mobile home on the beach in St Ives – bedrooms the size of matchboxes, tissue-thin walls, no bath, no microwave and only one heater. Most nights we huddled together like bunnies in a warren, sharing one another’s warmth, whilst the howling Atlantic winds threatened to remove the roof and blow out the cling-film windows.
Sounds miserable? It was the best seven days we Twiggs have shared. Albeit the cheapest and simplest.
I wonder whether we enjoyed it so much because our expectations were as low as the combined IQ of the TOWIE cast. I booked the holiday four days beforehand and knew we had been allocated one of the last available mobile homes on the site. Not a good sign. But as we were prepared for a shithole, we were overjoyed to find everything in order, excluding a few pubes on the shower floor.
My husband continued to wake at dawn to walk along the sand dunes and I woke up at 6 ish to sit in front of the gas fire in his pyjamas, eating last night’s fudge leftovers and scribbling down my latest play script.
Fortunately, there was no internet connection and only a sporadic mobile phone signal. We were incommunicado for a week and it was blissful. I didn’t miss the daily book-plugs on Twatter, the laborious ‘I had fish-fingers for my tea’ status updates on Facebook or the barrage of emails from eBay, LinkedIn and Paulton’s Park.
I’m seriously tempted to shut down my Facebook and Twitter accounts, as they both wind me up more than enhance my wellbeing. However, how does one publish a book without the mystic powers of social networking. Will it be possible to spread the word without a Facebook profile? How the hell did authors pre-internet manage to sell books?
Could I live a simple life in Cornwall? Somewhere with limited access to the rest of the world. Somewhere remote with just the scenery for entertainment. Do any of us actually need more than the natural beauty our planet has to offer?
I’m undecided. But this hasn’t stopped me signing up for property alerts on Rightmove. If a house in St Ives ever pops up for a reasonable price, I’m off. We’ve made a happy life for ourselves in Swindon; I’m positive if we can be happy here, we will be on cloud nine in Cornwall.