The images that go with this bit can be found here.

Friday 26 th June.

We got up early and cleaned up the cabin. Our one regret being we hadn’t booked more time here, it was all fantastic. (“We’ve not spent enough  time here!” would be the recurring feeling about each place we stayed at.) I wanted to get up early as I knew we had a very long drive ahead of us, down the whole length of Wales.

Funny how your idea of “great distance” can change, isn’t it? Oh, and how bloody small is Wales?

We drove down through North Wales with its sublime mountain scenery, enjoying its tight twisty roads, driving through unbelievably lush gorges and valleys, on into mid-Wales. There the countryside changes into more rolling pastures, dotted with scenic villages nestling under the softly contoured hills, lovely bloody place.

We stopped off at Aberystwyth for lunch. I hadn’t been there for donkeys years, the last time I was here was when we came up to watch the band “Renaissance” play, and they split up in 1981. Aberystwyth is a bit of a hole, a decaying Victorian resort whose only purpose seems to be to serve the University, that hotbed of radical Welshism, and to make the rest of the area look good in comparison.

We looked around the town, it was full of very fat, ill-looking people. It also seemed to be hosting the; “UK’s Worst  Tattoo Art Competition”, though we later found out that most towns in the UK now host this every weekend, a bit sad that.

Eventually we found ourselves down on the seafront, we were looking for a café but came across a tea cabin place, smack bang on the promenade, that’ll do us. There I had the worlds worst cheese pasty.  (”Cheese substitute flavoured mashed potato style product in greasy pasty, partially defrosted, undercooked to your taste!”) Bethy had a “breakfast in a roll”, (oh god the smell of the bacon!), and Lee-Anne also had something appetising, damn. Bethy somehow, unfortunately, managed to spill her banana milkshake all over herself. Who’d have thought the glass held so much? But the stall keeper was kind, and gave her a cloth to clean herself down with, and another banana shake, so that wasn’t too much of a disaster.

We drove on, it started to rain. The closer we got to Llanelli, the hard the rain got. This was more like it! I  noticed that Sean was taking us by a less than efficient route, so started disagreeing with, and eventually ignoring, him. This didn’t earn me any brownie points with Lee-Anne, but, as I didn’t get us lost, worked out ok.

One little diversion I (deliberately) took us on, was to go past the house of a guy I had worked with, back in the mid 70’s. He lived on a farm, out in a god forsaken hole at the back of beyond, called Pinged. (Pronounced Ping-Ed) He fascinated me when we worked together, he was addicted to porn mags, ate meat pies by the dozen, had never had a relationship, stank of BO, and lived with his elderly parents on a farm. He was always making odd pronouncements like; “No man has ever sexually satisfied a woman,” and “I want to go to Bankok for my holidays, but my mother won’t let me have a  passport” and  “When you’re on your bird, does she ever ask you to tie her up?” (I was dating a woman 8 years older than me at the time, he found this a never ending source of prurient fascination.)  I visited him at the farm once, just out of curiosity. The place was a cross between the house in the movie “Psycho” and something out of Royston Vasey. (His father collected stuffed birds!!) If anyone I knew was ever going to end up a serial killer it was him. So seeing we were in the area we drove past. The house looked identical to how I had seen it thirty years ago. We couldn’t see any obvious signs of bodies buried in the farm yard, nor any ripped shower curtains, so we ran away before he came out (wielding a chainsaw natch..)

Driving back along the road between Carmarthen, (“All-day drinking there Wednesdays!”) and Llanelli came in a welter of memory. Kidwelly with its castle, Cefn Sidan’s endless beach, Burry Port where I used to do Aikido, Pwll with its views over the Gower, Llanelli Boys Grammar School where I learned to hate to learn, (it’s huge now) and suddenly we’re back in Llanelli, (and it’s still pissing down.)

We found, eventually, somewhere to park in the town centre. I came across a new, and very annoying phenomenon there, parking vouchers you have to add your registration number to. I mean to say, making people type in all, or part of their rego, just to stop them handing on a parking voucher to another person, saving the council  ..Oooooh, all of 30 p… how sodding cheap is that? The mean minded little bastard who thought that idea up needs a good dose of scabies.

We strolled into town, or at least what is left of town. Llanelli, like so many other places, is suffering from the out of town retail centre explosion. All the big players, M&S, Smiths, BHS, Boots, have created huge shopping emporiums on the industrial estate, this has killed the town centre and left it full of nothing but banks and charity shops. Fortunately the Asda supermarket is still there, as this has telephones and toilets, two things we desperately needed. We had tried every payphone in the town centre, none had worked, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember where the public lavvies were.

