Newquay, north Cornwall, 9pm. A bleak Wednesday night and our mission to have fun in Newquay is getting off to a shaky start. The streets are empty and the wind is raw. We don't fancy the amusement arcades, the kebab joints won't do anything for our January detox and we're a night late for "Crazy Tuesday" at Corkers - drinks £1 a go. The only music in town tonight is a wailing blues band at the Plum Trees pub. Not cheerful, not fun. Perhaps Judge Jeffrey Rucker had it right. For all its sandy beaches, rocky coves and crisp surf, Newquay is not a fun place to hang.
In the grand tradition of judges randomly pronouncing on subjects that no one has actually asked them to pronounce on, Rucker made his Newquay comments while sentencing two young men, earlier this week, for a nasty attack on a pair of local youngsters. "I don't know if you've been to Newquay before, but in my view, attempting to have a fun weekend in Newquay is a contradiction in terms," Rucker told the men.
Is he right? Is Newquay over? There was a time when the town was said to be happening. Many of the folk of Newquay argue that it still is . They say they live in a vibrant, exciting town that hosts international surf championships and boasts chic bars and restaurants (Jamie Oliver is opening a branch of his Fifteen chain here later this year). But the town's image has certainly taken a knock in recent years. Critics say it has become a magnet for large parties of badly behaved binge-drinking youths, which are spoiling it for everyone. So where does the truth lie? Is it still possible to have a fun, non-violent time on the Coast of Dreams (as the town's publicity material calls it)? We decided to find out for ourselves.
Town councillor Paul Summers, who has lived here for almost 20 years and teaches at a local school, offers to be our guide. He is aghast at Rucker's comments. "I'd like to show him around the town and prove to him that Newquay is a fun place," he says. "We could play golf in the morning and surf in the afternoon. Perhaps have a singsong at the rowing club on the harbour in the evening."
But where should we go tonight to find fun? Summers suggests we start off with dinner at The Lodge restaurant on Pentire Head. Newquay has a reputation as a pasty-and-kebab sort of place, but The Lodge is all slate floors, open fires, pale pine tables and glimpses of the shimmering Atlantic beneath a crescent moon. The photographer, Jim, declares the smoked duck breast, sultana and rocket salad with a Merlot reduction "divine"; my roast Cornish sardines with a shellfish, chorizo, tomato and fennel broth is most satisfactory. Rucker would probably approve.
Back in the centre of Newquay, however, it is very quiet. What about taking in a movie? No, we are told - there used to be three picture houses, now there is not one. There is a theatre - honorary patron Phillip Schofield - but nothing on tonight. Undaunted, Summers takes us down to the rowing club for a drink. We meet fisherman Phil Trebilcock. "It's just the minority who cause the trouble," he tells us. "The majority come here and have a great time." Asked about his idea of fun, Trebilcock says he loves a singsong. At New Year, he says, he sank 15 pints during the singsong. "That's nothing, some had 20," he adds.
We part from Summers and try the town centre again. We walk into the Central, a bar in the main square of the town where we bump into Marc Potter, surfer and owner of the Offshore Extreme hotel and surfing school. "Look, there's no doubt about it, Newquay is a fun place to be," he says. "The people are friendly, the atmosphere is good."
He gets on his mobile and whistles up his scarlet Bentley, which he hires out for weddings and trips out. He lets us sit in the back and watch pop videos on the flat screens set into the headrests. It is quite good fun. "It's all about coming and getting pissed and going to a club," says Potter. "If you want art and culture, it's not the place for you. If you want a good fun night out, come here."
Charlie Ward-Smith, 21, is propping up the bar inside. "The thing about Newquay is the variety," she says. What variety? So far the only options for fun have centred very firmly on drinking. "Oh, I mean variety in places to drink," she says. "You can go to a cheesy place, a cool place, a place where they play hard house." And so on.
We go and take a look at The Beach Niteclub (sic) where it is Ladies' Nite (sic). Women get in free all night. Luckily Jim picked up a flyer earlier, and it entitles us men to £1 off the admission fee. Against all expectations, the dance floor is heaving. It's all smiles and groovy moves. Quite where all the people have come from is a mystery, but it is impressive to see so many, mainly locals, determined against all odds to have fun on a week night so soon after New Year's Eve. We have some fun watching people having fun. And so to bed. We stay at the Reef Surf Lodge - the funkiest in the UK, the blurb says. It is pretty funky - flat-screen televisions showing surfing and groovy music in the reception. We sleep in bunk beds, which is kind of fun, although I get the bottom bunk. They don't provide towels, which is not fun.
First thing in the morning we turn up at tourist information to find out what fun things are going on in Newquay by daylight. We are quickly loaded up with leaflets full of fun ideas. We could try Newquay zoo or the Blue Reef aquarium. We could do kite-surfing at the Extreme Academy at Watergate Bay or launch ourselves off a cliff clinging to the zip wire at Lusty Glaze beach. The woman at tourist information also points out that while we were bar-hopping we missed three quiz nights, practice night for the Newquay male-voice choir and the bingo. Oh well, there's always next time.
For my daylight attempt at fun, I opt for surfing. Half an hour later I am in the changing room at Fistral beach being briefed by Shaun - originally from Ascension Island, now living with his wife and child near Newquay - about just how cold the water is going to be. Shaun learned his surfing on the reef breaks of the South Atlantic but got fed up with temperatures of 27C (80F) and settled in north Cornwall. "When you get out there, the circulation to your head will gradually disappear, then you'll stop feeling your fingers," says Shaun. "And it's worse when you come out and have a warm shower. It really hurts. You'll have a blast - see you out there."
The morning surf report had promised "small, clean fun waves". Perfect. I paddle out after Shaun. There are a few wisps of sleet in the air, but actually the water is not as cold as he promised. I catch a few waves and tumble in. The slight hangover from the night before vanishes in an instant.
Jim has great fun taking pictures of me looking silly in the full wetsuit and hood - he reckons I look like Russ Abbott's old James Bond parody, Basildon Bond. He's not so chipper when he goes back to his car and finds it's been clamped. Mr Eddy of MBC Parking Solutions is not at all bothered that he's spoiling Jim's fun.
David, the surf hire dude from Sydney, had been sceptical as I hired the gear. It's too cold for him and when he fancies catching a few waves at this time of year he takes off for Morocco. But I pad back to the surf shop beaming. "Did you have fun?" asks David. And I have to admit that I did. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, against all the odds, Judge Rucker is proved wrong. Case closed.
