We are woken up by the ringing of my mobile telling me I’ve missed four calls this morning already and it’s only 9.30am. The number on my display is a Liskeard one. I can hardly control my hand as I punch the dial button on the handset.

Mike (my new best friend) tells me our offer has been accepted and David and I will hopefully soon be the proud owners of a little cottage perched high on the moor that’s waiting for someone like me to lavish it with care and love. The owners are happy to take it off the market so we shouldn’t get gazumped and they clear up the few questions we had. The only fly in our ointment is that they have not found anywhere to move to, indeed they’ve not started looking because he is away overseas working. That means we could be in for a long haul while they find a new home.

We are so excited that we dash off to Newquay to try to buy some books about the history of the area only to find the town appears to be without a proper bookshop. Somehow we can see why, it would need to rub shoulders with a dozen or so shops selling fashion for teenagers and a host of bucket and spade shops, off licenses selling cider with names like ‘Cripplecock’ and ‘Legless but Smiling’ as well as loads of surf shops mostly desperately trying to imitate ‘Fat Willies’. It’s not a sophisticated place!

We buy a couple of local history books in WHSmith and then discover a small independent bookshop around the corner but we can’t find anything more illuminating in there though I’d have preferred to give them our custom for the books we’d just bought – never mind!

Back at the cottage in Crantock we spread the books around us and discover some of the history of the area and I start to guess that the cottage could be an old miners cottage. The area is steeped in mining history and one of the most successful local mines is a very short distance away. It’s clear there is much for us to learn. There are stone circles, ancient monuments and mining all to explore.

This boat is on the shore of the Gannel, the river that (thankfully) divides our lovely, unspoilt village of Crantock from the ravages of Newquay’s bustle. It’s been there for many years, certainly for all of the time I have been coming to Crantock on holiday. Today I thought it deserved a celebration so I braved the drizzle and the marshy ground on the river bank to bring you this photo.

As we walk the beaches tonight, we are filled with plans and hopes. We still have fears but belief in our destiny is a powerful motivator.

We decide to celebrate the start of our adventure with a swiftie in the pub, The Albion. I make a curry and leave it in the pan while we walk up the hill with the dogs. It’s our last night in the village and we see two of the women from quiz night, Liz and her sister (see I said I knew names!).

We get chatting to Liz’s sister who works in the pub after the other customers have gone and we notice Archie behaving strangely. There is a very old beam carved with the English Tudor Rose (a mix of the red rose of Lancashire and the white of the Yorkshire rose). It looks many hundreds of years old. Archie stares at it intently. He stands with his head right back so he can see it and whines. He tries to jump up at it. We’ve never seen him do this before. We ask the barmaid about it and she tells us of a ghost that people have seen in the exact spot. Could that be what Archie is looking at? Well, he’s certainly very spooked.

We have another drink (can’t leave the poor girl alone in a haunted pub) and roll back down the hill quite merrily with the dogs (now behaving completely normally) sniffing around the verges and fields. I am sad though because if our cottage does become ours then we will have no reason to stay in Crantock again and I have loved the last eleven years. I’ve been here a couple of times each year and as you know my beautiful Toby’s spirit is here since I scattered his ashes here in 1999. I won’t leave him though, I will come back and talk to him as often as I can.