We rang the girl we were to rent our apartment off, and agreed to meet her there later. We went into Lloyds to change some $Au into quids, I got to wave to my mate Jonesy there. He was being a banker, how apt. This was the only contact we were to have all week due to… But I get ahead of myself… The teller at the counter said they were only allowed to change $600 into quids, no use to us, so we went to a travel agent who changed $2000 worth, and gave us a better rate, it pays to shop around, even inadvertently.

We found a mobile phone shop and decided to get sim cards for our phones, rather than waste the majority of our holiday in futile hunts for working payphones. Good plan, except two of our three phones were “locked” and wouldn’t take another company’s card, and the other one’s battery was as flat as a pancake. Story of…

We drove down to the beach. Jane, our new landlady was waiting at the beach car park, and signaled us to follow her. She drove us to our new home, a third floor apartment overlooking the beach, luxury! When I was a kid, from the age of about eight until I was into my twenties, I lived on this beach, fishing my life away. It was then the dream of every Llanelli boy to have a home overlooking the beach, and here I now was, (abet temporarily,) it was an incredible feeling.  The flat itself was all we wanted, two bedrooms (Bethy got the one with the view) a large kitchen/dining/living area, and a fair sized bathroom. But, most importantly, a balcony overlooking the beach.

I walked over to my mother’s house, some five minutes away. I passed the large industrial North Dock, which was once home to ships from all over the world, back when Llanelli was the centre of the iron and tinplate industries. It had become derelict and unused, and rather smelly,  when I lived here, but still a good place to drown worms. Now it’s the preserve of kayakers and other small craft, how times change.

I took a short cut, which still existed thankfully, and marveled at how close I had lived to the beach when this was my home. It was good to have a cuppa and a chat with mam, I caught up on all the family gossip, mainly “who isn’t talking to who”, and what “someone said about someone else who should know better”, and “who’s dead now”. I told Mam we were going shopping tonight at the big Tescos on the industrial estate, “Ooh, that’s good, I want to go to M&S, I’ll come with you.” Fair enough. I took the stroll back, picked up my girls and the car, and drove back to collect mam.

We drove out to Tescos, I had to take directions off Mam. She said; “Don’t you know the way then? There’s a new road there!” Mam, I haven’t lived in the town for nearly thirty years, I’ve lived in Australia for the past eight, how would I know there’s new bloody road there?

We should have used Sean, it would have been much less painful. “Ooh turn left here, no, not left, right, no straight on. My mother used to live there you know, and your aunty Nivene lived round the back, you should have turned left a good five minutes back. Can’t you drive a bit slower, oh there’s where John  Bach used to live I haven’t seen him for months, oh, turn right back down there a bit..”

So eventually we got to spend an hour in M&S, while Mam exchanged a bra she’d bought there, and five minutes for me to buy a pair of chinos. Then to Tesco, oh glory be! The UK has the most fabulous range of vegetarian ready meals, meat substitutes, and other wonderful things you can eat without having to cook. Aus isn’t really any good at catering for vegetarians.  Oh the fresh produce in Aus may knock the UK’s into a cocked hat, but the ready made stuff is dire there. We ran the racks of the frozen section, it looked like we were stocking up for Armageddon. Then to the cheeses, now this is slightly different, Aus has some very good local cheeses, but not the huge range of local AND European cheese you get in the UK. I went on a cheese buying binge.

BEERS! I was drooling just looking at the huge range of top quality beers on offer, but decided to stick with local ones. I had loaded about four into the trolley, when a voice behind me said; “That’s a good choice.” I turned around to see a fat, jolly looking chap, the central casting image of the sort of cove who would be a connoisseur of beers. He was nodding with approval at my choices. He was obviously a man of taste, as he had the same tastes as I do, so I asked him for more recommendations, which he was only too happy to make.

So with our poor car groaning under the weight of beer and ready meals, I drove back.

I dropped Mam at home, and we went and unpacked our goodies at the flat. I had a beer, and Lee-Anne was going to take five before rustling up a culinary feast. I decided that I hadn’t heard enough about who wasn’t talking to who, so I strolled back to Mam’s. After a chat, I borrowed her copy of Paul O’Grady’s autobiography off her, I’d heard it’s a good read, (one of the very few books which “Private Eye’s reviewers have given the nod to.)

