Monday 17 August 1992. We have a run out into the darkest depths of Cornwall - literally as we are about to go traipsing down an old mine.
We are at Poldark Mine, suitably named after the TV programme and the books by Winston Graham. It had earlier opened under the name of Wendron Forge and the tin mine originally Wheal Roots Mine that had been unused since the 1700s.
I had fallen down stairs at home a couple of weeks ago tearing a muscle or tendon or something that went TWANG! as my foot landed. Hence I am dependant on a crutch to walk and the family have lovingly (I think...) christened me Hopalong
Behind us is the spendidly named Greensplat beam engine last used in 1959 for pumping water out of a clay pit in the village of Greensplat near St Austell.
You could go down the mine suitably equipped with a hard plastic helmet and there were three levels of agility or ease.
So of course it was decided that we were going to go down it, up and down slippery slopes or tight corkscrews of steps and when it came to the choice of routes of course everyone chose Route C, the hardest route through the mine...
After which I reappeared into open air, dishevilled, out of breath, bandage trailing from around my foot and ankle - never let it be said that I don't put effort into these blog posts you know... I should be well on the way to a nobel prize for documentary literature if I didn't keep skipping through my lifetime in a sort of yo-yo fashion! So we sat at a table for a refreshing drink - where are they by the way? - avoiding the wasps and a blue bum with a well-practiced swaying dance...
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