The hotels trying to turn Cornwall into Kensington

Mousehole is a charming name; it is almost a charming place. It is a fishing village on Mount’s Bay, Cornwall, beyond the railway line, which stops at Penzance, in an improbable shed; I love that what begins at Paddington, the most grandiose and insane of London stations, ends in a shed. The Spanish invaded Mousehole in 1595 but Drake’s fleet came from Plymouth and chased them away; nothing so interesting has happened since; just fishing, tourism and decline. Now there are galleries and restaurants and what the Cornish call ‘incomers’ buying cottages, in which they place ornamental fishing nets after painting everything white. (For something more ‘authentic’, you can visit the Old Ship Inn on the harbour. If you are a female travelling without a male, they might ask if you are a lesbian; that is what they asked me.)

So the Old Coastguard is a paradigm; something old and interesting, made less so for Londoners who have spent five hours and 23 minutes on a train and want to see something familiar for their trouble. Too much of travel is like this today; the destination conforms to the place you left behind because, it is assumed, you will find that comforting. The exterior is dull and Victorian, with lawns winding to the sea; the interior is simply self-hating. I am not suggesting that all West Country inns should feature pirates cuddling parrots and shouting about treasure — they do that at Land’s End — and all hotels should dream of Manderley, but this is the inside of a developer’s head; pale walls, pale floors and crazy art, particularly seascapes. (I am not sure about Cornish art.) It is nearly surgical. The food, however, is marvellous: an autumn vegetable salad; slow-cooked lamb shoulder; native ice cream.