Mam states: “Ooh wait, I’ve got something for you too,” and goes off to rummage about. She comes back with a copy of Jim Perrin’s “Complete climbing essays”, which I’d ordered from Amazon to be delivered there. Also she came up with some of my old adoption papers, and the prospectus for Kilworthy house, a place where I used to pretend to work, all very interesting stuff, (interesting to me anyway.)

I got back to the flat, and we watched the sunset over Llanelli beach, drank good wine and great beer, and gorged on ready made meals. Heaven.

Saturday 27 th. June

In the morning we picked up Mam and went over to my sister’s house. More catching up on “who isn’t talking to who” was gained. I did get a chat with my nephew, Shaun, and great to talk with him it was too. He’s taken after me a bit, inasmuch as he has an electric guitar and a punchbag in his room. Though unlike me he’ll probably actually learn to play the guitar.

Leaving Mam at Louise’s we ventured into town. Lee-Anne wanted to buy a dress for the evenings meet up. We were in Llanelli, not the best place to do this. We exhausted all that town had to offer in about five minutes flat. And that included getting a coffee. Before leaving town I did manage to talk them into going into Llanelli indoors market, there I bought some freshly made Welsh cakes, these I wolfed down straight away, and some laverbread, which we slung in the bin when cleaning the apartment to leave.

So we drove out to the retail park/estate again. There were a few clothes shop there, quiet a few in fact, big ones. We seemed to visit them all. I stopped offering suggestions after the first five minutes; “This? You think I should wear this? For a night out? With your friends????”

I’m a man for god’s sake! Yes it looks good on you to me, yes I would be happy for you to wear that out with me and my mates. Poor bloody Lee-Anne was in tears, either at not being able to find anything suitable, or at my appalling taste. I went to Smiths to look at magazines, best to play safe. After a while she found something that she deemed acceptable, and me and Bethy (genuinely) found stunning on her, so she was happy. The; “Ok, I’ll need shoes to go with it!”

Run away!!!!

Ok, so we set Bethy up with a stack of goodies, the TV guide, and uninterrupted views across Llanelli beach, she liked that. We are ever so grateful that she’s now at an age where we can leave her alone in a strange house, in a strange town, in a strange country, and she will be happy to look after herself. Neat.

We took a taxi into town.

We arrived first out of our crowd, but soon Jamesy and his partner, the lovely Rachel, arrived. Something I wrote after my last home journey must have struck a chord with Jamesy, as he was now drinking real beer, not the piss weak lager he had consumed the last time we were out. I’m a good friend like that. We sat around taking great delight in slagging off the Rat, until he arrived complete with his brother Mark (who really should get in touch with me, hint hint!) Diamond geezers I won’t have a bad word said about either of them. (Not within earshot anyway.) So then we laid into Pickles, who unfortunately arrived soon after.

Before I got too drunk I made appoint of reassessing the drinking hole we were in. It used to be a furniture store, it’s now a chain pub. On the plus side they served good beers, including some goods local real ales. On the plus side they had teams of predatory women, all with their tits hanging out, all loud and drunk, going about looking for prey. I couldn’t find much wrong with the place following those observations.

One thing that gave me a hoot was a rather large, ok, lets not be too blunt here, a fat girl with tits like beach balls, a huge arse and a fat gut, all stuffed into a dress that an anorexic would find too tight, who was displaying her wares for all to see.

I’m sorry love, but there wasn’t enough beer in the cellars for me to find that display attractive. She even had a bloody “push up” bra on. Lee-Anne took one look at her, and nearly fell off her seat with laughter and incredulity. “But watch her on the prowl,” I advised. We watched her walking up to male acquaintances, and literally sticking her tits in their faces, some seemed to enjoy this, several legged it.  “I wonder if there’s an echo down there,” I mused about her grand canyon sized cleavage.

Martin arrived next. Jesus, I couldn’t remember the last time I saw him, yes I do, must have been mid 90’s when I was back there with my ex, too long Martin, too long. Good to catch up with the bugger, and interesting to get a report on the crime levels in the town these days, (Martin works for the police force.) Apparently crack-cocaine is a big problem in the town now. When I lived there the hardest thing about was a bit of Red Leb, and even smoking that was considered living close to the edge of being a serious junkie, how times change.

We moved into the restaurant area, as they had stopped selling food, and our group had expanded so as to need a bigger table. This had an unfortunate consequence, as Jonesy and the delectable Bethan didn’t have the gumption to check in there when they arrived, and, thinking we had moved on to another pub, left and went home. The prize pillocks.

