Lockdown No. 2 shows off improvements in digital socialising

 We’re back in national lockdown. 

Things were starting to feel normal again. Bars and restaurants were thriving, museums had opened, people were going into offices. Hotels were welcoming visitors, though the overwhelming majority of travellers were staying inside national borders. We were meeting friends in restaurants, in groups of no more than six, and getting our hair and nails done regularly.

But as cold and flu season arrived, all negative indicators started a steady climb. England had attempted to keep the economy open with a regional scheme, restricting bits of the country where things were worst. The approach didn't work, and a return to full national lockdown started on the 5th of November. So much for the communal joys of Bonfire Night.

We were all better prepared this time. Homeowners rushed to purchase paint, wallpaper and other DIY supplies for weekend projects. Restaurants, nail salons, hair dressers and spas were in touch to suggest rescheduled bookings on a rota system from the day lockdown lifts (currently projected to be 2 December). 

At work and at home, people have marshalled the online socialising skills they've developed this year to fill diaries with virtual events. In the shared fear that anyone might feel lonely, we've packed digital diaries fuller than the live action versions usually are. In my non-working hours in the two and a half weeks since lockdown I've hosted two virtual games nights; attended three online book club sessions; taken two Zoom-based drawing classes; one live cocktail making class; one live cooking class; an online wedding shower; and an executive education session from my alma mater. My human interaction may be restricted to my husband, but my virtual connections have been in the hundreds.

The cooking, bartending and wedding showering all came through work. Many employers are sincerely worried about the mental health of their people, laying on fun activities that capture some of the fellowship and stress relief that naturally happens when we spill into the pub after work. We also have the spectre of a partyless Christmas party season looming ahead. Fortunately, that need seems to be matched by entrepreneurial types upping their virtual events game. 

I was particularly impressed by Firebird Events' cocktail class. This is a premium experience, with supplies sent out in advance. Their beautifully packed box had clear instructions for what you'd need to add from your own home (ice, glasses, shaker) and all the alcohol and mixers for two cocktails  (a porn star martini and a berry smash). In fact, if your house was well-stocked with alcohol the mixers went on to fuel additional cocktails throughout the weekend.

Bartender and drinks coach Ben had all the attributes now required of a virtual meetings host: half TV broadcaster, half radio call-in show host eliciting public responses. Plus, of course, a deep knowledge of alcohol. In between following his instructions and showing off our efforts to our colleagues through the Zoom mosaic (top), we competed at cocktail-themed trivia. The Bencard household fared ... predictably or distressingly? ... extremely well.

On the cooking front, management treated us to a private audience with Asma Khan, regular guest on Saturday Kitchen and No. 1 on Business Insider's list of the 100 coolest people in food and drink in the UK. She'd perched her device above her shiny new range and demonstrated three different Indian takes on the humble potato, followed by a lively Q&A. We're all used to live cooking demos, of course, but this had the added frisson of wondering if her iPad was going to go crashing into the curry. The latest  lockdown had postponed the opening of her new restaurant, the Darjeeling Express, so our virtual presence made us her first guests. Khan's swift transition from restaurant boss to corporate event host is an admirable example of the flexibility people are showing this year to push on despite 2020's complications.

Artist Dean Rossiter has been similarly creative, even if he doesn't have quite the profile of a celebrity chef. Dean's a proper artist, exhibiting in galleries on three continents, but like any sensible person making a living in the arts, he has other strings to his professional bow. That includes teaching. I'd joined the class in our local community centre and was a bit sceptical about the virtual session, but it works remarkably well. Dean sends out whatever we'll be drawing in advance, then we all hook up on Zoom and he deploys some fancy camera work to give us close-ups when he demonstrates various steps. Surprisingly, the online classes are much more sociable. In a room sat at our own socially-distanced tables, nobody spoke. Online, that physical distance disappears and conversation flows as we sketch.

