Paradise has a name

Just a few hours before I had been running out of the door from a client meeting in London - rucksack on one shoulder, laptop on the other - rushing to catch a train for the West. I had been in two minds as to whether I should go at all; could I really justify a couple of days away from work commitments?

Then, standing on the quayside in a little Cornish fishing port still dressed in suit and tie, I realised how much I'd wanted to escape from the long days, meetings, emails and phone calls I had been immersed in for the last couple of months.

There is something about stepping onto a boat which requires an immediate change in pace. Nothing can be rushed, you are immediately in-tune with nature: the tides, the wind and the sea. My uncle had moored on the town quay, about as far up-river as you can take a boat, and the tide was out. The boat was resting on its twin keels, embedded deeply in the mud until such time as the water decided to surge back up the river and set us afloat once more. We weren't going anywhere for a while.

I quickly lost track of days. The morning after I arrived (I think), my little cousin and I woke up early and went for a run to the local tennis courts. We played until it started to rain and then we jogged back to the boat. With high water approaching, we had to free the boat from the mooring. Another crew which had moored just up-river came to help us haul on the ropes and set her afloat. It took some time, but eventually she came free and we sailed out towards the sea.

Later that evening we anchored in another river estuary, this time in a sheltered bay just a mile or so from the entrance to the sea. As the sun sank, we rowed ashore and climbed on the rocks. We found a rope swing hanging from a tree in the cliffs, just long enough that you could swing out over the rocks and drop into the water some distance below. Somehow I volunteered myself to test the strength of the rope and whether you could actually get far enough out to clear the sharp rocks...the rope snapped just as I got clear - a very close call!

The following day we woke at first light so that the tides would be favourable for the long sail to the Isles of Scilly, which lie about 50 miles SW of Lands End in the Atlantic Ocean. 13 hours later we dropped anchor in a secluded cove on one of the islands in the Scilly archipeligo.

Perhaps it was the idea of escaping London, perhaps it was the relief at being in a sheltered anchorage after many hours of pitching through the big Atlantic rollers, but to my eyes this place was paradise.

The cove lies between two islands and would be a channel were it not for a sandbar which stretches across it's middle. The water is so clear that you can see fish swimming along the bottom ten metres below. The sand on the beach is mica, so it glistens in the sun.

60 people live on the island and there is one pub and one shop. There is nowhere for a plane to land - the only way it can be reached is by boat.

We were blessed with truly beautiful weather. For two days we swam, climbed rocks and collected shellfish for our dinner. My cousin and I even found an old, overgrown grass tennis court to hit some balls.

At night, when the heat of the day was replaced by a gentle sea breeze, we sat on the beach and watched the stars start to twinkle one-by-one. With no lights for miles in any direction, the night sky was ablaze like I have never seen before. For the first time, I could make out the swirling clouds of the galaxy whic surrounds us. Breathtaking.

My fall back to earth was gradual. My uncle and his family are staying in the Scillies for a week or so, but work was calling me back to London. Yesterday I took a boat from the cove to one of the larger islands in the Scillies. It felt strange to see shops and cars agains.

When I walked out to the helicopter which would take me back to the mainland, I couldn't help but think of the stark contrast between the silent beauty of a yacht under sail and the heat and noise of this machine.

By degrees I was immersed back into the race. Each station I passed through on the train seemed to lose some of the innocence and isolation that characterises Cornwall and the West. I arrived back in London in the middle of the rush hour, my phone already ringing.

An unforgettable few days.