Rattenbury looking at my hair, and, noticing that out of all the males there my hair was the most luxuriant, started informing those present, (in his best; “I am a doctor, I know about these things” voice) “Not losing your hair when you are our age is a sign of low testosterone, it’s a sign of a virile man losing your hair!” Hmmm, that’s the way you want to play it then… “Well I’ve got Viagra and an eight inch cock, AND I’ve kept my hair. So you’re welcome to your  fucking testosterone!” was my less than subtle reply. Oscar Wilde eat your heart out.

I remembered my mother had made a point of telling me I must find out how Martin’s mother was these days, they had been friends once upon a time. “How’s you mother these days Martin? Me Mam told me to ask.” “She’s been dead five years.”

Thanks Mam.

It all gets a bit vague after this point, I can remember Jamesy introducing me to several old men, who he alleged had been contemporaries of mine; “Thomas, you know who this is don’t you? It’s Mike!” Which got a bit embarrassing after a while, my look of blank incomprehension at these old geezers, all of who seemed to know me, was a bit awkward.

One too many conversations along the lines of;

“Oh didn’t you marry whatshername from down the road?”

“No.”

“Didn’t you work as a plummer?”

I’m an accountant.”

“Ermmm are you they guy with the glass eye?”

“No, but I do have a wooden leg if that’s any help?”

 

It all got a bit much to tell the truth, I had to ask Jamsey to stop.

We were joined by Ratty’s sister Nicole, and his cousin Wayne.  I hadn’t seen his sister in years, and it was  great to catch up with her. Although, thinking about it, I was probably at the “babbling” stage by now, and may have been dribbling. I don’t think I was at the “declaring unconditional love for people” stage yet though, thank god. More people, get another round in!

Somewhere at this point, Ratty invited us up to his house for an evening. Though none of us thought he was serious. He was though.

As per norm once a certain level of intoxication was reached I hit my “must sleep”, point. It’s a bloody salvation this is, I can drink with the best of them, but once my limit is reached, the autopilot kicks in, and I’m off to beddy-bys. Fortunately Lee-Anne was also feeling the need to leave and stated she was going to order a taxi. “I’ll come with you,” I valiantly volunteered. We said our goodnights and left, though I remember nothing of leaving or getting home/to bed.

Sunday 28 th June.

Woke up feeling a bit hung-over for some strange reason. Seeing as Lee-Anne was still asleep I took a stroll down the shop to get a paper, but such was the ill effects of the previous nights celebrations I managed to buy the Telegraph instead of the Times. Bugger.  I called into Mam’s and we had one of our surreal chats about people I couldn’t remember, or hadn’t ever known, who were now dead in any case, or at the very least not being spoken to. The phone rang; “It’s for you,” said Mam. It was Wynn, superstar of this parish. We arranged that we’d call up and see him this evening.

Lee-Anne had woken with a craving for carbohydrates, funnily enough I was feeling the same. “I’ll pop out and find a chippy, that’ll see us right!” And I’m sure it would have, except there was none open. So despite me and Bethy doing several laps of Llanelli, we ended up empty handed. No chippy open on a Sunday lunchtime, what’s wrong with people here, do they cook for themselves or something?

So we ended up at Tescos buying Linda McFarty pies and oven chips, how decadent is that on a Sunday when you’re in Llanelli? We also bought a box of Gordon Ramsey choccies for Mam. We’d tried them on Friday night, and they were fantastic, so we thought we’d bring a bit of haute cuisine into her life.

Later that day we drove up to Wynn’s, and again I had to use Sean to find our way there. Even then I got the bloody house number wrong.  Wynn and Jac’s daughter Bron is Bethy’s age, so them two shot off to talk girly stuff, and we set about catching up. Wynn is involved in a couple of bands now, and was playing a set in a local pub on Thursday night. Ah ha, great news! Plans were made.

Jac has got back into doing her art, and had done some incredibly good life drawings. Wynn’s dad Euan called in, and it was good to see him, luckily he was gentle with me this time, he normally rips the piss out of me a treat. Wynn told us, “Bron doesn’t play the violin so much any more, she’s playing bass now. The trouble is with her that any instrument she picks up she’s great on, so she never settles on one.” I’m a bit like that myself, any instrument I pick up, I’m equally as crap on, so people keep making me put them down again.

Monday 29 th June.