Naturally, I couldn't resist trying my own production. We've hosted two board games nights, with one camera on us, another broadcasting the board and us moving the pieces. Trivial Pursuit was easier to broadcast but can get quite boring in the virtual distance if one team is on a long run of correct answers. The pace of Risk, and the fact that two teams are engaged in battles at any one time, made it more engaging, but visibility of the board was a bigger challenge. Given our household's professional ties to secure digital networks (Zoom is banned by both of our employers) we hosted both through Microsoft Teams. The process is clunkier, with no easy guest access from laptops (but fine on tablets and phones) and a frustrating difference in experience if you're using a work account and your employer hasn't upgraded to the latest version. I find it incredibly frustrating that the owners of Skype, who should have been the market leaders in this pandemic, have fallen so far behind. But we soldiered on, and none of our Risk generals would have been endangered by their battle plans crossing servers in China. Yet another thing I wouldn't have considered before 2020.

 

This is the first year since we've met that Piers and I haven't entertained at scale, so games night filled a gap in our lives. And, we had to admit, it was nice to host a party on Saturday night and get up on Sunday without a houseful of guests and hours of kitchen and dining room clean up to do. That's not to say we won't return to gourmet weekend parties when life returns to normal. Like everyone else, we're just trying to make the most of the options available to us.

St. Mawes is an idyllic bolthole, designed for quiet lingering

If you asked Disney's "imagineers" to design the perfect Cornish holiday village, they'd probably come up with St. Mawes. 

Regular readers will know that I prefer my beaches with warm waters and coral reefs. But if you can't manage the trek to palm trees and pina coladas, this tiny enclave on the southern tip of the Roseland peninsula is rather special.

I've already described the charm of the location in my earlier story on places to stay. I didn't recommend the village's most famous hotel, Tresanton, but I'd happily return and give other options a try. The pure visual appeal of the place is the main reason why. 

Look seaward for a sheltered bay bracketed by a lighthouse and a castle, with a busy channel beyond it dotted with an unceasing passage of sail and motorboat. Look inland for a ring of tidy, colourful houses climbing the encircling hill like well-dressed glitterati packing an amphitheatre. The village centre boasts a tiny harbour, which is mostly employed with ferries to Falmouth and other points on the Fal estuary, though piles of lobster pots and a fresh seafood stand attest that a few fishing boats still call this home. There are two traditional pubs and a wealth of independent boutiques, small galleries, hotels and restaurants that belie the resident population of just over 700. The reason, of course, is the holiday trade.

Much of Cornwall is dependant on tourism. But famous spots like St. Ives, Padstow and Penzance are on main roads, bustling with both residents and visitors, and can feel practically urban in high season. St. Mawes' position is more isolated. It's a solid 40 minutes by road from anything that wouldn't qualify as rural. (Don’t drive too fast on those roads or the local cops may catch you speeding. Trust me on this one.) A satnav's favoured route in may well take you by way of the King Harry Ferry. It's picturesque, but adds even more time as you're likely to have to wait for a crossing. St. Mawes' relative isolation gives it a calm, quiet, rural appeal. It's a destination to linger, not a base for extensive sightseeing. 

Which is exactly what we did.

We didn’t move the car once in our three days there. You could easily while away a couple of weeks without straying far. Low tide exposes properly sandy beaches and I suspect the bay is shallow enough, and cut off enough from the main channel, to have the chance of warming to something above bone chilling in summer. There were actually wild swimmers in the bay during our late October visit, sans wetsuits. The surrounding Roseland peninsula is rich with countryside for walking. Some of England’s most famous sub-tropical gardens are nearby; a ferry in the harbour will take you up the river to the renown house and garden at Trelissick. If you want more urban excitement, Falmouth is just a 20-minute ferry ride across the estuary.

Here are our highlights. 

THE CASTLE

Henry VIII worried constantly about French invasion, so invested in a chain of defensive castles along England’s east and south coasts. No self-respecting Renaissance monarch built anything ugly or unadorned, of course, and the “Henrician” castles prove the point. St. Mawes is a typical example, built of round towers intersecting each other. From the air they can look like a Venn diagramme, a cloverleaf or a flower, depending on your viewpoint. 

Some have been adapted and turned into residences, like the wonderful Walmer Castle (which I wrote about here). St. Mawes’ Castle is mostly an empty shell. Though its English Heritage caretakers have ensured a sound roof over the central tower, the rooms inside are empty. The most picturesque bits are outside, anyway. Despite centuries of battering by salt-laden winds, some of the gargoyles and decorative accents remain, including part of a lavish inscription surrounded by angels celebrating Henry’s son, the future Edward VI.

