A windy walk along the promenade from Penzance to Marazion

As is customary, one of the December outings of our U3A walking group is the 'Mince Pie Train'. Take the train, have a mince pie and walk and return. This year the train took us to Penzance, the mince pies appeared just after Truro and the walk was along the sea front across Mount's Bay to Marazion and return. Just the thing to blow away the Brexit Blues. And that will be the one and only time I mention the B word in this post.

The route was simple: leave Penzance station, turn left and walk along the prom until Marazion is reached. And then turn around and come back. We clocked up just under 8 miles, which was a surprise, and, as the elevation profile shows, the route was almost flat all the way. In fact, the blip at the end was due entirely to climbing the stairs in what passes for a shopping mall in Penzance. And the weather? Extremely, and I do mean extremely, windy on the way out and much better on the return, as it was on our backs. No rain but spray from the sea.

Looking across Mount's Bay to St Michael's Mount. The sea was rough and we were walking into the wind. Lots of sea spay coming up and, after a while, I noticed that the filter I had over the lens was coated in salt. Hence, some of the photographs ended looking more hazy than I would have liked.

Looking back towards Penzance. It's amazing how the light changes so quickly on days like this.

After lunch at the Godolphin Arms in Marazion (I can recommend the hummus flatbread), we headed back. By this time the weather had brightened up somewhat.

But it wasn't just about walking today. Mrs P and I had brought along our wind surfing boards and, undaunted by the lumpy waves and high winds, decided to brave the conditions. That's Mrs P in the front: I'm at the back hanging on for dear life.

Not too bad for people of a certain age, don't you think?

There's no stopping Mrs P once you get her into a wet suit. Go, nanny, go!

There she goes again. Puts me to shame as, at this point, I was wrapped up in a cosy blanket having a cup of hot chocolate and taking my medicaments.

An Oystercatcher. So what, it's not a rare seabird. Not particularly common but not rare. It's a bird that I always associate with the Hebrides or Orkney, where they are everywhere.

What I find frightening about this sign is that the genius who thought it up (Wish upon a Costa! Really? Utter drivel) might be living near me.  Surely thinking up slogans like these cannot be healthy?