We spent the morning waiting in for a dishwasher repairman who was expected. He eventually arrived, took a quick look at the thing, poked a few bits, and said; “It’s knackered, I’ll get the parts but it’ll take a week or two.” Fat lot of good to us then?

I strolled over to Mam’s, we were going to invite her over for the evening, cook her a meal and all that. “Oh, I can’t come tonight, Lynrose is coming over.” Ok, that’s that plan up shit creek then.

We took a drive to the Gower, the perfectly beautiful area that lies between Swansea and Llanelli, like a rose between errmmm two things that aren’t roses. I showed the girls the great marshes of Llanridian, where as a young and callow youth, and obviously, before I became a vege, I used to go wildfowling.  I remember, vividly, getting cut off by the tide there one day, and thinking my time had come. Then I realised that the water which had cut me off from the mainland may have been half a mile wide, but it was only six inches deep.

We drove onto Llangenech, by mistake. At the end there was a caravan site, with a paying car park for beach users. I drove through the gates, fully intending to turn around and go back the way I came, when the guy at the ticket office ran out after me;

“Oy, you!”

“I’m not stopping pal, I’m just turning around.”

“Well you didn’t tell me that did you?”

“No, but I don’t regularly stop and find some one to tell that I’m not stopping, it seems a bit pointless.”

We had reached an impasse, so I drove on. I missed driving over his foot, though not through want of trying.

We eventually got to Rhossilli, the headland at the top of the Gower. We strolled along the winding path which takes you to Worms Head, or at least most of the way there. I did the photography thing, and the girls patiently enjoyed the views. There was a lovely rip coming over the causeway between the headland and the Worm, so we didn’t risk the crossing. (Read Dylan Thomas’s; “Who do you wish was with us,” it sums up this area perfectly.)

Back at Rhiossilli we had a meal at the pub there, and gazed longingly at the house half way along the front of the headland, what a place to have a gaff!

We drove on to, then past, then back to, “Arthur’s Stone” a lovely isolated Cromlech at the highest point of inland Gower, the views were magnificent. Bethy modelled for me on the stone, and we enjoyed a brief ramble about the area.

We stopped again to see the views from South Gate which looks all over the Swansea side of the Gower. We drove onto Mumbles and it’s pier.

Mumbles Pier is a Victorian pier typical of the sort. It’s in a poor state of repair, but they still charge you 50 p for the dubious pleasures of strolling on it.

A slight digression. Once a gang of us were staying in Mumbles, whilst attending an Aikido course in Swansea. The last night we were there, Lun cooked us up a huge vat of spaghetti bolognaise. We planned to go into Mumbles, hit a few pubs, then hit the disco (and yes it was a disco back in those days,) which abuts the pier. All well and good. We had a fair few beers, got into the disco, and had some more. I felt sick. I don’t know if this was due to the amount of beer I’d had, or Lun’s cooking, could have been both. I went outside to get some fresh air. This didn’t help in the slightest, so I leaned over the pier edge, and chucked my ring up. It came out like ropes. It was only while watching the ropes vanish into the dark that I realised the tide was out, and below me at the foot of the pier were a bunch of courting couples. Who were now being bombarded by bolognaise flavoured puke. I legged it back into the disco and hid.

Anyway, we strolled along the pier, the girls posed for shots, and we all admired the way the seagulls were raising fluffy chicks on the most precarious ledges of the pier ironwork.

We drove into Swansea. Whilst looking for a bank we came across “The Blue Banana”, this is a shop which  Bron, Wynn’s kid, had recommended to Bethy as selling “really cool” clothes. And so it turned out. Bethy was in seventh heaven, and got herself, and paid for herself, some “really wicked” new clothes. My favourite was a T-shirt with the logo “Come to the dark side, we have cookies.” She also got small gifts for her mates back in Ayus..

We drove back. Stopped in at Mam’s so Beth could show off her new clothes. Mam; “Lynrose has been and gone.”Hmmm….

Back at the flat we had curry for tea, and I tried, and fell in love with Well’s “Banana Bread Beer”, believe me, beer that tastes of banana bread is a real, but weird, treat!

Unfortunately by now, Lee-Anne’s toothache which had been hanging about in the background for several weeks, had decided to play a role in our holiday. Lee-Anne was in agony. I decided to ring Ratty for advice. Only to find I had the wrong number.

Damn!

