In Scotland, one may be forgiven for being a tad sceptical on the idea of a UK holiday. I mean sure the highlands are lovely, I suppose. But speaking as someone who has driven every major road in Scotland, trust me, once you have seen one part of the highlands you have seen all of it. A brown hill can only be seen from so many angles, at least, that’s my (controversial) opinion. However, in England, lying low down at Lands’ End, is my favourite place in the world.

Cornwall is a popular holiday destination and enjoys a bustling summer season that keeps the businesses going through the winter. I visited for the first time in early March, when the quiet, deadness of winter had begun to wane and slowly the towns were starting to wake from their hibernation. Falmouth is a town on the south coast which I initially thought was pronounced fall-mouth and not fal-muth. The day I woke up there, after the nine-hour drive the day before, was hot. It was the first warmth I had felt since the previous summer. The air floated light with the salt scent from the sea and the streets were close to empty.

The peace I felt in Falmouth was a new feeling, my step was light, my shoulders relaxed, even my skin seemed to glow back at the Cornish sun. I had breakfast in a beach side café that overlooked the Atlantic, the sand stretched out for hundreds of yards before slipping under the sea. The waters were green and placid.

One thing that has stuck in my memory all these weeks later is the plant life that seemed to grow absolutely everywhere down there. It was everywhere I looked. There were no empty concrete pavements or brown wasteland. Flowers and leaves grew everywhere the sun shone. Falmouth might as well have been a botanical garden rather than a town.

On the second day, I visited Lands’ End near Penzance. The weather was different there; a white mist had encroached upon my southern adventure. The water clung to my clothes and face; I could taste the salt. A cold chill that had descended. Two miles off the coast, in the middle of the sea, there was a lighthouse standing on a bare rocky reef. The mist hid it from me slightly, but its grey outline stood out against the white ahead.

It all felt so sinister, I was alone there too. the sea ravaged the cliffs below me, like the sea was trying to claim this place for itself. The rocky cliffs looked man-made, they stood in piles next to each other like stone poles.

I really cannot recommend Cornwall enough. The peace and quiet was unlike anywhere else in the country. The cars and trains all seemed muffled like they were being polite. I’ve never felt so connected to nature too.

England is very crafty the way it deceives you. All through the country there lies that same dull repetition of brown and green, always the same narrow valleys, always the same short stubby hills and unambitious terrain. But Cornwall makes these things beautiful, it’s not that it’s any different, it’s that the scents and sounds enhances them. The sea hugging the sand, and the ribbons of grass.

You must (in my opinion) visit Cornwall, go to Newquay, go to Falmouth, go to Fowey (pronounced foy) and feel the solitude and the bright contentment that Cornwall instils. See the flowers and the beaches, walk in the water, taste the salt on your tongue.

You must (in my opinion) visit Cornwall, go to Newquay, go to Falmouth, go to Fowey (pronounced foy) and feel the solitude and the bright contentment that Cornwall instils. See the flowers and the beaches, walk in the water, taste the salt on your tongue.