Porthledden House. One of the finest homes in West Cornwall goes up for sale.

Cape Cornwall is one of my favourite spots in the far west. Perhaps anywhere.

You can’t really call someplace wild when it has a golf course behind it, yet the Atlantic weather hits the Cape full on, and it’s where I tend to head when there’s a storm blowing.

I’ve often dreamed of converting the lobster pot shed below Cape House into a simple over night shelter in the spirit of a Scottish bothy. Trouble is I’d want to be there all the time myself.

Or, even better, how about taking the concrete hut that’s fast falling into the sea (see below) and putting a great big glass wall on the seaward side, roofing it and putting a single comfortable chair inside. It could be a day retreat for anyone needing contemplation time. A sanctuary where dreamers could connect with the sea without getting wet. A haven to help a person realise that their concerns, no matter how grave, are insignificant in the scheme of things.

Let’s swing to the other end of the scale.

Right now one of the finest houses in the far west is on the market, and it’s right above the Cape.

It’s a little out of my price range and there are a few too many windows to clean for my liking, but those minor details aside, Porthledden House is quite magnificent.

Porthledden is the name of the little visited cove to the north of the Cape, worth visiting for the interesting mining remains there, and it lends its name to the house that overlooks it.

We all remember the place as something of a haunted house before the current owners took on a monumental restoration from around 2004. I’m sure hundreds of people dreamed of taking on the project, but thankfully the couple that finally took the plunge had both the vision and depth of pocket to do it properly.

A century after it was built by one of Cornwall’s most successful and respected mining captains the house was rescued by the enterprising couple that set up hotelsdirect.co.uk.

The said mine captain – the captain was akin to a managing director and next most important person to the mineral rights owner – was a fellow by the name of Francis Oats. He hardly got to spend any time there as his success earned him the notice of De Beers and he spent much of his career in South Africa. At De Beers he rose to be chairman of the diamond mining business, succeeding a rather notorious fellow by the name of Cecil Rhodes.

It’s often said that where’s there’s a mine there’s a Cornishman at the bottom – it’s good to know that now and then there’s also a Cornishman at the top!

Following his death in South Africa, Oats’ son took on the house and opened it as a hotel, surely that is what this stunning property is destined to be again, but after 30 years of trying that business failed.

The current owners oversaw a fitting and beautiful restoration – 200 windows in bronze frames, that huge roof that took a year to replace using slate from the original Westmoorland slate quarry, granite from the original De Lank Quarry near Bodmin. But now it seems, it’s time to move on for them.

I’m not in the business of helping the people to sell their house. But I am interested in this magnificent property and its successful future. Were it to stay in private ownership and be maintained as it is now that would be exciting. Then again if the right hotelier were to take it on and thereby make it accessible for more people I’d be delighted too.

Flick through the sale photos and you’ll see some of their fabulous art, from the Kurt Jackson that dominates the main kitchen to more classical pieces. Much of the furniture too are craft pieces to admire.

Here’s a link to the sales particulars.

Gaze on in envy, but then delight in the fact that thanks to The National Trust (and, strangely, Heinz) Cape Cornwall is free for us all to enjoy, for a stormy spot of wave watching, or for the delightful swimming out of Priest’s Cove.

Porthledden House

Porthledden House

KC's retreat (in his dreams).

KC’s retreat (in his dreams).

Architectural net lofts in Priest's Cove.

Architectural net lofts in Priest’s Cove.

Swimming at Priest's Cove.

Swimming at Priest’s Cove.

The Cape from Kenijack Castle.

The Cape from Kenijack Castle.

Some of the mine workings between Porthledden and Nancherrow.

Some of the mine workings between Porthledden and Nancherrow.

Winter holidays In West Cornwall.

Perhaps it’s the mellowing of age, perhaps it’s a necessary defence against the unpredictability of the British weather, but whatever it is I rather like winter.

I’ve spent most of this winter in York and Manchester where it has been cold, but rarely bitter. It has been mainly dry too, which helps.

But the best days have been spent in the extremes, in Scotland at Christmas (see the post Into The Wild), and in Cornwall.

I know that I’m liable to pull on my rose tinted specs when talking about Cornwall. I know that having grown up in the far west that it holds a special place in my heart. But even taking both of these into account, I have been lucky to enjoy some stunning winter days around Sennen and St Just.

