Cornwall’s majestic beauty is a deceptive one – like a pair of A cups hiding in a Wonderbra. For its golden, velvet sands hide a carpet of dog shit. Hundreds of stinky, curly, chunky, squelchy turds lying in wait for the next pair of unsuspecting, pristine pinkies.
I have been in Cornwall for four wonderful weeks now and the only minor irk is – excluding the minority of elderly locals who despise ‘outsiders’ and treat them with the same contempt usually reserved for pubic lice – the gargantuan amount of dog shit befouling the beautiful beaches.
Sand and dog shit seem to go hand-in-hand here; as commonplace and accepted as clotted cream and jam. There are very few ‘PICK UP YOUR DOG’S SHIT’ signs and appears it is perfectly agreeable to allow dogs to expel their fudgey doings wherever they please – and this is usually in plain sight of their owners and/or metres away from my children’s newly erected sandcastle.
If there are any dog-owners reading this, are you able to explain why you feel it is acceptable to allow your dog to dump last night’s Pedigree Chum on the beach? And please, can anyone offer any reason why fully-loaded poop bags are suspended from low-lying branches and gate posts? So, your dog has pooped and you’ve actually managed to bend down and scoop it into a little, peach-coloured fragranced bag. But taking it all the way home is just a step too far is it? Far better to clutter up the countryside with bags of steaming poo? I am baffled.
Tonight, I stood in a fresh deposit of caramel coloured shite. It caught me off-guard as I was busy taking a photo and wasn’t looking where I put my foot. I don’t know if you’ve ever stepped in dog crap WITHOUT shoes and socks on, but if not, I can testify it is a hideous experience. Also, it takes an age for the tiny bits that disappear under your toe nails to fully wash away. It seems the smell stays for days!
North Cornwall is one of the prettiest and unspoilt places I’ve ever seen – easily rivalling the Gold Coast’s Bryon Bay (in my opinion), but frequenting dog-owners are in no mood to keep it that way.
Nevertheless, shitty smelling toe-nails aside, life is going very well in pretty Padstow. I still don’t feel like this is ‘home’ yet but neither do I feel I’m still on holiday.
Most people have been extremely welcoming- far more than back in the Swine. We have been invited surfing, swimming, mountain-biking, play-dates and tea-parties. The daily playground meet is getting easier and we’re befriending some great, like-minded people.
My husband and I swim in the sea three times a week (he swims, I bob); he runs along the coast every night and we’re eating better than we have done in a long time; I’ve actually cut out sugars (mostly) and I’m a hundred times more sparky than before. So, our new life is awesome and we have absolutely no regrets about making the move. However, I am not liking the apparent disregard for the area’s outstanding beauty. The next dog owner I see who fails to pick up his dog’s poo will be the recipient of a face-full of it.
Not really; I will probably just tut loudly, scowl fiercely and start building my sandcastle somewhere else.