Porthcurno, September 2014, analogue, dark.

For my trip with Ross to Cornwall last autumn, I bought two shitty disposable cameras from Boots for us to take along.

That way we could have a Ross-cam and an M-cam to look back on when we returned home to London.

The above depicts alternating swigs from a local brew of Cornish cider. This stuff was strong. After an ill-fated attempt to stroll (trek) through the middle of nowhere to get to the nearest town (completely my fault for overestimating my actual enjoyment of three-hour-long walks), we happened upon a tiny farm selling some bits and bobs to passersby. The jug of cider was cheaper than the bottled water. So logic says buy it to sip while you wait for a taxi to carry you back to your cottage.

Fun fact about Marion: she hates to cook! She loves to eat. But patience for taking the time to prepare food? Nope. Lucky for me, Ross is pretty much a Scouse Jamie Oliver. I mean, he can even put together a beautiful plate of nibbles, bless him. Oh, and by the way, I'm coming around to olives. They have their days.

  

The porthole window in the bedroom looked over a stretch of fields that at sunset reminded me of something Richard might have stuck in Submarine.

I loved the little cottage we found. It was essentially living on a remote cliffside overlooking the ocean for four days. And with no wifi and limited 3G coverage, it really was a break from reality (well, a break from frequent Instagram refreshing for me). So we played house, I finished The Goldfinch, we listened to classical music on the radio, we climbed down to the sandy beach, spied on the neighbour's dog. And not having a car heightened this 'slow' life all the more.

As you can gather from these photos, we by no means mastered the art of the analogue camera. Over 50% developed wayyyy too dark so more liberal use of that flash you think serves no purpose is in order for our next holiday. Brighter shots coming next.