…and for all that, I’m in Tintagel; it doesn’t sound like it lives up to the billing really, until one notes it’s actually known locally as Trevena: and so, like scores of other towns and hamlets across Britain’s rugged, beautiful south-west, Tintagel fits the formula by which shall ye know Cornishmen.

For the first time in the week and a half since I arrived in Britain, it’s actually pleasantly cool; part of this derives from the fact the first couple of places I stayed in after leaving London were heritage listed out of being allowed to install air conditioning in their buildings (does this shit sound familiar to readers in Melbourne?), and part of it derives from the fact I’m on the coast, with an open window, and a lovely seaside breeze is filtering pleasantly into my room.

But first things first: I posted a picture of sunset over the River Exe in Topsham last night; perhaps sunset shots will become a mainstay of the remainder of this trip — and perhaps they won’t — but here’s one overlooking the water from my hotel.

What a labyrinthine, convoluted place Cornwall is; on my last trip to Britain I stayed in Penzance (about 40 minutes further south on the M5 Motorway) which is literally a drive-in, drive-out type of destination; Tintagel is a different proposition altogether, with the last 20 miles of my drive after leaving the M5 spent navigating spidery laneways barely wide enough for one vehicle, let alone two, at speeds of less than 20 miles per hour and on roads probably unfit to travel on even that quickly. And after leaving the M5 at Launceston (pronounced “Lansen”, for the benefit of any Taswegians reading), perhaps 30 different towns were signposted — and passed — en route to Tintagel.

And then…as if from nowhere, a thriving, bustling little town centre sprang into view; I took some photographs of it after businesses began closing, as today was a Bank Holiday in Britain, and the high street you see below was teeming with thousands of people just a few hours ago.

I’m staying in an old castle — the Camelot Castle Hotel — and I expect I may have more to report on this when next I post; I met the owner this evening (who lives onsite), and he’s given me a tantalising snapshot of the history of the place, but I expect there’s a lot more to be learned. I’m catching up with him again tomorrow, but already I know, for example, that a Dracula film was shot here; Sir Edward Elgar wrote one of his symphonies whilst staying here; other luminaries over the past two centuries have ties to the property; and even monks have a connection to it through their work at the old Tintagel Castle — now in ruins on an island just off the Tintagel coast — stretching back centuries.

What I have also learned (and this is where I become a bit subterranean and euphemistic about what I say) is that what I have already ascertained about the area, its history, and those of its features that are little-known these days — after all, this place has a history stretching back well over 1,000 years — are perfect for the purpose I wanted to research for one of my novels.

Tintagel was the legendary seat of King Arthur: its high street is filled with merchants selling everything from wizardry artefacts based on Merlin to eponymous pubs and cafes seeking to eke out a living by trading off the Arthurian past.

Frankly, I thought the pizza dinner I had at the Olive Garden — a lovely Italian-run bistro at the eastern end of the high street — was better than what any of these establishments might offer. The model for designing and ordering pizza was a masterstroke: here’s your basic margherita pizza for £9; now add ingredients to it for £1 apiece.

I’m not going to specify which ingredients I added — I don’t want to fuel the bullshit debate about whether pineapple belongs on pizza, for example, or whether in fact anything aside from tomato, cheese and basil belongs on it at all.

People should order what they like, and what tastes good. It is a matter of fact that irrespective of whatever does or doesn’t “belong” on pizza, there are thousands of purveyors of bloody awful pizza worldwide that isn’t fit to feed the dog if taste is the main criterion on which it is judged. To that end, I am happy to report the fare at the Olive Garden was delicious. It was regrettable when the last bite was the only one left on my plate.

I’ll be back to post again tomorrow, and perhaps I’ll show a little more of where I’m staying. But it’s great to be back in Cornwall, and tomorrow is a big day in terms of detailed, painstaking research to ensure I can write authoritatively about the place when I go back to Melbourne — even though the option to walk down the main street, for example, won’t be available on a whim — and even if it takes a little while to get to the third of the three novels I’m working on.

After all, the first one is only just nearing the point I can start to think about tarting it around to prospective publishers. There’s more to do in the series before I get onto what I have in mind to set here 🙂