Actually, it was Mince who was wishing the winds would blow
me off the cliffs. He very nearly got his wish. Some of the gusts of wind --Cornish sea winds so there will be no doubt what type of wind we are talking about here -- were in the 40mph range. He left me to fend for myself among the boulders and ruins of Tintagel. There was no doubt in my mind that he was hoping I'd slip and fall into the sea. He took me on death-marches across Bournemouth, Scarborough and Newark in the cold, rain and wind. He starved me one day. I can't be sure, but I think he was trying to rid himself of me. I'm not sure why though.
To the women on the board: Because of the weather, my hair was a complete disaster most of the time I was in England. I could not get it straight, even with the aid of an inexpensive flat-iron straightener and smoothing product I bought! I did not look like myself the entire time. I eventually gave up and bought a cap.
To all: Peter and Mrs Peter were very hospitable.
