Burgh Island I

It’s the middle of the afternoon and I’ve just had a bath.

Not just any bath, but a bath in a room, in a hotel on Burgh (pronounced ‘Burr’) Island. The same hotel that acts as a backdrop for one of Agatha Christie’s crime novels, ‘Evil Under the Sun’. Possibly in the same bathroom used by the perpetrator who runs a bath in the middle of the afternoon, thereby raising suspicion on their supposed activities.

Even today, such an act would be seen as peculiar, when ones usual ablutions take place in the morning, or perhaps at night before bed. There is something a little extravagant about it. And extravagant is certainly a word that comes to mind when walking around this hotel.

It was built in the late 1920s in the beautiful art deco style ubiquitous of that period. The glass dome ceiling in the Palm Court Lounge is stunning, and all over the building, fan and shell motifs are seen in the furniture and walls, sitting alongside geometric lines and shapes. You feel like you should order champagne in a coupe glass for brunch just by sitting in one of their soft chairs overlooking the Devon coast, which is almost exactly what we did this morning. Bellinis anyone?

My joy of this place today is a far cry of how I felt yesterday when we reached the coastal carpark on the mainland at 2.45pm, only to be told over the phone that we wouldn’t be able to get across until at least 8.30 that evening, because the tide was now in. Normally, the sea tractor would do the trip regularly over the course of the day, but raging Storm Debi had put paid to that.

I think I am a fairly happy and content person most of the time, but I did physically sob when we were told, I was so distraught. This was a once in a lifetime treat and I’d anticipated us having an afternoon tea followed by fine dining in the grand ball room.

What we ended up doing was holing up for the next six hours in the nearby Pickwick Inn. A pub that looks invitingly ye olde from the outside only to disappoint with a bland interior. The proprietor, however, was a lovely chap, who let us hog the sofas by the fire all afternoon and evening. Our dining, that evening was fish and chips for Anne, and scampi and chips for me. The batter on Anne’s cod was so crisp, she was still finding flecks of it down her top when we did eventually get over to our hotel. It was very good pub fare, and we were made to feel welcome, and more importantly, I discovered that I hadn’t lost my attention span and could read for a good length of time without feeling antsy at all.

We could have gone to nearby (ish) Plymouth or to any of a number of towns in the area, we certainly had the time. But I was tired after driving for six hours, and somewhat emotional at the disappointment of not going over when we had hoped. So in the end, hunkering down by the fire was exactly what I needed, and appreciated.

We will be in the ballroom tonight, and getting a bottle of wine on the house, for the inconvenience of yesterday, but I am restored to my normal state of equilibrium, and now I think, a little afternoon sip of something nice.