Yes, indeed, Jah Cousteau has completed his studies in said stinking pit and, as is the wont of most student types, done the "please help me, mummy" act to coerce us into bundling his worldly goods into the back of the little pink Millbrooker Machine for storage at Millbrooker Towers whilst he goes swanning off to The Seychelles for for the next three months; he calls it "work".
Needless to say, on arrival, the packing was only just getting underway in the well kempt and very tidy lodgings of Mr Cousteau.
Never mind, help was at hand, and Mrs The Millbrooker waded into the fray.
Because I'm essentially one handed (my right usually being employed with a white cane) I got to be guarding the car monitor as Jah and his mama trotted up and down the stairs of his erstwhile abode laden with the detritus of student life.
I spent a contented hour or so enjoying the sunshine and arranging stuffed bin bags in the back end of the automobile. My relative lack of activity meant that I had ample time to notice things like Jah's house being on the Newquay Tourist Train route. Classy town, Newquay.
Once the little car was stuffed to the gills with Monsieur Cousteau's treasured possessions, we repaired to an eatery of his acquaintance for a double birthday lunch. His treat. The day fell quite neatly between my birthday and Mrs The Millbrooker's and Jah was paying - a first in my experience.
We ate at Cafe Irie, a bit of a bohemian-cum-studenty place which Mrs The Millbrooker and I both loved. Here's a selection of shots, I won't drivel on about the food / ambience etc. Chances are we'll never go there again because it's in Newquay; but if we were in the unfortunate position of finding ourselves in the holiday destination of choice for chavs-from-hell and surf bums, we'd probably seek it out as a little haven from the mayhem.
A thank you to J.C. for sponsoring the yummy grub and smoothies (you know, I'd never actually had a smoothie before).
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