Two storm-lashed nights ago, we did something all villages should do.

We gathered around an outdoor fire in the rain, ate food made by the best cooks among us and laughed hard and thought deep as our resident writers, actors and musicians told us tales, some almost true, some taller than the cliffs on which we gathered.

Ladies and gentlepeople of Gorran and the world beyond, please strap an anvil to your chest and belly-flop from a tall ladder onto the nearest giant symbol for…Kneehigh Theatre – the only cultural medicine guaranteed to add a minimum of 3.76 years to your days on this planet.

It wasn’t meant to be this way, all tucked up in their rehearsal barns, eating, drinking, enjoying a very rare night of lucked out pleasure. But Kneehigh founder Mike Shepherd and his wonderful crew of playwrights and performers invited us their very private space once we knew the beach had lost out to the hurricane (that never quite was).  We wiped our feet and parked our backsides on the floor until the Ramblers appeared, stripping down to their matching cheesecloth lumberjack shirts and over-hoiked up pantaloons to make us feel at home.  The Coast Path Cafe laid on grub so good it could out-bake the bake-off crowd from 20 paces.

Among the gluttony of fun, they teed up a Pinteresque sketch of two crabs, a slam-dunk-of-a-poem from a Truro intern and a set and a half of acoustic honey by Holly & Holly, (one of whom teaches music to the kids at Gorran school and got a dozen of them up on stage to sing a song about pumpkins).

Mike, Anna, Giles, Harvey and everyone at Kneehigh, we thank you from the deepest creases of our smiles for an evening of Autumn alchemy.


If ever proof was needed that literature would exist without mankind, this, good people, is it.


Commiserations on your new ad campaign.

‘Want it, get it’ is the financial equivalent of foie gras.

As force-feeding goes, you have swollen our livers in record time, but the gag reflex is always on oath.

What were you thinking?

If the authorities rationed spending as they do with alcohol, would you encourage us all to spend responsibly?

Paypal is unquestionably smart, so why the hard sell?

Spend all your time making my money crime-proof, then we’ll buy our hearts out.


40 minutes into Question Time, David Dimbleby asks ‘the young man in the hand-knitted cardy’ who responds by releasing a live hawk that swoops towards the panel, lunges at Nigel Farage’s neck, but a split second before it strikes, the hawk gags, keels and dies of heart failure. The Post Mortem (conducted by the RSPB) revealed death due to sudden inhalation of denatured alcohol (meths), a bi-product of the UKip leader’s inexpensive after shave. All charges were dropped, although in a cruel twist of irony, UKip did go on to adopt an owl as their emblem. A year later, they were elected into power in the lowest turnout in British political history.