CORNWALL beckons for many happy to forsake the delights of foreign holidays and it is not bad for a mini-break either as CHRIS PEREGRINE found out.

IT was a normal enough main street in a town, except for one thing. In among shoppers with trollies or mothers with prams was another breed of person.

This was Newquay in Cornwall, so making their way along for their next thrill, or recovering from their most recent one were surfers and their boards.

Never mind that it was October and the place was full of half-term inhabitants. The sea is no wetter then than it is in August. And they are hardy souls, not inconvenienced by autumn climes or the winter ones to follow.

It just seemed a little bit strange to the onlooker, members of the wet-suited fraternity going about their business as if they were just popping to the bank to check on their balance.

The balance on their boards was probably more important anyway.

We let them get on with it. Newquay was only a passing through destination anyway. We had popped there from our two night base in Mawgan Porth just six miles along the coast.

But before moving on, the words of a colleague in the Cornish know registered. Sample a WC Rowe's pasty, he said. We came across a shop of that very name in amongst ones which satisfied the seaside needs of visitors, quite a few charity outlets and one or two which were of the more elevated nature. The choice, it has to be said, was not great in that field, although shopping is the not the primary reason for heading to Newquay.

Anyway, back to the pasties. The choice was plentiful. They were hot leaving the shop, but we delayed consumption for an hour or so until a wander around the harbour area. If the streets were a bit emptier it was because the surfers had reached their destination.

Our next one was Perranporth along the coast and it was parked up in the car when we finally made acquaintance with the aforementioned pasties, now cold but still meaty and hearty.

The weather was getting a bit gloomy, but not dank enough to prevent a lap of a large delightful duck-filled pond followed by a stroll to the well-populated beach.

On the way back to base we called in at Westgate Bay, between Newquay and Mawgan Porth. It resembled a giant playground, so it must have been half-term.

The coastline was a bit of home from home really. For Cornwall read Gower, both nerve centres for the surfing fraternity, although I am sure there are experts only too happy to point out exactly how the rock formations differ.

That was no concern of ours, as we headed back to the hotel for our final night. Okay, it was only our second, but it meant the sun was coming down on this fleeting Cornish experience.

The first night at the Bedruthan Steps we dined in at the top quality restaurant there. You would hope and expect the food and wine to be good. They were, but my wife's lasting impression was the quality of the tap water on offer, something along the lines of "pure as a mountain stream", or some such similar advertising slogan. It is an intriguing place, positioned on the cliff tops where it has been an example of sustainable living — one of the country's first hotels to adopt that approach — since 1960. It was a family resort hotel then, run by a family, and it remains so today with some modern twists introduced by the next generation.

Its green credentials range from solar panels heating the outdoor pools, grass roofs to provide insulation and sensor operated lights, through to reusing rain water runoff from the Ocean Spa complex and kitchen waste in the compost bins. And the beach below is cleaned four times a year by staff, guests and locals.

Our only full day was taken up with the aforementioned coastal tour, although an immediate regret was not being geared up for attempting some of it on foot, getting closer to the wondrous scenery stretching out in front. Time limitations precluded it anyway, but on the assumption that global warming or other environmental factors do not intervene, there is a mental note stored away for the next time we are passing.

But one priority was always going to be the sauna, steam room and Jacuzzi back at the hotel. You should always try and get one session in when you are away and have got the option under your roof. I never miss it when it is not around because that is most of the time, but it sorts of goes with the territory you are treading at the time.

Refreshed — exhausted was the word the first time I ventured into this strange habitat a long time ago — we ventured into the night air, walking along the road, dutifully stopping with the traffic lights on red at roadworks positioned interestingly near a bend.

But we got through on green and headed for the Bedruthan's newly-opened sister hotel, linked to another colour. The Scarlet was facing us, a new take on regional rugby boundaries back home perhaps? No, but the waitress was from Newport. The culinary experience was as memorable as the night before.

Soon it was time to say goodbye to this coastal village, the little shop we had popped into three times and the pub we had unforgivably only managed to cross the threshold of once. Checking out after a few hours short of 48 means you only get a flavour of the place. A Cornish return beckons.