The tiny village of Cadgwith, situated on the southern Lizard Peninsula in Cornwall, is one of my favourite English villages (though calling anywhere in Cornwall English sometimes meets with raised eyebrows in these parts). It has everything I like in a traditional village. It's relatively carless and private cars, even those of the residents, have to be parked on the outskirts. The houses are traditional with many thatched roofs, no hideous new builds. A couple even have paintings on their stone walls depicting bygone galleon days. But my lasting memory was forged in my first night staying in the 400-year old Cadgwith Cove Inn, after a hearty fish supper, drinking one of my favourite ales, the local Doombar. Afterward I was highly entertained by the sea shanties of the acapella Cadgwith Singers.
The story surrounding the singers is so wonderfully Celtic. Apparently the Irish monk Saint Inebriatus, was the sole survivor of a shipwreck nearby and was forced to forge a makeshift raft from beer barrels bound together by virgin's hair. His raft ran aground at Cadgwith on a Saturday night and he hastened himself to the pub. Hence every Friday in Cadgwith is known as St. Inebriatus' Eve and reverently and irreverently celebrated in song. I also had a lengthy and interesting conversation with a guy who had worked, a decade or so earlier, as one of the camera crew on a documentary on the life of Henri Cartier-Bresson. So all-in-all a few hours well spent courtesy of St. Inebriatus. This image was the first of the following day, captured the following morning.