Tuesday 30 th June

The morning found us ragged and knackered. Lee-Anne had been unable to sleep all night due to the agonies of toothache, and I had been kept awake by her tossing and turning. After a series of phone calls, we managed to get a number for Ratty, who very kindly said “Come over straight away.” Ratty’s surgery is in Llandeilo, a place I knew not, thank god for GPS. It turned out to be a very scenic drive,. Well, not for Lee-Anne, she spent the whole journey clutching her jaw and groaning. We got there without too many hassles, and Ratty kindly fitted Lee-Anne in between patients. After a good examination, and a conference, he prescribed her some anti-biotics.

Just outside the surgery was a local chemists , so we dropped the script off with them, and went to celebrate this relief with mushrooms on fried bread at a local café. After collecting the meds I drove us back, Lee-Anne at least feeling some relief in the knowledge she was getting treated.

While the girls caught up on some rest, I took my camera for a stroll down Llanelli beach.  Down at the Machynys end of the beach I was truly amazed to find the wild life was in resurgence. The place was ablaze with wildflowers, butterflies and moths were in abundance, and joy of joys, a kite or some sort of small raptor flew overhead. It was like the beach of my childhood again, or at least the beach of my childhood through time’s healing lens. I sat on the sand and did nothing for some time.

Jamesy told me a rather amusing tale. The area I knew as Machynys was a heavy industrial area. They knocked it all down after the steel industry went “tits up” in the 80’s. Then some bright spark had the idea of building a golf course, (aka; a twat farm,) on the area, and a couple of hundred houses. Due to the vagiaries of the tide here, which I used to know so well, the offshore marshes can change in nature quite quickly. Since the houses and twat farm have been built the tidal currents have changed.  The course and houses lie directly in the path of the  prevailing winds. These winds  at low water now carry the aroma of rotting seaweed and dead molluscs, which stink to high heaven.

After a while, and sated on nostalgia, (I wont bore you with it) I went back to the flat. Lee-Anne was now almost back to her usual self, so then… Lets go to Tescos again,…

We went there and grabbed a bunch of snacks, some wine, and a lot more beer. We collected Mam and Louise from their respective homes, and brought them back to the apartment so they could have a nose. Lots of “Oooing” and “Aaahing” were had, along with the inevitable “ooh, there’s nice,” and “ooh there’s posh.”

Bethy now does a great impression of my mothers constant  catch phrase; “Oh Alan!”  (Pronounced, in a voice of disappointed disapproval; “OoOOoOH Al-Lan!!”)

They loved the views, I think mam was hoping someone she knew would pass, just so she could wave to them. Lady Muck all of a sudden.

Mam, inevitably, wanted to know how difficult it was to keep clean. My sister wanted to know if; “Tthat was the North Dock we had passed on the way in?” She’s lived within half a mile of North Dock all her life. Bethy was gobsmacked by this, but even more gobsmacked when Louise told her she hadn’t been to the beach since she was a teenager.

After a while Bron and a friend turned up at the door, totally out of the blue. After showing them her “Blue Banana” purchases, Bethy went off to “hang” with them down at the beach. It was great for her to have some company her own age.

It wasn’t long before Wynn and Jac turned up, closely followed by Jamesy and Rachel. I slipped Mam and Louise home, so I could settle in for a few beers, which I did. Rather too successfully.

Wednesday 1 st July.

Spent the morning mooching about the flat, as, for some strange reason, I had a hangover. Again. I eventually got it together to go over to Mam’s, she wanted me to clean her gutters out, as they were blocked with muck, and overflowed when it rained. Which is most days. Just the sort of job you want to do with a hangover, eh? Anyway, I played the dutiful son, and was actually quite pleased I’d been able to do something a bit practical to help.

I walked to the shops and bought the local rag, “The Llanelli Star”. It told the amazing tale of a “near riot” at Hendy Carnival. You have to be a local to appreciate the humour of this I’m afraid.

Ok, despite Lee-Anne having ongoing tooth ache she was determined not to let the side down. We had planned a cycle trip along the new “Millennium Coast Cycle track” for the day. We strolled down the visitor centre where we had been told we could hire bikes. We got into the bike hire place, but there was no one around. We asked at the visitor centre if there was anyone hiring out the bikes today; “Oh, she’ll be having her lunch, she won’t be long.” Soon, a woman rushed out, lunch in hand, to take care of us.

“Sandra?”

Well I’ll be blowed. Turns out the bike hire was owned by an old acquaintance, who had lived in the same street as me for twenty odd years, and who I hadn’t seen for what must have been some thirty years. Sandra after thirty plus years working in a bank had quit her job, and opened up the bike hire place. It was a hoot to chat with her, as she didn’t have a sodding clue who I was, despite my dropping BIG hints. Anyway we did get a “mates rate” out of her for the bikes, so all good then.