Apart from the Christmas Swim on Sennen Beach big gatherings in winter are few and far between. There’s Montol in Penzance, a growing winter festival with a good procession around the solstice, and there’s the charming Tom Bowcock’s Eve in Mousehole, but beyond that the beautiful emptiness of Cornwall is there to be enjoyed.

Find a great self catering house. Ideally with a wood burner. Bring some friends. Layer up to spend sunny crisp days on the beach, before coming home and getting the fire going. Enjoy hearty home cooked meals and great nights in.

If you have to go outside in the dark you may be lucky and get a crystal clear night for a Milky Way shot like the one below.

After all that comfort food the night before, stay in bed late – the sun rises a little later in the far west after all.

Feel alive in a way that the city will never inspire.

Polly on Gwenver. Christmas.

Polly on Gwenver. Christmas.

Velandreath, early March.

Velandreath, early March.

Long horn neighbour

Long horn neighbour

Winter beard, Porthleven.

Winter beard, Porthleven.

Shell covered mast on Gwenver

Shell covered mast on Gwenver

Long winter shadows.

Long winter shadows.

St Just to Tregiffian. A winter’s walk.

Sometimes I feel so lucky.

Last week we were at Tregiffian in the best winter days I could imagine, clear sunny days with amazing visibility, and freezing cold star filled nights.

Today I’m back and spending a couple of evenings at Archavon, in St Just, and the weather is perfect again.

Having driven hundreds of miles this morning I didn’t feel like getting back into the car, and so Polly and I walked over to Tregiffian.

Across the fields it took 50 minutes, and that included time to take a few photos, and find the dog’s ball when she was distracted. Good job dad was watching.

It’s a good walk with plenty of options. I tend to take the longer cliff top route on the way out, then the shorter fields route back, especially if we’ve stopped in The Star or the Kings.

Across the fields, leaving St Just via South Place, you’ll pass through the top of Cot Valley and you should see these two great houses (below), both alongside the path. Cot Manor is a charming large self catering house that’s on the market at the moment, and Cot Mill is special too.

Further along you’ll pass in front of the little hamlet of Trevegean, home of well known gardener and artist Penny Black. There’s a collage of Penny’s at New Forge from 1996.

From there cross a few fields, under Gurlands Farm and you’ll soon be at Tregiffian.

I won’t try to direct you, each time the crops change the chance of going the wrong way alters – take a map and you’ll be fine.

Today I walked back along the cliffs, this took more like an hour and a half, and it’s a whole lot harder – but the rewards are even better views.

Nanjulian, Cot Valley, The Cape. Perfect.

Try both ways. You’ll have earned your dinner!

Cot Manor

Cot Mill

Cot Mill

Across the fields to The Brisons

Across the fields to The Brisons

One of the most lovely houses in the far west at Nanjulian.

One of the most lovely houses in the far west at Nanjulian.

The Brisons again, just a couple of rocks, but so evocative.

The Brisons again, just a couple of rocks, but so evocative.


A cracking day in Porthleven.

Porthleven is Britain’s most southerly port. Over the years it has been important for its fishing fleet, exporting of china clay from Tregoinning Hill, and importing all sorts including coal, lime and timber.

The port was built between 1811 and 1858 to provide a safe haven in Mounts Bay after a number of wrecks, in particular the HMS Anson that sunk in 1807 with the loss of 130 lives.

Now though it’s one of Cornwall’s most charming port destinations.

There is a small fishing industry still, mostly landing crab and lobster rather than the mackerel and pilchards of years gone by. It’s a good place to go out on fishing day trips too.

For many though it’s the quaint largely unspoiled village, the lovely south facing beach, and the restaurants, that are the main attractions.

On Saturday we had a good lunch in Amelie’s on the west side of the harbor where you’ll also find Blue Haze (go on a curry night), and the recently opened Rick Stein’s.

After lunch it was down to the beach to see how it’s looking after the big storm in mid-January. On the evening of 14 January the sea washed away a huge amount of sand, leaving the promenade steps just hanging in mid-air, and rocks where the lovely beach was hours before. As happens sometimes, the majority of the sand was dumped back in place by the next tide.

While we usually walk right along the beach to Loe Bar, and then back along the lane, on Saturday the gorgeous sunshine was such a welcome surprise we lapped it up sitting on the sea defenses for an hour instead.

