Mounting costs

One thing I didn\’t mention yesterday was the boat trip we took from Marazion to St Michael\’s Mount – the extraordinary rock in the ocean near Penzance. One legend has
St Michael the Archangel appearing to some fishermen there in 495 AD, another tells of a giant called Cormoran being defeated by a lad called (naturally) Jack. There\’s an interesting historic castle and chuch at the top.
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The tide was in so we took the little ferryboat, walked up and around to the gate where we had to pay to get in.
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Accountants of the National Trust, take note of this: thirteen mixed young urbanites and neo-hippies gasped when told that it would cost £7 to get in. No, there weren\’t any discounts for groups. And so they all said \”too expensive\” and turned away. We had much less expensive tea at the very friendly café next to the gate so it wasn\’t a dead loss for the NT. I expect some of them could have afforded the entrance price, but some couldn\’t. So none of them went.
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I asked while we were chatting over tea – what would they have been willing to pay? Around £5 each, they said.
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So in pusuit of £91, the National Trust lost £65. Sad, isn\’t it?

http://www.stmichaelsmount.co.uk/Home-Page.aspx

Great day

Penzance in a grey mizzle – we had a lovely time starting with an Earth meditation at Marazion beach, opposite St Michael\’s Mount, followed by food and cider at a pub, followed by a gawp at the Egyptian House and a leisurely tramp round Penzance (during which I tripped on an escalator top step and just managed to avoid breaking the other arm by head-butting the wall. You had to be there really, but kindly nobody laughed. Yeah, yeah, the wall is fine, thanks.)
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As always I was reminded by the comments of visitors about all the things I take for granted in Cornwall. Not just the beautiful scenery and the sea, but the kindness and friendliness of the Cornish – the way people say hello even to strangers and have time for a chat.
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And nobody had laughed or pointed while we sat and meditated in a circle – though some puzzled French visitors had asked each other if we were a cult.
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No, said one of them, just English.