Up the creek with a whistling kettle
Hello m' whistling kettles, It has been many years since I've been down to the precise point where Restronguet Creek becomes the seaward Carrick Roads. The thatched roofed pub and its jetty are still there, busy with beer, ice cream and tourists. The swans are still there on the shaley beach, nipping at the fresh water outlet, gurgling it down by extending their necks. The million pound houses are still there, in prime position. Their boundary signs seem to have got somewhat angrier : 'Private land', 'Do Not Enter', 'Closed Circuit Television in Operation'.. but further along the path... is something altogether more interesting than the ostentatious lawns and oversized cars... A little more off the beaten track... Hidden behind a wild hedge, wooded and steeply tumbling down to the creek.. glimpses of a wonderful barge boat garden. Thank goodness for signs of good old fashioned bohemian living - Even the garden gate sign seems nicer somehow - 'O...