Salcombe Estuary in Salcombe, Devon, on the south western coast of England. The town’s extensive waterfront and naturally sheltered harbour has transfigured it into a tourist mecca, especially for the wealthy; since pleasure sailing and yachting are quite popular here. In fact, Salcombe has the second highest property prices in the UK outside of central London.
Wikipedia says there is also a crabbing industry, a statement which leads to rather odd visions in your head, doesn’t it? I see a gaggle of old women in sensible shoes and tweeds, grousing about slothful husbands and outrageous prices and moral decline while they methodically lower and rise nets in the water and toss clumps of clicking crabs into a long wooden crate. The crate has sun-faded, peeling boards painted in bright shades of blue.
On 17th September I posted an image of Sark Island, a teensy-weeny 2 square mile (5.44 km2) British Channel Island off the southern coast. I liked the image greatly AND it had an excellent story to go along with it but nobody gave it any love no NONE AT ALL and I was terribly saddened. So here is a better image and the story (which is absolutely true) because I have faith in Sark Island! Please do not destroy my faith.
Sark, pop.600, is the only island which has ever been the target of a one-man invasion. In 1990 an unemployed French nuclear physicist (armed only with his semi-automatic weapon and a head full of mental) disembarked upon Sark, posting helpful signs declaring his intent to take over the island the next day at noon. He then resolutely sat himself upon a bench to await the appointed hour, when tragically he was captured by the local volunteer Constable.
This is just so great. Can’t you picture this guy hunkered over on a bench with a thermos of coffee and a wilted sandwich, chewing away, while a bespectacled man (in a grey cardie with a Volunteer Constable badge pinned to it) tentatively approaches and politely asks, “Sorry, but you don’t happen to be the bloke that’s here to capture the island, are you?”