You’re spoilt for choice with so many places to eat in Porthleven. Kota and The Square get great reviews, both at the head of the harbor, but we haven’t tried either in a while.

Rick Stein opening back in November will no doubt push prices up a bit, but Porthleven already commands a premium so it’s unlikely to make such a difference.

If you’re keen on a more active approach to your holidays then Porthleven often offers a good swell for surfers, the wreck of the Ansom is still there providing a good dive site, and the cliff walking is excellent in both directions. Take care swimming to the east, and don’t go in near Loe Bar no matter how strong you are – it’s extremely dangerous with a fierce undertow.

Stay at Trevena Cross Barn up the road in Breage and you’ll have total privacy, with great gardens and plenty of space, and yet be just two miles from all Porthleven has to offer. The tiny little known beaches like Rinsey will be on your door step, and you can walk up Tregonning Hill from where on a clear day you can see both coasts.

Across the harbour to The Ship, Porthleven.

Across the harbour to The Ship, Porthleven.


Along the beach towards Loe Bar.

Along the beach towards Loe Bar.


The Cornish Way's very own Minty. Porthleven Beach.

The Cornish Way’s very own Minty. Porthleven Beach.

The Cornish Pasty

What a subject!

Am I sufficiently qualified to voice an opinion?

Have I ever eaten a pasty?

Oh yes!

Well then good sir – opine to your heart’s content.

The Cornish Pasty has Protected Geographic Indication status (PGI). What a shame it isn’t a Protected Indication of Geography status!

There were protests on the streets when Teflon Dave and his mate Shiny George threatened us with the pasty tax*.

People from upcountry are amazed that we actually do eat Cornish pasties downalong, but of course they’re not called Cornish pasties here, just pasties.

And let’s face it. Pasties rock.

I was minded to write about the pasty in part because I’ve called mother and politely placed my order for a pasty when I pop in to visit on Thursday. And minded in part because the World Pasty Championships are fast approaching at the end of the month.

The pasty is shrouded in myth and legend, but its style and recipe has been determined by the PGI, for now at least.

It’s supposedly only Cornish if it’s made of minced beef (minced?), potato, turnip (that’s the orange one for all you funny up country folk who have a tendency to mix their swedes and turnips), onion, and a good grind of salt and pepper.

Crimping (the join) should go around the side – supposedly to give the miners a handle that they could throw away.

All these rules are very well, but there’re a few missing, in particular relating to how you eat the thing.

So here goes for a few more rules:

  • Eat it out of a paper bag, no knives or forks please
  • Drink a nice cup of sugared tea with it (doesn’t matter that you don’t take sugar)
  • No sharing, no pasty’s so big that it needs to be shared

As for the myth of a traditional pasty having fruit at one end…

Well, my gran was born in the century before last (ages ago) and her gran was about 300 years old at least, and she said “Codswallop!” (except she probably said it in Cornish and I’ve no idea what that might be, skoll perhaps – that means something like “rubbish”).

Anyway here’s the most important bit.

Who makes the best?

Well, my favourite boughten pasty (cut yer and av ee?)(completely incomprehensible unless you’ve lived in Newlyn for many decades) is from Trevaskis Farm near Gwinear, Hayle.

But obviously Mother’s is best (although Aunty Eleanor used to be heavy handed with the pepper, and I always liked that).

Oggy, oggy, oggy.

Proper job! - image borrowed from the Cornish Pasty Association (really).

Proper job! – image borrowed from the Cornish Pasty Association (really).

*(Interesting that. The last time London was invaded from the land was by the Cornish back in 1497, and that was a tax revolt as well, but that’s another story, and I’ll have to dig deep to remember it all).

Boyhood, Murakami, Niall Williams, and the Theory of Everything.

