I moved to rural Cornwall for a quieter life but cocaine is everywhere from village pubs to golden beaches where tourists sniff lines next to children. My refusal to partake is leaving me increasingly isolated: REBECCA TIDY

It was a quintessential summer day at Porthgwidden Beach. The sun blazed down on the bright white sand, the turquoise sea shimmered in the famous St Ives light and families were packed shoulder to shoulder as the tide crept closer.

I was watching my eight-year-old daughter, Mabel, build a sandcastle with another little girl, while idly admiring the group of eight or so stylish holidaymakers crammed in beside us.

Somehow, these men and women had managed to squeeze deckchairs onto the small patch of sand, with designer Loewe bags and black quilted Chanel sandals scattered among their beach gear.

Swigging warm water from my battered Nalgene bottle, I watched from behind my sunglasses as one of the fifty-something men greeted a teen in a Hugo Boss tee, handed him some cash and accepted a small package.

The teenager had barely departed when the adults gathered together and snorted a white powder that looked suspiciously like cocaine.

Less than a metre away, Mabel and the little girl she'd befriended happily decorated their sandcastle with shells, blissfully unaware of what was unfolding beside them.

But before long, those stylish tourists were incredibly loud, braying across the beach and getting in everyone's way. 

One man loudly regaled the group with stories about the big projects his creative studio in Shoreditch had successfully pitched for, before the conversation turned to a Michelin-starred restaurant they'd booked for dinner.

'We're all familiar with the Cornwall of tourist brochures with its turquoise seas, cream teas and fishing boats, but the reality is rather less comforting,' says Rebecca Tidy

Even Mabel noticed. 'Why are those people so annoying, Mummy?' she asked. Only minutes earlier, I'd been hoping that Mabel wouldn't spill blackcurrant squash or shovel sand onto their elegant bags.

Now I was hoping none of them would stagger through the girls' increasingly elaborate sandcastle.

I wish I had been surprised. But unfortunately, it feels as though cocaine is an increasingly familiar part of Cornish life. 

I've seen it sold outside the bars and shops on the harbourfront, snorted on the golden sands of Polzeath and used inside quiet pubs in the inland villages.

It would, however, be unfair to blame holiday makers alone, whether they're affluent visitors sipping Tarquin's gin cocktails in Rock or festivalgoers descending on Newquay.

We're all familiar with the Cornwall of tourist brochures with its turquoise seas, cream teas and fishing boats, but the reality is rather less comforting.

The county I've come to know has a cocaine problem that reaches deep into ordinary towns, villages and communities too.

At one of St Austell's many budget gyms, on a Monday after work, I endlessly overhear men talking about the painful consequences of their weekend cocaine use.

Some talk of their horror at becoming violent after taking cocaine with alcohol and anabolic steroids, while others spoke of waking up to discover they'd spent hundreds of pounds on alcohol and more drugs.

These are the same people that hold the door open for you, offer to grab a dumbbell from the top shelf or nod hello in passing. Yet after a night out, they sound ashamed.

'Unfortunately, it feels as though cocaine is an increasingly familiar part of Cornish life,' said Rebecca, pictured alongside her daughter, on a golden beach

They mention apologising to furious girlfriends or mothers waiting at home for another weekend that had spiralled out of control.

Yet by the end of the week, I often overhear those same men – and female gymgoers too – talking about whether to buy half a gram or a gram for the weekend ahead.

The contrast is hard to ignore really. They spend hours looking after their bodies, carefully counting calories and macros, so they can lift heavier weights and run faster.

But cocaine is often a staple of their weekly routine, sitting strangely alongside protein shakes and meal prep.

Ironically, I made it through university without ever seeing anyone use a Class A drug. I was usually in the library, teaching or at the stables. My life revolved around coursework, deadlines and horses rather than endless nights out.

I cast my mind back to a conversation with my now ex-boyfriend in 2021. Born and raised in Penzance, he knows West Cornwall far better than I ever will. He matter-of-factly remarked that cocaine was socially acceptable down this way.

At the time, I'd laughed in derision and bluntly informed him it said more about the company he kept than anything else. He found this funny and said one day I'd realise I was wrong.

Years later, after repeatedly encountering cocaine in all manner of places, I'm no longer so sure. Somehow, I'd reached my thirties without ever actually seeing it used casually.

The first time I encountered it was at a party hosted by business acquaintances of my daughter's father.

We'd only recently moved to Cornwall and were keen to build a new life in the countryside. Keen to get to know people and fit in with the locals, we gratefully accepted almost every invitation that came our way.

At one point, one of the businessmen began casually offering around a not-particularly small bag of white powder. He was successful, confident and clearly well known in the area.

Nobody seemed remotely surprised – it was treated with the same nonchalance as someone passing around a plate of canapés. I sat and watched in silence, trying to process what I was seeing.

Eventually, one woman looked across the room and remarked, 'I don't think Rebecca approves.' She was right. I didn't.

After this, the atmosphere changed and I felt like an outsider for the rest of the evening.

Some of the women became noticeably frosty towards me, leaving me with the uncomfortable feeling that my refusal to participate was being viewed as judgemental.

I really did feel like a nerdy teenager again, facing peer pressure to join in. Everyone else in the room said my shock and horror was written all over my face.

For a couple years, I tried to ignore the casual cocaine use in my social life. I told myself that I was the one that needed to be more open-minded or liberal. After all, I'd only recently moved to Cornwall, so I needed to make friends and establish myself professionally. It would not be good to develop a reputation as the uptight incomer.

And not everyone was catty like the two women at that first party. In fact, many people didn't care less that I didn't use the drug.

The problem is that I can never truly relax once it appears. I always find the atmosphere changes – people become louder, more boastful and argumentative as the evening goes on.

Instead of enjoying myself, I find myself worrying that someone will become ill or that the police might turn up. So, these days, if I suspect cocaine is likely to make an appearance, I decline the invitation altogether.

It does leave me increasingly isolated, but I'd rather spend an evening on my own – with my plant collection – than in a room where I feel uncomfortable for hours.

Unfortunately, this strict boundary takes its toll on my love life too. Cocaine has become yet another peril of the modern dating scene.

Among my female friends, complaints about men who assume the drug is simply part of a good night out now seem almost as common as the predictable grumbles about men expecting casual sex.

One newly single mother even asked me whether weekday cocaine use had become normal after discovering that one of her dates – a successful finance professional with an otherwise respectable career – regularly used it.

Nowadays, I set clear boundaries from the beginning by telling potential dates that I don't use cocaine or date men that do. I don't want drugs around me. And if that's not for you, then we might make good friends but we definitely won't be partners.

Since becoming a mother, I often catch myself thinking, 'I wouldn't want my daughter in this situation.'

I've come to realise that if I don't want Mabel growing up believing cocaine is a routine part of social life, then I shouldn't spend my own time in places where it's treated as unremarkable.

Perhaps that's why I still think about that afternoon on Porthgwidden Beach. I moved to Cornwall believing I was escaping the worst excesses of modern life, not expecting to find cocaine in places where children build sandcastles, collect shells and queue for ice cream.

People move to the coast in search of fresh air, slower living and an altogether healthier way of life. But now that cocaine is commonplace in even Cornwall's most idyllic corners, I do wonder what hope there is for the rest of Britain.