The castle faces its sister fortification, Pendennis, in Falmouth. Between them, their firepower was designed to prevent any invading navy from getting up the River Fal. Something that, fortunately, no hostile force ever tried. The grounds are strewn with cannon. Military buffs will find both them and the earthworks interesting, and there’s loads of history here including chapters in the Civil War and World War II. But most visitors will simply appreciate taking in spectacular views from within the frame of magnificent architecture. 

FALMOUTH

Town planners wringing their hands over the death of the high street should make a study of Falmouth, where a bustling stretch of pedestrianised high street is almost devoid of big chains. There are, instead, one-of-a-kind galleries, toy stores, clothing boutiques, home decorating emporiums and gift shops. Dining and drinking options are equally local, with family owned pubs, independent restaurants, gin emporiums and coffee shops. This being Cornwall there are, naturally, tea shops, chippies and pasty sellers, none of which we had a chance to sample during our time in the county because we never had room between our late, hearty breakfasts and our plentiful three-course dinners. We did spend some time drinking, however. The Stable, located in the historic Old Customs House, has a bewildering range of 50 ciders, many from small producers unavailable outside of the West Country.

Falmouth's affluent, independent high street no doubt owes much to the fact it's adjacent to a yacht harbour. Unsurprisingly, it reminds me a lot of the main drag in Cowes. Falmouth itself extends much further, and even without the traffic-blocking bollards it was obvious where the tourist area ended and "real" town began. Cue Boots, M&S and mobile network shops. But the picturesque heart near the harbour is a delight not to be missed, and just 20 minutes from St. Mawes on the ferry.

ST. JUST IN ROSELAND

We found this gem thanks to a hot tip from a regular visitor to the area. The church of St. Just is a small, 13th century building with a 15th century tower sitting in splendid isolation next to a tiny inlet where the St. Just creek flows into the Fal estuary. A deep quiet covers the scene, broken only by the cry of seagulls and the drip of various tiny streams ... including a holy well ... trickling toward the larger body of water. It  would be easy to imagine yourself a Medieval pilgrim were it not for a few modern sailboats at anchor and a sprawling Victorian house across the water. 

Such a pretty church in such a serene setting would be enough of a reason to visit, but St. Just's real glory is its churchyard. A steep slope rears up behind the building, thick with moss-covered tombstones and heavily planted with a dazzling mix of woodland and sub-tropical plants. most of the graves near the church are Georgian or Victorian, showing off a variety of sculptural styles and well covered by mosses. It astonishes me that none of the major Vampire movie franchises have found this place. It's a Gothic delight; like a miniature version of Highgrove Cemetery, with palm trees and ferns.

The car park and an adjacent tea shop are well out of sight of the prettiest scenes. A variety of hikes stretch out from here for those with more time than we had.

PUBS: THE VICTORY, THE HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN

Both of the pubs at the centre of St. Mawes are classics. 

The Victory lies a short walk up a steep street running up from the harbour and is the simpler of the two. There's no fancy decor, the tables are simple wooden slabs and the photos on the wall aren't put there by a designer, but because they show the locals busy around the neighbourhood. Don't let the simplicity fool you; the people next to me were talking about how their Aga was fairing in their kitchen renovation and whether or not they were going to dry dock their yacht for the winter. The service here is fantastic; the publican remembered not only me, but my drink order, from my first visit and asked if I wanted another before I'd reached the table on my return.

The House of The Rising Sun is much bigger, and also a stone's throw from the harbour. Designers have staged this one a bit more, with a variety of rooms all sharing a jolly nautical theme. There's a large conservatory across the front of the building which is perfect for a blustery day. Thanks to the new pandemic-friendly ordering app, we could sit at our leisure, watch the weather turn from sun to rain and back again, and hit a few buttons on a phone to summon another round. Dangerous.

