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As soon as we knew we were going to move to Cornwall, friends who already lived in Falmouth whisked us off to Restonguet, to the Pandora Inn, to show us that we were making the right decision.

It was perfect: we sat on the jetty on a warm May evening, with boats moored alongside. The food (local mussels) was perfect; the wine just right, and, after 5 years in France, my husband was beside himself with joy over the local ale. We looked at each other and smiled: this move was going to be good.

Parts of the Pandora’s building date from the 13th century. It used to be called the Passage House, as there was a boat beside it that took people across the creek, for a long time the quickest route between Falmouth and Truro. Later it was renamed The Ship, before its name changed again in tribute to the HMS Pandora, a naval ship sent to Tahiti to restore order after the mutiny on the Bounty.

In the three years since our first visit, we have been back to the Pandora many times. We celebrated James’s birthday last August by meeting friends there for lunch, as rain hammered into the creek outside and a quick lunch turned into a leisurely afternoon. The friends were camping nearby, and given the weather conditions, ended up coming home to stay with us, so the lunch actually lasted 28 hours.

My children (along with numerous others) love crabbing down there, tempting the crabs into nets by baiting them with bacon and wondering how crabs can possibly have acquired a taste for bacon in the first place. Once the bucket is filled with the little creatures, the children tip it up and squeal as the crabs scuttle to the edge of the jetty and throw themselves back into the water. I always say that next time I will bring nail varnish and we will dab each crab on the shell, and see if we get the same customers next time.

It is a pub beloved of locals and holidaymakers alike, accessible by boat, by the coast path, and by car, though the car park is not for the fainthearted in summer. Everyone knows the Pandora, and everyone loves it.

This morning, the pub caught fire, the thatched roof collapsed into the building, and 35 firefighters, six fire engines and a lifeboat came to put it out. Although they quickly had it under control, pictures and footage show that it is destroyed: all that remains are the outside walls. Everything inside it, including the huge model ship that stood in a glass case as the centrepiece of a room, has been lost. Early reports suggest it was a chimney fire that spread instantly to the dry thatch of the roof.

It is horribly sad: the loss of a part of Cornwall’s history, the loss of local jobs (they had just put an appeal for summer staff on their facebook page), and the loss of a place that made everyone who stepped inside, or sat outside it, happy.

I hope it is insured to the hilt and rebuilt as soon as possible. The HMS Pandora sank after hitting the Great Barrier Reef in 1791, and Captain Edwards was court martialled, and is thought to have bought the inn. There have been many twists and turns in its history. I look forward to it rising from the ashes and carrying on.

Back when I used to work on the Diary column at the Guardian, my desk would creak and groan under the weight of invitations to parties I never wanted to go to. At first, I would go occasionally, but as soon as I realised that the most exciting thing that would happen was likely to be a glimpse of Yasmin Le Bon on the other side of the room and that the wine would be warm, I realised it was easier and more fun just to go to the pub with my friends.

How times change. Recently, when an email came inviting me and my children to the CBBC new season launch, including a screening of two episodes from the new series of the Doctor Who spin-off, The Sarah Jane Adventures, we couldn’t wait to go. Leaving my daughter and husband at home, the two boys and I set off through the rain to the Big City. We were properly starry-eyed as we got closer and closer to London, and by the time we ran through the downpour to a Soho hotel guarded by robots, we were all up for anything.

I was given a name tag that said ‘The Observer’ on it, and wondered just how old their mailing list was. I stuck it on, smiled, and kept quiet.

Before the screening, the boys spotted Sarah Jane herself (Elisabeth Sladen, both charming and teeny), and a CBBC presenter called Iain in the bar, and managed to get their photos taken with them. We watched the episodes (containing a throwaway comment that changes the future of Doctor Who), sitting in luxurious chairs, eating free popcorn. My eldest son smiled knowingly and said ‘I could get used to this’.

And then we went to stay at my brother’s flat in Hackney, had breakfast with him in the morning, and headed back to Paddington to go home. I realised that, although the Sarah Jane experience had been wonderful, our relentlessly brilliant time had more to do with being in the city and having an adventure than anything else.

I have never felt as settled as I do where I live now, but sometimes a change of scene can revitalise you like nothing else. Going away from home often kicks my writing in unexpected directions. Being on a train pulling away from my home station is one of my favourite feelings in the world. That day gave my boys a set of memories that will always be with them, as well as massive kudos at school; but I like it that a freebie press event is a bizarre novelty in my life these days.

(for the record, Yasmin Le Bon wasn’t there, and I had one glass of wine, which was served at a perfectly acceptable temperature)