Seaweed and storms on Scilly

It will be a day for seaweed and storms today.  From where I am sitting I have an uninterrupted view of the harbour on St Marys, it is a deep grey over Tresco, the Eastern Isles beyond lie low in the mist.  I can see the storm closing in on us.  One moment the sea had an eerie green glow, now it is cold, grey and harsh.

It's a day for securing a cosy corner in any of the islands pubs or restaurants and hunkering down with one of the locals perhaps.  It's very easy to lose track of time here once you get chatting. There are some rather luscious shops and galleries to browse, not forgetting the wonderful Museum in which to marvel at treasures of times gone by.

However some days it pays to be practical, remember there is no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothing. For a trip to Scilly it's 'de-riguer' to have a waterproof (such a better word than anorak), a rucksack and sensible shoes. Armed with these essentials you will be fully equipped to embrace everyday fully whatever the weather might try and throw at you.

Because I had been uncharacteristically sensible and packed rolled up waterproof trousers (yes you read that right) the sun bestowed us with glorious rays and the wind huffed and puffed this way and that and produced some rather 'choppy' looking waves which rolled relentlessly in. If you want full disclosure I had a flask of Cadbury's Hot Chocolate drink, Cornish Gingerbread Biscuits and an 'emergency' stash of home made fudge from St Martins.

On the way to my chosen walk  I made a slight detour to the Atlantic Hotel which boasts the best views of St Marys Harbour and got chatting to a Scillonian who is married to an Islander, it pays to know the difference...

I said that I would be walking to Peninnis Head and he told me the story of Vic who used to drive the island bus, circa 1960's/70's.  Legend has it that Vic would take his trumpet up to Peninnis Head and blow it when the weather was bad so that the skipper of the Scillonian would hear it and thus avoid the lethal rocks. 'It didn't work one time' he said. 

Once I had been blown and buffeted and my hair had acquired the 'Scilly style' I dropped in at the peaceful and civilised St Marys Hall Hotel and found myself a sunny little nook on one of their plush sofa's. Built by an Italian nobleman for his Scillonian bride in 1938 it's a fabulous refurbished townhouse exuding warmth and charm.

I met lot's of fascinating people, listened to heaps of wonderful 'tit-bits' and arranged a 'jolly' for later on.  Whilst I nibbled on the remains of my fudge I reflected that Scilly still retained its simple, irresistible and uncluttered charm.

Which is why I am still here peering into and looking out of all sorts of different windows.