Heartbreak Motel

Today didn’t start off well. I received a letter out of the blue from Dorothy Perkins saying I owe £144 on a store card that I thought was all paid off. I’d received no statements and they’d been gradually piling on the charges until they were three times the actual debt. I felt like wailing with rage as I paid £90 I can’t afford, and spouse stomped about declaiming ‘usurers’ because he basically lives in the Middle Ages. So yeah, minus 30 happiness points for this morning.

But then, you know. The sun was shining. We live in Cornwall. We still had enough money left for a breakfast at the Beachcomber Café on Praa Sands where they top up your teapot for free. There’s not too much to complain about.

beachcomberBut the universe, clearly in a good mood with me today, knows what cheers me up. It very kindly dropped a lovely derelict building in my lap just as we’d decided to go home. There’s not much I like better than a bit of dereliction to photograph after a beach breakfast.

The building we found is along the road that leads from Helston to Penzance and was once a motel, apparently. I looked it up online and found an article about how worrying it is that the Olympic torch would have to be run past ‘Heartbreak Motel’. Clearly the world ought to be tidied up for the torch so its little Olympic eyes aren’t burned out by the realities of Cornwall.

I, however, can’t resist an eyesore and have been smiling all day since. It made up for the happiness deficit caused by Dorothy Perkins, and then some.


One reply to “Heartbreak Motel

  1. Why is it that so many derelict buildings include graffiti of: (a) one or more cocks and/or; (b) swastikas? Do doodlers just like the shapes? Surely that isn’t the most provocative or expressive graffiti they could think of? Anyway, lovely dereliction as always. The petrol station is still my fave.

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