Summer where we live: Ken Gibbs

A nephew of mine found that the only place where he and his wife could bring their two dogs, was to a National Trust property on the North Cornwall coast, not far from where we live. Their annual ‘staycation’ (taking a vacation without having to fly to the other side of the world) is usually to Cornwall. We were invited to visit them in their very up-market rented holiday house, so we could admire the view. We went and were twice blown away by the experience; first, we were blown away by the quality of the accommodation – but outside, being on a headland, the wind blows strongly. We drank coffee inside.

Before setting out for their ‘accommodation’, I had decided that, in case they were unable to walk the nearby coast path, at least they could feast their eyes on the photographs that Detlef and Gabi Palm shared with us in a coffee table presentation after their abortive visit to us in 2022 when they decided to walk the same coast path, unaccompanied. Nephew and wife were both respectfully impressed by the quality of the publication and the beauty of the Coast Path.

As my nephew spends an inordinate amount of time in aircraft because he is much in demand for his skills, so a coffee meeting – when it is feasible – is all about catching up. We caught up on at least the last 18 months. However, I did have to apologise for not being enthusiastic about a quick 5-mile walk on the coast path as, at 83, what walking I do is usually on the flat, thank you. Nephew decided to pull my leg about a 100 year old Polish neighbour of his, some way north of London who had learned to fly gliders in Ukraine before he was allowed to attempt to fly something with an engine, and even at his advanced age, he was keen to check out the garage to ensure that it had switched summer and winter tyres on his car, and had performed all the essentials of an annual service.

Time moved on and we left them and their two dogs to enjoy the coast path unencumbered by the elderly, and we returned to our home, but, as I explained to him a bit later, things didn’t go to plan quite as I had hoped. I wrote to him thus:

Your Polish neighbour really only had to look at the treads on the tyres, and whether the oil on the dip stick was clean; and that brake fluids were sufficient; radiator full of water etc.

Spare a thought for me, please ! After we left you, as we turned left towards St Minver to return home, we found ourselves behind a VW Polo with hazard warning lights flashing and driving quite slowly. Just before we reached Windmill Court Care Home, the driver pulled off to let me past – which I did and stopped in front of the Polo to ask the driver if she knew that her hazard lights were flashing. She did, pointing out that the front right tyre was almost flat.

So here we have a young woman alone in a car that should not be driving on a flat, so I said that I’d help her change the tyre if she had a spare. She had a spare. Me and my big mouth – no excuse now.

Locating the necessary tools was a bit of a puzzle but as our last car had been a Polo, I knew where to look. The jack was very simple but required that I look far under the car to see where the notch should be placed. Then came the problem of undoing the wheel nuts which were so tightly fastened that I couldn’t loosen them at all. At that precise moment, a Sumo-wrestler built caretaker for the Care Home appeared and he was able to loosen two of the five wheel nuts. He was called back into the Care Home leaving me to work out what to do next. Happily, I spied a sledge-hammer in the Care Home garage (I kid you not, a full sized sledge hammer – I wonder what they use it for in a care home ?) which I used to great effect, loosening the remaining wheel nuts without damaging the Polo in the process. I don’t have an engineering degree for nothing, it seems.

I skinned my knuckles and feel that I had done a few rounds with Mohammed Ali/Cassius Clay but the woman was mobile again and directed to go straight in to Wadebridge and get the wheel repaired before proceeding. She said she was heading for London. . . . . .

At least she shouldn’t be feeling flat any longer.

*****

Working for UNICEF was never this interesting, was it ?