The cycle track itself is glorious. It’s hard to believe, and even harder to convey, the changes that have been made there. What once was nothing but steel works, industrial wasteland, and cooling pits, is now landscaped greenery and water parks. They have a “National Wetlands Park” there with exotic birds and the like, and even a “Course angling centre of excellence”, a far cry from the area I once knew.

The cycle path alongside the sea made for easy passage, and we soon found ourselves well away from the town. It was a hugely sunny day, and the sky was a crystal blue. The views were phenomenal, I had to keep reminding myself that I was “home”. Some of my photos from the day would leave you to believe we were in the Costa or the Med if you didn’t know better.

After cycling as far as we were able, or willing to, we stopped took a breather and turned back. On hitting Burry Port we found a van not only selling drinks, which was a blessing, but also selling crepes. I had a crepe, which, although advertised as “Cheese and pineapple,” was mainly cheese and very little pineapple, or crepe. It sat on my stomach like a lead brick.

The girl behind the van counter was wittering on to someone on her mobile. She had such a strong Burry Port accent that she had me in stitches, and only hearing one side of the conversation made it even funnier; “Well I wouldn’t give you a thank you for it” pause “When he took it out it was broken on the end” pause “I’ve never seen one with so many bits hanging off it, must be foreign.” pause “I’ll see you tonight,  don’t forget to bring some of the big blue rubbery ones. There’s lovely.”

 

We cycled back, with me sweating and struggling under the weight of cheese I was carrying. On getting back and returning the bikes; “Lovely to see you again Sandra, we should keep in touch” “Oh yes we should ….errmmm.. yes, we should, that would be good.”

 

We got spruced up back at the flat. Jamesy and Rachel arrived and we piled into their car. Rachel drove us the Ratty’s place, I’d never been there before. Nor met his wife and kids. That’s not good for such long standing mates, but his fault totally. Not mine. His.

Neil’s (let’s call him by his “proper” name. seeing as we’re now his guests) wife is a young and beautiful French girl by the name of Virginie, they have two cute and sweet, very shy, kids. His house, a stunning 1930’s detached two story job set in it’s own grounds is excellent, you can imagine it featuring on one of those property porn TV shows. His shed (every man needs a shed!) is bigger and better furnished than my house in Cornwall. I’m sure Neil is well aware of what a lucky bastard he is, but we don’t begrudge him. Much.

Virginie had cooked us a mouth watering vege meal, and was a perfect hostess. Neil, who runs a charity taking dentistry services to Romania, treating orphans and such, had brought back some “Apple Brandy” (hooch) from his last visit. I found this rather palatable. Unfortunately for Neil.

At some point in the evening, Neil produced a pair of electrician’s pliers from behind his back, and asked Lee-Anne if she wanted her tooth pulled? “Yes please!” was her reply. I think he realised that she wasn’t joking, at all, and would have gone through with it there and then, and with his greasy pliers. He told her to come to the surgery tomorrow morning first thing.

Unfortunately as the evening wore on the apple brandy (50% alcohol by volume) started having a deteriorous effect on me, and I launched off on a series of anecdotes about Neil’s exploits as a younger man (mainly sexual). Fortunately I don’t think Virginie got the point of them. Probably nobody else did either. I certainly didn’t.

Now, in my notes here I have; “Jamesy!! Fireball!!!!” Which, due to me writing the notes up under the influence of apple brandy, and gross stupidity, I haven’t the fucking foggiest what it’s supposed to relate to. Did Jamesy set off a fireball by lighting his farts? I don’t remember him doing so. Did Jamesy audition for Fireball XL5? Anything is possible. Did Jamesy discover a talent for producing Fireballs from his fingertips like whatshisface the stage magician? Write to me at the usual address if you have any clue as to what this means.

Jamesy and Rachel drove us back home. They both were absolute bricks while we were in Llanelli, and I don’t think I thanked them enough for the kindness and consideration they showed in organising events, visiting us, and ferrying us about. Although there’s also the distinct possibility I told them this far too much while under the influence. Who knows?

Thursday 2 nd July.

Back to being the dutiful son again. We picked up Mam and Louise to go shopping with them. While at Louise’s house she pulled out a stack of old photographs of me, one of which included a young, and very baby-faced, Ratty. (I don’t have to be nice to him now, we’re not his guests anymore.) That could come in handy I thought.  We drove them up to the retail park; I knew my way there quite well by now.

