That couple of old codgers you usually read about in this column are taking a break for a while. They are still niggling away at each other somewhere and, no doubt, we will be hearing from them again in the future. For now, though, by way of a change, this will become a story telling column for a while.

We will be printing the cream of the many stories we receive from readers all over the world. By way of a start and suggested by my grand daughter’s first homework of the new term, here is; THE STORY OF MY RECENT HOLIDAY.

After our dismal summer in Cornwall it was shocking to step out of the plane into a moderate oven. I don’t usually go on holiday because I don't generally enjoy what’s on offer. I normally seek out the shade and avoid heat. I enjoy the beach when everyone else has gone home. I'm too fat already and I tend to fall over after a couple of pints of the weakest beer so, an abundance of food and booze has little appeal. As I feel rather voyeuristic and uncomfortable, wandering around poorer communities, you might ask why on earth I found myself in North Africa in September this year, on a package holiday.

For one thing I was told that July and August were the hot months and things cool off considerably in September. For another, we went with Jane and Ron and intended to ignore all aspects of our ‘package’ except the room and some of the meals. Jane and Ron discovered the island by chance in the 1980s. Their holiday had been cancelled and they were looking for ‘anything, anywhere and next week please’.

“Well,” said the travel agent. “There's this, but I don't know much about it. No one has ever booked to my knowledge.”

“It’s only a two star hotel and there are no facilities so its very cheap indeed,” said the young woman.

“We'll take it,” said Ron and that was that. They have been twice or even three times a year ever since.

If you are dumped at a crummy hotel, on an island, miles from anywhere with no entertainment laid on and there is no hope of a flight back home for another week, you have to get on with it. Getting on with it meant talking to the locals, all of whom spoke only Arabic and French. School-girl French and sign language got the conversation going and it hasn’t stopped since. Nowadays it is mostly conducted in English but a few more Arabic words get used each year. On the mainland where holidays were big business, trippers were subjected to continuous hassle and the danger of being ‘ripped off’ was ever present. On the island, however, Jane, Ron and all the other visitors were treated with courtesy and very generous hospitality. Soon strong friendships developed which have deepened over the years to the extent that there are regular invitations to weddings. Quite often holidays are arranged around these occasions.

So, there we were, in the hotel lobby looking through the window at some very dishevelled and, it must be said, some rather ill looking fellow visitors. It was a shock to realize that the window was in fact a mirror! It had been 18 hours since we had left Penzance and there had been six legs to the journey. As soon as we found our room it was time for a shower and a brisk lie down before dinner. Even so we both slept like logs until seven the next morning.

We ignored the rep’s meeting and missed the information about all the expeditions that had been organised for us. Instead we walked up the road to the carriage stop where we found the young lad whom Jane and Ron had first met in 1986. The young boy was now a fine man in his prime who had taken responsibility for his extended family and had developed a multi faceted business to support it. Basically, Ali was a fixer.

“Do you want to phone home? Take out your SIM card and use this one instead. Our overseas rates are very cheap. When the credit runs out, let me know and I'll top it up for you,” he advised.

The result; phone calls all over for two weeks for less than £5.

“You’d like some rose water? My mum has made some more. How much do you want? Ever tried camel’s foot peaches? There are some under the seat. Have a bag.

“Do you like figs? We’ve got some left but they’re nearly over now. The pomegranates are just getting ripe. You can have some of those as well. Hang on here in the carriage, I’ve got to see to the horse and then do a bit of praying, I'll be back in half an hour.”

It went on like that for two weeks. The prices he asked for his services were modest to say the least. Nothing was too much trouble, trips were arranged and we were invited to eat with the family on several occasions. A lunch was particularly generous but it was difficult to accept the hospitality when the whole family encouraged us to eat course after course while not even being able to take so much as a drink of water for themselves. An evening meal at Ali’s place was much more relaxing. There was no booze but endless, wonderful soft drinks and bushels of astonishing fresh fruit.

“A dinner out at that restaurant at the other end of the island? It’s closed for Ramadan but I'll give her a call and see if she can open up for you.”

The meal for ten people was superb, five courses, mostly fish, beautifully presented and all home made except for the sweet which was a Cornetto! We had the place to ourselves and the undivided attention of the restaurateur. Total cost? About £50. The restaurant was in the owner's back yard. She had made it onto French television last year because of the quality of her cooking and the artistic way she presented her very elaborate salads. Next year she intends moving the restaurant to the front garden. She hadn’t realised that patrons might like to look at the sea!

Our trips out were very different from those enjoyed by the more conventional guests at the hotel. One morning, Ali, distressed at my obvious discomfort in the unseasonably hot weather, announced that we were going somewhere ‘special’. Of we went in the carriage, down dirt roads to the shore and then along the beach until we came to a bridge. Under the bridge the water was cooler than the ‘warm bath’ stuff we had on the hotel beach. There was glorious shade and the water was full of fish.

“No cossies? No problem. Empty your pockets and go in your clothes. You’ll be dry before we get back to the hotel.”

We all went in and stayed in for hours. I wouldn’t say we were bone dry when we got back but we were dry enough not to draw attention to ourselves. Imagine the entry in a holiday brochure: ‘Thursday, trip to a bridge, swim underneath, no towels, £25/person’. Our cost; the modest fee for the carriage.

At 4am, on the night of the full moon in the holy month of Ramadan, was born Noour Al Houda, Ali’s second child and his first daughter. Noour means a glimmering light in the darkness and Houda means someone who’s sins have been forgiven. The whole name is the name of one of the rivers in Heaven.

They lied when they said September was cooler. Morning shade temperatures were below 90F on only two days.

Altogether one of the best holidays I've been on but, when I got back I realised what a glorious place we have the privilege to live in.

The weather has been glorious in Penzance since we returned, as it so often is in September and October. There is lush green everywhere and it is possible to be cool. If you want to be warm, put on a jumper! Now, we’re a holiday destination so what can we learn from my holiday?

We could have horse drawn carriages but could we do it for £10 a day? Could we build shops on to our houses and sell good stuff cheaply and still make enough to keep large families? Everything I enjoyed so much on my holiday would be hemmed in and made too expensive by rules and regulations, taxes and other charges. You probably couldn’t run a trip to a bridge without a risk assessment and insurance cover, a licence, a qualified first aider and a life saver.

Why not? Because in the second week of my stay, the hotel had some new guests. They were French, wore suits and sat in the bar all day with huge charts of the island and large scale plans for a collection of new hotels. There is little point in my telling you where this paradise island is because next year it will probably be just another, heavily promoted, all inclusive destination with international cuisine. The bulk of the population will have to be employed in the complexes, servicing the needs of the thousands of punters who will be needed to pay for everything. What will happen to Ali, his family and friends? Who knows?

Cornish World welcomes stories from readers on any subject whatsoever; a holiday, a family reunion, a tale from years gone by, a story that Granny used to tell – anything will be considered and any pictures will be gratefully received.

Eello My ’Ansome.