HO 87 edit

HO 87 is an ex-pat Cornishman, me 'ansom, residing offshore with a particular interest in investigative journalism, the law, politics, computing and, occasionally, cider. I only drink Spingo on high days and holidays. If then.

Father was a tinminer (before he joined the Navy), grandfather was a tinminer in Pool, as was great-grandfather, as was great-great-grandfather. Mother's side hail originally from the far end of Penwith (St Just) but moved around a fair bit, via such places as Morvah, Zennor, Hayle, and Breage but never succeeding in getting any further north-east than Illogan. Grandmother never left the county.

You know you're Cornish when:

"Where's it to?" is a perfectly reasonable question.
You can describe everything as being 'ansom.
"Hello my lover" is how you greet everyone.
It's "dreckly" not "directly".
Everyone else is "Up country".
There is never any mobile phone coverage unless you stand on your roof.
Your mobile phone recognises "wasson".
You understand the locals.
You avoid Camborne at all costs.
You have arguments about which company makes the best pasties.
Being stuck behind a herd of cows is a plausible excuse for being late to work.
The old man who plays the mandolin in Truro is a legend.
You always bump into someone you know when out and about.
Seagulls should not be fed.
You argue over which beach to go to.
There's never any real news in Cornwall.
Village gossip spreads quickly.
Cornwall is always going to be better than Devon.
You dread "potato season".
You miss the sea more than your parents.

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Countries that have had to put up with me from time to time

                                       

Together with the unflagged Republic of Whangamomona