I have no intention of writing regular reviews on this blog, unless of course they’re local to West Cornwall. Having said that I have seen two brilliant films and read two brilliant books this year so far, and I wanted to share them with you all. For want of an order I’ll go chronologically. History of the rain. Niall Williams. I read my first Niall Williams many years ago. It was Four Letters of Love, and I found it beautifully moving. I bought it because the pretty girl in the book shop was reading it. Shallow? Maybe, but I’m so glad I did. Williams writes of love. Love that makes you ache for the characters, their mistakes, their worries. History of the rain is no exception, although the love is for letters, for a father, a family. It’s small town Irish life portrayed with intensity and beauty. Claustrophobic, the narrator, Ruth Swain, becomes increasingly confined to her attic room where her companions are the nearly 4,000 books of her poet father’s library. Her music the rain on the sky light. Ruth loves a capital letter, and Declares Everything Important with an upper case that grates at first, until you find her voice in your head. As someone used to writing for business, I urge people to write in short sentences, after all it takes real skill to hold a long sentence together. Niall Williams has no problem writing a long sentence, and ones that no one with heart would dare edit. The last sentence of the book is 650 or so words long. I’ve read it again and again, with tears streaming down my face. It’s not for everyone. But those who enjoy it will carry it in their hearts long after they have finished the book. I’ll leave it in New Forge for you to try.

History of the rain. The most beautiful sentences.

History of the rain. The most beautiful sentences.

The Theory of Everything. There are so many arguments against this film, why acting the part of someone so utterly disabled as Stephen Hawking is wrong. But surely that misses the point. This beautiful film had me crying just watching the trailer (do you notice a theme of tears here? There’s more to come too). It’s not a tale of motor neurone disease, it’s a tale of love, obsession, dedication, tremendous intelligence, tempered by a fantastic whit. It’s long. It doesn’t tug at the heart strings, it absolutely yanks at them. Yet at the same time it’s often funny, very funny. It’s humbling, but just when you’re feeling that your own life has been pretty empty Eddie Redmayne delivers a line that we can all live up to. I won’t quote it because I found it moving, but it’s when Stephen and Jayne have just been to see the queen. I think it is a wonderful film, and after all, Hawking loved it himself.

Stephen and Jayne - The Theory of Everything

Stephen and Jayne – The Theory of Everything

Boyhood. I went to this with no idea what it was about, other than that it had been made over a long period with the same main characters throughout. I love that concept, the bravery of it – after all, so much could go wrong. Watch it with the wrong frame of mind and you might just get bored, fall asleep (although you couldn’t fall asleep in the Printworks, Manchester, too bloody cold), and certainly wonder what the fuss is about. It’s worth seeing just to see Ethan Hawke grow up before your eyes, let alone Ellar Coltrane, the main character. Oh, and Hawke’s great car, which maturity finally sees him leave behind. If you take just one thing from this film it’s that age old message that life is short – but there’s enough time in it for us to absorb brave and beautiful work like this. Again it’s long.

Boyhood. Long. Beautiful.

Boyhood. Long. Beautiful.

Colourless Tsukuru Tazaki and his years of pilgrimage: Haruki Murakami. As I’m a massive Murakami fan you can expect this to be rather biased. This, his longest titled novel, is probably his most accessible and normal. No one sticks their hand through a liquid wall to conveniently grasp something from the other room. There are no talking cats. Or cults that are away with the imagination even for the Japanese. After his last three part novel, delivered interestingly across two volumes, and mind benignly difficult to follow at times, this comes as a welcome breeze. For me it was an easy full day read that would have otherwise been miserable, suffering as I was from toothache. Yet still he challenges us. He refuses to give us the ending we desire. Or even answer so many of our questions. It’s part of the joy. What keeps us coming back. As ever his characters are beautiful. He has his trademark interests. An intimate knowledge of food, music, classical this time rather than jazz, and picture perfect detail on fashion. Murakami’s world is my sole insight on Japan – and it leaves me wanting to know a whole lot more.

Colourless Tsukuru Tazaki.

Colourless Tsukuru Tazaki.

Cornish Recipes

Holidays often feature food in a way that everyday life doesn’t quite manage.

We spend so much of our time running from one thing to another, juggling work, with friends, travel, children.

Even when we do eat well it’s often snatched meals, trusted favourites, rather than experimenting with new things, taking time to relax and enjoy the pleasures of a great meal.

That’s why holiday food is so good.

If you’re self catering and you have a good kitchen (for me so long as there are sharp knives, or good knives and a handy sharpener, and a pan then I’m away), then take your time and create. It can be a joy for you and the family.

In the far west we are lucky to have access to great produce. In St Just we have two superb butchers, McFaddens and Vivian Olds, and Stones the greengrocers, while in Penzance there’s another great butcher at Lenterns and all the great fish and shellfish in Newlyn.

