Pogo
Pogo really deserves a blog of his own. He lives on the farm next to the bunkhouse but really he's a dog of the world. It seemed like Pogo was around every corner, along every hedgerow, under every table. When we were at my in-laws he was there, in the bunkhouse or in the garden he was there, nestling on our feet. He was there to send us off on our walks, and there to greet us home (well, in his own style). During our week he had an adventure (subsequently known as 'Pogo's Day Out') when he took himself off along the coastal path to a neighbouring town where he endeared himself to some unsuspecting tourists who (rather bizarrely) bought him fish & chips and hung out with him before driving him the few miles home. I suspect that was not the first time, such are his enigmatic powers over lesser beings.
We had intended to visit St Ives, and loads of other places that would have required borrowing a car, but in the end we were perfectly happy walking and cycling closer to home (still managed 5 pubs & a music festival). It felt much more relaxing than our normal holidays. Our last day was just spent in the garden of the bunkhouse reading and drinking G&Ts (such a novelty when you don't have a garden of your own), before walking through the hedgerows to the local pub. Bliss.
Big thanks to all K's family for making it such a pleasure (I now know he's not the ONLY performer in the family), especially Olive for getting us down there & Fiona for working her magic.
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