On the border

I've said before that I rarely leave North Devon, but this weekend I not only left North Devon, I also left the country - well, I went to Cornwall. Significant other and I went to visit friends who live in a village on the Tamar. Now, the Tamar is, as most of us know, the border between Devon and Cornwall and - in view of Cornwall styling itself as a separate nation - is therefore a national boundary. Crossing the Tamar some way south of Holsworthy does feel to me as if I am entering another country. The sign proclaiming you have entered Cornwall also has a few words in Cornish, which, I hope, say something along the lines of welcome.

Sadly it wasn't long before we were crossing back into Devon because a road accident not far from Launceston sent us heading towards Tavistock. Having reached there, in increasingly rainy conditions, we had to ping back towards Callington, which entailed a further crossing of the Tamar, this time into Cornwall, which thankfully proved to be the last time that day we would make that crossing.

Finally we made it to our friends' house where a friendship dating back to the early 1990s was gently revived. We don't see each other very often and work and family commitments on both sides make it difficult to meet up, but when we do meet I am glad we all made the effort. Never undervalue friendship. The highlight of the weekend for me was getting to know our friends' two young sons, aged four and almost two. Lively sparky little boys, who treated us with initial caution but soon assumed that if we were OK with their mum and dad then we'd do for them.

The aim had been to get out into the lovely countryside near their village to walk and talk, but the rain poured and eventually we had to concede that we would not be crossing the threshold. Even the two young boys, who were getting a bit edgy at the lack of outdoor entertainment, decided that having once stepped outside, they were quite happy to stay indoors just this once. A tentative suggestion of going to the pub was discarded as not being worth the effort.

This morning was much brighter and we had a short walk round their village and along a path beside the Tamar. Following that we headed to Morwellham for a pub lunch and more strolling about, this time enjoying the sunshine. It's years since we've been to Morwellham - our own children were little - and it has changed from being a straightforward tourist attraction to a "world heritage site" due to its links with the mining industry and Britain's industrial past. To be honest, I'm not sure how that will work out. We ended up watching a man making small animals from offcuts from trees. For one of our friends' sons he made a hedgehog. I don't think that was to do with mining, but was intended to highlight the wildlife trails around the site. Anyway, it was pleasant in the hot sunshine.

I think one test of friendship is being able to do unremarkable things and find them enjoyable because of the people you are with. I think this weekend passed that test. One of the friends we visited and I have in common the fact that we both lost our fathers this year. His father, although not a young man, died unexpectedly and it is taking him time to come to terms with it. For me, my father's death had been on the cards for months following a diagnosis of cancer several years ago. I miss him still, but know that his passing was part of the natural order of things. But, in a way, what is slightly odd about this realisation is that we don't take it to heart more completely. The fact is that as mortals we are all bound to die. In some ways that should liberate us rather than frighten us. Even so, I don't want to go yet. I've got things to do.