Most of the cottages have a good range of cookbooks, and we’re about to add a little gem, a gift from a lovely friend Elaine Jones.

Favourite Cornish Recipes by June Kittow was published back in 1993, although it looks like it could be 30 years older than that, and contains simple recipes for some classics that I grew up with, yet didn’t particularly think of as Cornish.

Pasties lead. Obviously.

Next recipe is for Cornish splits. What a beauty. Bread gets called all sorts depending on where you live – in the north west I was pretty shocked to hear people ordering dinners in a barm, but eventually I got used to the huge flying saucer like rolls. Well, growing up down west we used to eat splits, or sometimes bread buns, but generally splits.

Part of the fun of the book is its straightforward honesty. No talking up the dish in question, what you might serve it with, or certainly not what you might want to drink – just a straight description of how to make it, and none of your fancy decimal measures or temperatures, despite being written 20 years after Britain supposedly went metric.

Some recipes are particular to a town – luncheon cake from Truro, and occasional variations are offered – saffron cake, or rich Cornish saffron cake, the latter seems just to have more of everything, in particular more sugar. ‘Ansom!

Sweet follows savoury follows sweet, no seeming order – why bother with categories when there’s an alphabet to help us?

Hevva Cake? (spell check didn’t like that, and not will your indigestion!). Star Gazey Pie?

They’re all in there. I think the book will have to start in Myn Tea and then take a sabbatical in New Forge – let me know what recipes you try!

Thanks Elaine. It’s a beauty.

Favourite Cornish Recipes

Favourite Cornish Recipes


For the love of guests

We were away at Christmas, staying in a self catering cottage on the west coast of Scotland.

Four of us in the wilds, fulfilling a promise to each other to take a Christmas escape.

I was hoovering the bedroom one morning when one of our friends said, “I bet not many of your guests do that”.

And that set me thinking about our guests and what a wonderful bunch of people the vast majority turn out to be.

It’s a difficult and personal thing letting your house to someone. Even if it’s a holiday home it still has a deep emotional attachment, perhaps even more than that of your everyday home. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that…

I care as much about those lovely houses we look after for other people as I do for our own, because I know the pain and concern that engulfs you when something goes wrong, particularly when you’re hundreds of miles away.

Thankfully our guests generally look after the houses well. Some even leave gifts, such as a hamper from some Germans back in the summer, this lovely piece of beach art (he even has his own story),

Star Gazer

Star Gazer

and the water colours of a particular Dawn who has made several visits. I have two of them in front of my desk now. At Christmas a certain Dr Bernd sent a wonderful selection of Lebkuchen not only to us, but also to the owners of Westmoor Farm where he stayed. These are soft ginger biscuits, chocolate covered – and my favourites have bitter cherries in them.

Lebkuchen from Germany, gorgeous!

Lebkuchen from Germany, gorgeous!

Then how about these from Poppy and Daisy, two regulars who take Polly to the beach when they’re there. They have their own poodle cross now, I hope it’ll get on with our Polly.

Happy Birthday Polly, from Poppy and Daisy.

Happy Birthday Polly, from Poppy and Daisy.

The joy of offering great accommodation isn’t in what we might receive in return though, it’s the lovely words from guests when they return home, or when their friends ring to make a booking on their recommendation. When people come back year after year you know you are getting it right.

And I know they often do hoover – I have to change the bag most times I go home.

Thank you all for looking after our lovely cottages so well. We appreciate it and in return do all we can to make your experience a great one.

Cold Water. The Sennen Beach Christmas Swim.

Cold water hurts.

It kills.

If you fall into icy water you’re likely to suffer cold shock response.

Vasoconstriction causes a heart attack.

You’re then likely to breathe with your head under water, so if the cold didn’t get you the drowning will.

Yet swimming in cold water is so stimulating to those who engage in the practice by choice that they find it addictive.

I rarely feel so alive as when I’ve just survived another cold swim. OK, my feet hurt and I might not feel my hands for a few hours, but hey! A cocktail of endorphins kicks in that makes you feel invincible, and shocks the libido into life (apparently).

What more reason do you need?

Breathe. That’s the secret. Keep good regular deep breaths going and you’ll avoid the shock, from a medical perspective if not a physical one.

I worked for a while with The Cornish Pirates and there were a few old boys there who swam every day off the Battery Rocks behind The Jubilee Pool. That’s every day, like right through winter, and one of them was in his 70’s.