They bought cushions, why, I do not know. It’s not like either of them was short of cushions. And what is the point of bloody cushions in any case? As soon as you sit down on a chair or sofa with cushions on it, you pick them up and throw them onto someone else’s seat, they are bloody annoying nuisances. I tried to discus this with my mother, but she got all surreal on me again so I shut up.

We had to leave, so I said to Mam; “Throw your cushions in the boot, and I’ll drop them off at your house later” The reply? “Oh no, I’ll carry them with me. Knowing you you’ll forget you’ve got them and drive off to Cornwall with them!” Even she had to agree that the prospect of me not noticing that the boot was full of cushions (where would I put our suitcases?) and driving off to Cornwall with them was, even by her standards, somewhat bizarre. And besides I had Lee-Anne and Bethy to remind me not to abscond with them.

We drove off, leaving Mam and Louise to carry on shopping. (Wasn’t that a movie? Carry on Shopping.) We drove back to Llandielo. After the briefest of waits, Lee-Anne was called into the treatment room. I amused myself by showing the photo of me and Neil as kids to the reception staff, the dental nurses, the clients, people passing in the streets etc. The reaction was universally the same “Awww wasn’t he sweet!” Bollocks, not the reaction I was hoping for. But at least none of them added; “You looked like a right twat back then.”

Lee-Anne soon emerged with a look of utter relief on her face, and a tooth in a bag. Ratty pressed a bottle of his home made hooch into my hand, we shook hands, and he vanished back into his den of pain. We tried to pay for the treatment, treatment above and beyond the call of duty, but it “was all taken care of.” Nice one Ratty!

We went and bought some comfort food for Lee-Anne, and a rosemary plant for my mother. (Just don’t ask, ok?)  Then we dropped the cushions and plant off at my mother’s house. I bet she’d spent the whole time we were gone pacing up and down the house, waiting for the dreaded news that her cushions were Cornwall bound.

At home, with Lee-Anne set up for a night of comfort eating and TV, while Bethy and I got togged up. Soon Jamesy and his son Ben arrived. I last saw Ben when he was wearing short trousers and before his balls had dropped. I wasn’t prepared for the strapping big youth that turned up, so I decided to be polite. Jamesy kindly dropped Bethy at Wynn’s place, where she was having a sleep over with Bron. We got to Jamesy’s house, and cans were cracked. Unfortunately for all concerned there was cricket on TV, a warm up match for the Ashes series. After boring everyone rigid for half an hour about the series, the players, the prospects for an England win etc (Not my fault they ‘aint fans of the worlds greatest game?) we headed off into town.

We got to the pub, “The Kilkenny Cat” (formerly the West End Inn.) My god it was like stepping back in time, every bloody Llanelli hippy I had ever known was there, (except fatter and balder obviously,) plus some younger ones.

It was an “open mike” night for the town’s guitarists.

We got a table, Jackie joined us and we had a great old time, whilst in the background “Needle and the damage done” and other “Songs which were once deep and meaningful, but have now been (badly) played to death by old hippies,” were playing in the background. Ben, being young, soon had enough of this, and left us to go somewhere less redolent of Woodstock.

Too early in the evening it was Wynn’s turn to get up. Him and a mate had been putting together a “couple of numbers” to play together. When they got up to play the whole atmosphere changed from one of partying to reverence. Wynn and his mate are good, seriously good, very seriously good. The whole pub stopped to watch. You could see serious envy in the eyes of  every guitarist in the town.  I’m sure some were thinking  selling there “axes” and buying bagpipes or something. What had been polite clapping at the end of each song, turned into tumultuous applause. Grown men wept, (that might have been just me.) After his set Wynn came over and sat down again, he looked very happy. I was so pissed off he wouldn’t be playing again that night. I mean the organiser could make an exception for me and give him a second slot,  I’d come all the way over from Aus for Christs sake.

I had to ask; “That last number Wynn??” The inevitable reply; “Oh, that was “Lotus feet” by John McGlaughlin,” he explained casually.

(For non-guitarists that’s the equivalent of saying “Oh I got me paints out and just run up this rendition of the Mona Lisa” Or “Well seeing as I had the time, I thought I’d quickly build a Sistine Chapel.”)

All good things must end, and so bidding the crowd farewell, I strolled off into the night. And got lost. Again. I got back to the apartment, eventually, soaked through to the skin, and covered in burrs. I don’t know how.