THE WATCH HOUSE

So good we ate there twice, this restaurant is one of our favourite memories of St. Mawes. A tremendously genial staff, local and seasonal produce, a small but surprisingly good wine list and a view of the water from which much of the menu came. Though there were meaty options, we all chose seafood both nights. Flavours ranged from the traditional ... fish and chips, fresh oysters, prawn cocktail ... to the slightly exotic ... Oriental-spiced fried squid with sriracha mayonnaise, Asian-inspired hake on a bed of spicy Dal. Locally made ice creams made a simple but appropriate ending. It's a shame that pandemic regulations demanded a 10 o'clock close at the time. This is the kind of place we would have loved to linger at for hours.

Devon Crafts Guild finds inspiration in pandemic

There's widespread agreement that the COVID-19 pandemic has been devastating for the arts. A show at the Devon Guild of Craftsmen offers hope that it may have at least provided some creative inspiration for individual artists.

The Guild's shop in Bovey Tracey has been a favourite of mine since I first fell in love with Dartmoor in the early 2000s. It's always featured an approachable range of hand-crafted masterpieces from its members, from inexpensive greeting cards and small gifts up to significant investments in painting and sculpture. The gallery's ceramics, jewellery and textiles have been favourites and I've accumulated some of each over the visits.

It had been eight years since my last trip this way, and I was delighted to discover that my old favourite had expanded significantly. Not only is the shop probably double its former size, but there's now a large and well-lit exhibition space that shows off the best of its members' work. 

Under normal circumstances the space hosts a juried "Summer Exhibition". This year, it's simply called "2020" and focuses on how recent traumas have inspired and changed the artists and their work. Fittingly, visitors have to figure out and follow a one-way system to take it all in. Even our viewing patterns have had to change to cope with these strange times.

Each exhibiting artist has space to explain the impact of the year. Though COVID-19 doesn't show up obviously in all the work, a clear theme appears across their experiences. In story after story, artists dealt with difficulty and depression by trying new things. For some, it was a slight twist on existing styles. Others leapt to entirely new media. Across the board, the results were fascinating and often very beautiful.

Jewellery-maker Anne Farag challenged herself to mix metal elements without heat, coming up with a new range that looks part clockwork and part Arts and Crafts movement. Stoneware sculptor Malcolm Law credits his lockdown survival to his work "Skimbleshanks", an intricate melange of an egg, steam trains, machinery and an oversized moggie taken from one of T.S. Eliot's cat poems. Paper artist Megan Stallworthy got closer to nature in her isolation, pressing tiny flowers into more of her work. Glass artist Penny Carter, freed from a busy schedule of craft fairs and exhibitions, felt released to be totally self indulgent and started designing what she thought of as jewellery for the garden ... the closest I came to buying one of the exhibition pieces.

Wood carver Sarah Viggars started lockdown in intense distress, as circumstances found her shut out of her studio space. Not unlike many office workers, she had to figure out how to fashion a viable working space out of her home, getting by with much less room than usual. The trauma sparked her to expand her interest in puppetry and launch a range of woodcarving craft kits. Her new puppets ... exquisitely realised birds ... were both functional and real works of art, not only to look at in themselves but in the shadows they cast behind them.

The most striking evocation of current times, and the item easiest to see moving from "craft" to proper "art" worthy of a museum, was Isabella Whitworth's Doctor Denim - The Plague Doctor. Unsurprisingly, the fabric artist had started lockdown making face masks. That piqued her curiosity about masks as medical protection, which led her to research the history of the plague doctor's distinctive, long-nosed version. She's created a plague doctor for the modern world, mask repurposed from blue jeans and hung about with charms and amulets capturing the protections of the modern world. Twitter and Instagram logos jostle with medieval remedies, bubble packs of pills and Donald Trump's remedy book.  

None of us emerged with The Plague Doctor, but we did head home with a variety of pottery, cards and jewellery. And an excellent reminder that though the unique pressures of this year might have sparked creativity, they've also removed most of the channels craftspeople use to sell their wonderful wares. Check out the Devon Guild online, explore the digital shop that's going to take the place of Olympia's Spirit of Christmas Fair or find unique gifts on maker's marketing platforms like Not On The High Street. This year, more than ever, it seems important to channel your Christmas shopping towards the local, unique and hand-made.