Cold water swimming isn’t for everyone.

In fact many would say swimming in this country isn’t for them. Full stop. Ever.

My mum is one of them.

But if you want to get a sense of the excitement without even taking your clothes off, then the Sennen Beach Christmas Swim is the place to be.

At 10.30 if you wander onto Sennen Beach on Christmas Day you might wonder if you have got it all wrong, “Are you sure it isn’t on New Year’s Day dear?”

At 10.45 people start arriving from every direction. Well, every land direction.

By 10.50 there are throngs of people on the beach. Dogs are going wild picking up on the adrenalin of the crazy ones, and their friends.

Approaching 11.00 there’s a count down, and then a mad dash.

No wet suits please. Trunks, or even fancy dress, is optional. In 2012 a bunch of lads took skinny dipping to heart – brave in front of such a crowd.

Oh yes, the crowd. Over a 1,000 spectators showed up this year.

And a record 400+ swimmers too.

I missed it this year, we were in the Highlands for Christmas, but The Cornish Way was well represented with New Forge guests Chris, Ness and the boys taking the plunge.

I’m pretty sure Tammo and family who were staying in The Old Dairy made it too.

Well done you all!

The oldest swimmer this year was regular Alan Griffiths making his 31st swim at an impressive 92 years old! That makes him old enough to know better even before he started.

The youngest were apparently two six year old girls.

You now know when and where it is.

You have no excuse.

Don’t start training now. Start when the sea is at its warmest, late August probably. And then just keep going through the winter.

Whatever you do just keep breathing.


Our intrepid guests, Chris, Ness and the boys.

Our intrepid guests, Chris, Ness and the boys.


The Sennen Beach Swim 2014.

The Sennen Beach Swim 2014.


I can see myself in this one, Polly standing guard. 2011 I guess by her size.

I can see myself in this one, Polly standing guard. 2011 I guess by her size.

Into The Wild?

There is no British wilderness. Having sixty or so million people on a small island has meant that everywhere has been populated at some stage.  Nonetheless the Highlands are pretty empty. The area offers a taste of a very different life for all us townies and city dwellers, largely as a result of brutal clearances in the 18th and 19th centuries.

Living up on Zennor Moor would feel metropolitan compared to Scotland’s extremities.

You can be more remote on the mainland than on the Western Isles here. A drive of fifteen miles might be necessary to get somewhere just a mile over the hill.

Even so, nowhere I have found yet is more than twenty miles from some sort of shop. Jolly places they tend to be with a crazy selection of goods from wellington boots, through cook-in sauces to fertiliser, and ten year old videos. Occasionally great sea food. And chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.

We couldn’t get much further from West Cornwall this Christmas. I suspect there’ll be no organized Christmas Day swim anywhere near here tomorrow, despite the sea loch being just below the garden.

When it’s clear we can see Eigg across the water, but that’s not often. Rain and stinging hail lash us frequently. There’s so much wind coming in through the windows that candles won’t stay lit in places. Yet this is as close to paradise as I can imagine.

There’s internet, but no phone signal. There’s a decent cooker, a big woodburner, and stacks of logs. The next car to pass the house might be tomorrow, but then again it might not be that busy!

This British hint of wilderness is changing though, and it’s changing fast. Like the other outstandingly beautiful wild oases of this island, tourism is too important to dissuade, yet more people coming can only serve to spoil its joy.

Last year’s de-crofting law has meant that land tied to a property as a croft no longer has to be preserved for solely agricultural use. The result is that plots are appearing for sale in some of the most stunning places Britain has to offer. The buildings that have gone up tend to be simple, beautiful structures that do well in reflecting the vernacular. Squat, tough, often timber clad, yet with big windows to take in those views.

The saving grace, for now at least, is that it takes so long to get here. Three and a half hours from Glasgow, and roads that will leave every passenger nauseous despite the beauty they cut through.

The other detracting factor is the midges. The most evil beasts to plague this island make a misery of the outdoor life in summer. Oh, and the rain. The rain has moved between light, heavy and torrential for most of our stay – but at least that means that it’s wonderfully green.

Amanda, Kelvin, Emma and Daz Man Rockstar stayed at Scarduish, nearest shop – Acharacle. Nearest (open) pub – yet to be discovered!