When we were 12, my best friend and I decided we were going to run away to Falmouth.
I'm not sure what we thought we'd do when we got there, but we started saving our pocket money each week towards the train fare, dreaming of days spent sitting on the quay, dangling our feet in the water without a care in the world.
Unfortunately, buyung crop tops and bracelets got in the way of our ability to save very much, and the idea - and in fact the friendship - died long before we had enough to get us past Exeter.
This just about sums up my relationship with Cornwall.
I love being there, and whenever it's time to leave, I have to really force myself back on the train to Paddington.