There was a young lady from Bude who went out for a swim in the sea,
A man in a punt put an oar in her ear
And said it’s too dangerous
Hilarious, eh? I can even sing along with it because I remember the ‘zany’ DJ and TV presenter Kenny Everett performing it on one of his TV shows. Truth be told, I didn’t always find Everett as funny as everyone else did – in fact, the main reason I watched his shows was to ogle at the underdressed dancing troupe Hot Gossip – but this limerick, put to music, made me laugh, probably much more than it should have. I was reminded of this song as we drove into the North Cornish town of Bude yesterday afternoon. Disappointingly, there was no young ladies from Bude swimming in the sea, on the likely grounds that it’s still winter.
I used to come here in the 1980s with two friends, one of whom’s grandparents lived in a tiny house near the golf club. Peak summer, rammed with tourists, free accommodation. Result.
The summer of 1987 was one I remember particularly well. Whitney Houston wanted to dance with somebody, though sadly not me. The sun shone, more often than not, at least in Cornwall it did and we did the usual things, like touring the local pubs, playing mini golf, tennis and that most wonderful of beach pastimes lusting after bikini clad women. One bikini clad woman I saw was a work colleague who looked utterly mortified to see me. I have that effect on women. Look, you might think from the opening paragraphs that I was a voyeuristic sex pest and, to be fair, there might be some truth in that but we were only window-shopping and anyway for some reason the local girls seemed to prefer the ripped and bronzed torsos of the bleach-blonde lifeguards to us. But 38 years on, I was back with my partner of 35 years.
The outskirts of town had changed massively. There were now housing developments all over the place and for a time you could have been in a new town anywhere. The heart of Bude had changed a bit but it felt much the same. All the pubs I remembered were still standing, there were inevitably charity shops and bookmakers where once stood independent stores, but the open air pool, filled by the tide, looked the same and the beach certainly was. Wave after wave rushed into the shore, blown by a moderate wind. There was no sense of Deja Vu because frankly that’s nonsense. It was nice to be back.
There’s something rather lovely about seaside towns in Winter. Arguably, some seem nicer in winter than they are in summer, perhaps because there are less tourists. On a gorgeous sunny day like yesterday, Bude looked truly beautiful.
Today, as the sun shines brightly we are going to Port Isaac where I am hoping to see Doc Martin about the pain my hip. Failing that I hope to be entertained by sea shanty singers Fisherman’s Friends. I do love to suck on a Fisherman’s Friend. (Insert your own joke, there.)
We will pass Tintagel Castle, perhaps the most disappointing tourist attraction I have ever been to. I saw no evidence of the conception of King Arthur (apparently that happened there) and worse still it looked like a pile of rocks to be and not a castle at all. Nice view and all that, but as castles go, let’s just say I’ll be giving it a miss this time, especially as it costs £20 to watch nothing at all. “You’re such an embarrassment,” says my partner, a term she has used for the last 35 years.
Anyway, off we go to Port Isaac. I’ll let you know how I get on with Doc Martin later on. If I can get past the lovely Morwenna Newcross, that is.
