On Monday, I sniffed the Cornish air, the aroma of pasties and ocean breeze floating up my nostrils.

On Tuesday, I gazed at the surfers as they glided down their road of freedom, sunlight reflecting a metallic shine on their hair.

On Wednesday, I stroll down the woodland paths with my dog, his fur as soft as the wind as he bounded through the mud.

 On Thursday, I listen to the waves crashing against the bay and seagulls squawk against the wind: Cornwall beating it’s heart.

On Friday, I reach a dead alleyway as I hear a scream and I’m lured in…

On Saturday, I reach the edge of a cliff, my hair blowing in the breeze as I gaze at the setting sun, the heavens opening as angels escape.

On Sunday, the fresh frost laid slick on the pavements as I strolled to the nearest Cornish bakery.