There are lots of steep aspects to Clovelly. The first is a “steep” entrance fee to the village and the second is a whacking steep hill to climb up and down to the harbour. The £4.95 entrance fee per adult (no concessions) seems a bit of a cheek to me, but apparently if you want to avoid this you can park in a place called Wrinkleberry (in Higher Clovelly) and walk down the track from there.

You enter the village through a hideous visitors’ centre that is full of tourist tat for you buy, after you’ve paid your fee. You can also see an “audio-visual film” about the village downstairs in a weird little cinema that has replica small-scale houses down the sides, whose lights come on at various points during the film. The closing quote is something along the lines of “This is a real village with real people”, (a bit like someone from fictional Royston Vasey saying, “This is a local village for local people”), as if you might think it isn’t real if you weren’t told that. In fact the way the village is presented seems more like a theme park than a village, you have to pay to get in and during the summer there are probably more visitors than residents. I can’t say I would want to live here, as the thought of tourists with cameras peering into my house all the time and taking photos would really drive me mad.

Clovelly’s biggest claim to fame is that it provided a childhood home for Charles Kingsley, who wrote “Westward Ho!” while he was there and the village was inspiration for “The Water Babies”, several copies of which are available in the Kingsley Museum for another small fee. Or you could get it from the library before you go there and feel smug in the knowledge that at least you didn’t have to pay for the book. The museum is pretty dismal, consisting of just a few old photos cobbled together with a random incoherent, selection of facts and a really odd room with a fake electric log fire and a manequin that’s supposed to be Charles Kingsley. You peer into the room to see a dummy sitting at a desk dressed in period style and when you enter a booming voice begins to recite poetry, making you jump. I was distracted by the fake electric log fire more than anything else, I mean how tacky is that? After seeing this bizarre selection of objects, you can purchase items from the museum shop (another retail opportunity strikes).

Other places to visit are the donkey stables at the top of the village (no cars are allowed into Clovelly and donkeys were used at one time to carry goods into the village as an alternative to the sledges that were also used). The craft workshops are nearby, where you can be parted from your cash yet again for a clay pot or two. St Peter’s Chapel was quite sweet with a pretty painting of angels on the wall and a small piano. It’s a dinky little chapel for those who couldn’t quite make the walk to the parish church (and of course there is a small box for you to make a donation!). You can also wander around a fisherman’s cottage and peer at the tiny rooms inside. By the time you get down to the quay, you may be wondering how the hell you are going to get back to the top again. In summer, thankfully, there is a landrover service (for a small fee!) that takes people up to the top, but in winter (when I went) you are treated to a vigorous walk back.

When you finally reach the bottom, you can see Clovelly perched up above and take some good photos or make a sketch. You can also walk along the pebbly beach to the waterfall, which is easier said than done if you are not wearing sensible shoes. This really is an idyllic spot and the annoyance of some of the tacky things in the village disappears, making it a worthwhile visit for those who yearn for the picturesque.

I recommend this place unless you: a) are not keen to part with your cash; b) are disabled; c) don’t want tourist tat or d) don’t like steep hills. If none of this bothers you, then you will love it.