It's a wild, windy, rainy day and we decide to take a bus to Land's End, the most westerly point of mainland England and nothing at all to do with the US store. When we arrive, we see all there is to see in just 10 minutes (there's not much), realize we have 45 minutes until the next bus, and decide to walk the short distance to Sennen, the next village over, and take the bus from there. 

No idea who these people are, but they show how blustery the day is.

Penwith House was originally built as a temperance hotel for Victorian visitors who preferred an establishment that provided no alcohol. The First and Last house is—wait for it—the first house you see as you come ashore, the last as you leave. It's a cold blustering day—that damp kind of cold that chills you to your bones. Bracing, you might call it if you're tough.

We decide some liquid heat is needed for the cold wet walk ahead.

The path looks fairly flat—which it is—and fairly moody, like out of a Bronte book, only not on the Yorkshire Moors, and way farther south, and much closer to the coast. But still. I can see a movie being filmed right here; something grim and bleak and lonely. Might not draw a huge crowd.

The walk is only a mile and a quarter, but it's a mighty cold and wet mile and a quarter. It's on this hike that we decide to buy rain pants for next year—us being of the nature to learn from past experiences and all.

We reach Sennen Cove and it is spectacular.

The houses here look tough and brave. Like they've seen the worst a foul-tempered sea can throw out and have come out unscathed. You have to admire that in a house.

We find a tiny gallery in a strange round building, and go in to explore. The Roundhouse and Capstan Gallery was constructed in 1876 to house a huge man-powered capstan wheel, which was used to winch boats up and down the slip. 

I learn this from the man working the shop, and make a vow to include the words winch and slip in this story as I'll most likely never have another chance to use them. The gallery sells fantastic Cornish arts and crafts, which we're happy to admire. It's warm and cosy inside.

In the end we have to run like the wind to catch the bus, which only comes once an hour, and which we manage to flag down only by running wildly after it, arms waving frantically as the passengers inside—who got to the bus stop on time—turn their heads to stare blankly at us. It is not our finest moment.