Here is a copy of the weekly newspaper column I write for the Western Morning News and Western Daily Press - as published on Saturday October 12, 2024. I then cut and pasted it into an A.I. app asking it NOT to rewrite anything but to present it in a way which would be more fitting for this website. It kind of did what I asked, but disregarded my request and totally rewrote the thing. I put the two versions up here for anyone who is interested in what AI can and will do.

I wonder how many of us find ourselves belonging to the See How The Other Half Live Club? In parts of the South West, where gleaming new glass and steel villas loom above the sea, it is a relevent question.

This week I walked through a Cornish woodland where, years ago, plots of land had obviously been sold off because they happened to have leafy views of the ocean. You probably know the sort of place I mean - there are lots of them around the South West coastline. Places where individuals or local builders bought little slices of maritime property sometime after either the First or Second World War, so that they could knock-up a cheap retirement bungalow or a pleasant little villa. 

But, like so many of the cars built decades ago that we now regard as being slow, unsafe, under-powered and absolutely tiny, such homes are no longer regarded as fit for purpose. The moment an old one falls empty and is put up for sale, it is either partly demolished or razed to the ground completely to make way for a huge new pleasure palace.

In this particular woodland near St Ives, I must have walked past a couple of dozen such properties and every one of them was in the process of being massively refurbished or totally redeveloped. 

I cannot believe there can be a builder west of the Tamar who doesn’t have enough work to last the next 20 years. Indeed, judging by the names on the sides of vans, there aren’t enough Cornish builders to go round. I saw firms which had come down from the Midlands.  

This move to develop every last inch of anywhere and everywhere in our region that’s even remotely scenic, is simply a modern day reality. I am not making a political point and I can’t see there’s anything that can be done about it, least of all sit here moaning.

But the thought that, to give one example, a young Cornish fisherman will never be able to live near the very ocean that gives him a living… Well, somehow that doesn’t sit well with one’s notion of how things should be.

Think of a picture-perfect holiday destination like a Westcountry fishing village, complete with boats bobbing in the harbour, and you somehow assume that the humanity which caused the place to exist in the first place will be present and correct. These are proper communities, not theme parks. Local people should live and work there, and should always be an integral part of the picture.

But that’s the picture-postcard version. What you don’t see is the fisherman driving 10 miles before dawn to reach his boat from the nearest inland town that provides social housing. And you don’t really want to see it, because it’s not part of our preferred narrative. In our minds, a fishing village automatically represents a community of local people - doing all the things locals do, like talking in dialect, drinking pints in pubs or singing hearty Wesleyan hymns in chapels. Maybe even eating saffron cake. It’s the way we like the story.

Have you been to St Ives recently? Someone told me there’s just one local fishing family remaining in the Downalong, the quaint old area close to the boats. Whether that’s true I don’t know, but as I walked through that wonderful tangle of alleyways this week, I could believe it.

All very different when I first stalked around those narrow streets as a young journalist just over 50 years ago. Fisher-families and artists seemed to make up 90 percent of the population. I knew some of them and, being young and stupid, did a little too much in the way of socialising with them. Visiting St Ives in 1974 was a full-on sensory experience, sometimes accompanied by a thick head in the morning. Nothing, though, that a windy walk to Zennor couldn’t cure. 

I used to stay with a friend who was among the more eccentric daubers of paint. He created seascapes in oils at night, but worked under the name Brian Quicksketch as a portrait artist on the beach by day… A long weekend in that town, his company, was like spending 76 hours on a different planet. One minute I’d be drinking with some local fishermen having bought a dozen fresh mackerel on the quay, the next I was being introduced to world-famous potter Bernard Leach at a bohemian party. 

It was all dazzling and colourful and very different from any other place I knew. Back then, St Ives had more character on the end of its brush or in a single one of its lobster pots than all the Home Counties could boast collectively. 

Today, some might say it represents an annex of the South East, but with waves and brighter light. Anodyne. Fabulous to look at it, but with no one really at home. A granite-built theme park, perhaps. 

While I’m wallowing in an old geezer’s dose of nostalgia, I also hark back to the early 1970s and remember the welcome inauguration and rapid growth the Campaign for Real Ale. All these years later I wonder if there shouldn’t be a Campaign for the Real Westcountry. 

But of course it wouldn’t work. You can’t wind the clock back. Instead, I’ve joined the See How The Other Half Live club.

NOW HERE’S THE A.I. VERSION

Introduction Have you ever wondered how many of us belong to the "See How The Other Half Live" club? It’s a relevant question, especially in parts of the South West where gleaming glass and steel villas loom above the sea.

The Evolution of Cornish Coastline: From Bungalows to Luxury Villas

In my recent walk through a Cornish woodland near St Ives, I saw a stark change—plots of land sold years ago, once hosting quaint retirement bungalows, now giving way to sprawling, luxurious homes. These transformations represent the region's evolving relationship with its scenic coastline, where old homes are increasingly being replaced with "pleasure palaces."

Luxury Coastal Developments in Cornwall

The Builders of Tomorrow and the Housing Demand

Walking through this area, every property seemed to be in some stage of redevelopment, showcasing the high demand for skilled builders—many of whom are even coming from outside Cornwall to meet the increasing need.

Modern Reality vs. Traditional Coastal Communities

This development push may be seen as a reality of modern times, but it also raises concerns. For instance, young local fishermen are now priced out of living near the very ocean they depend on for their livelihoods. It creates a contradiction—fishing villages, once authentic local communities, are becoming inaccessible to the people who made them.

Affordable Housing Crisis in South West

Tourist Narratives vs. Real Life

Picturesque coastal towns like St Ives have become synonymous with postcard imagery of Westcountry life. Visitors often imagine locals actively living and thriving in these areas, singing folk songs in pubs and sharing village stories. However, the reality is different; the charm is often a façade.

Reflections on St Ives Then and Now

St Ives holds special memories for me. When I roamed its narrow streets as a young journalist over 50 years ago, it was full of artists and fisher families. Staying with a friend, I was able to experience the raw creativity and the vibrant local culture that defined this town. But today, that authenticity is slipping away, replaced by holiday homes and high-end renovations.

Transformation of St Ives: Past to Present

The Disappearing Character of the Westcountry

Once, St Ives represented an incredible community where the artistic spirit and the seafaring way of life thrived side by side. Now, some view it as an extension of the South East—a beautiful but hollow place, an annex with waves and bright light, yet with few true locals left to call it home.

A Call for the Real Westcountry

My reflections leave me longing for a "Campaign for the Real Westcountry"—an effort akin to the Campaign for Real Ale that started in the early 1970s. It’s about preserving the character, culture, and communities that make this place special. But, perhaps, such efforts wouldn’t be enough. You cannot rewind time; maybe all we can do is watch as members of the "See How The Other Half Live" club.