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Wednesday 21/12/11

We woke early and got stuck into cleaning the cottage. It was a lovely place, one which we would have liked to spend more time at, (a recurrent theme at each place we stopped.) We drove into Oxford, and spent time on a brief tour of the city while trying to find our usual car park. We eventually got there just before the fight started.

We had another “pasty breakfast”, how could we resist? They were there, we were hungry, they were pastys!

In the market Lee-Anne was spoiled for choice on what bird to select for her and Bethy’s Xmas lunch, but wanted something they had not tried before. They settled on a guinea fowl, and fair play to them for being willing to risk Xmas lunch by something new. We also bought a “vegetarian haggis.” This is the sort of thing that is usually bought with all good intentions,  and then left to rot in some dark, long forgotten, corner of the fridge. Not in Lee-Anne’s careful hands it won’t be! We also changed some dollars into quids. By buggery the exchange rate was doing us proud. When Lee-Anne first came over to meet with me, her $1 Aussie would buy her 32p. This holiday $1 was buying us 67p, it has over doubled in value! Not only that, but what with  prices in the UK…but I get ahead of myself once more…

We had arranged to drop in and see my relatives, Terry and Noreen, on the way to Llanelli, and, just to make the journey even more interesting, we decided to take in the White Horse of Uffington too.  It’s a wonderful place, well it is once you find it. However there was too much mist and fog about for us to get the full mystical bollocks of the place. Not only that but it was blowing a bloody gale and freezing cold, so we only got a brief walk about the eye before hurrying back to the car. (It’d be great place to fly a Paraglider off in the right conditions though!)

We made it to Terry and Noreen’s without too much heartache, we were welcomed in and had a brew. I then made the mistake of telling Terry the rather abstract route we had taken to get there from Oxford. He then took great delight in giving us the classic British driver’s explanation of the best way to do that trip, where to avoid, and all the things we could have seen if we’d been better prepared.

Poor old Terry and Noreen had both been in the wars, Terry had had a recent TIA (mini stroke,) and Noreen had got a minor scratch on her face infected while having her hair done, this had resulted in half her face exploding!

After saying our farewells, we drove on to Llanelli, we changed the voice on “Billy” over to John Cleese. This proved a waste of time, and a waste of money, as each and every fucking time we aproached a junction, he went off on a rant about how; “800 metres ahead, turn left. Of course 800 metres should be called half a mile, as it was in my days, still thats bloody Europe for you…” Which was funny the first couple of times, but by the nineth time I heard it I was ready to chuck the bastard thing out the window. So we changed back to Billy.

We had a minor panic when we thought we didn’t have enough change for the Severn bridge toll. Terry had reminded me, when it was first built, crossing the bridge was free, but as soon as they instigated a small charge, at first 20p,  there was no way for it to go but up.

Two lands at last connected
Across the waters wide,
And all the tolls collected
Upon the English side.

It’s now six quid a car, dear god, born free, taxed to death. By turning out our pockets, wallets and handbags, checking down the backs of the  seats, and mugging a passing old lady, we were able to cobble together the money. After passing down the M4 in a riot of memory, we made it to the flat in Llanelli, found the keylock and the key, and let ourselves in. It still looked as wonderful as it had the last time we stayed there, the views over the beach and Gower fantastic. We unloaded our kit and decided to visit my mother, I had an ulterior motive in this.

Before leaving Aus I had ordered via Amazon UK, a decent sized mug, a pint and a third in capacity. I had had it delivered to Mam’s. Lee-Anne also had an ulterior motive too, before leaving Aus she had bought, via e-bay, a Heston’s Xmas pudding, complete with a whole candied orange hidden in it. This too had been delivered to Mam’s. Time to pick up our treats then.

Mam was ever so pleased to see us, we had a cuppa and she rabbited on at us, mainly about how big the bloody mug I had bought was and how she; “Couldn’t get over it when I unwrapped it, it’s enormous, I’ve never seen such a big mug, do you really drink that full of tea, that’s a days tea for me, it’s huge!”  I’m pretty sure there won’t be anyone left in Llanelli who is now unaware of how big a mug I have my tea in, not if “Radio Bryn Road” (Mam) has anything to do with it. If you do know of such a person, please let them know it’s a pint and  a third, I’d hate anyone to miss out on the knowledge.

After leaving Mam’s and dropping the girls off at the flat, I went in search of a chippy for supper. My mother had recommended “John’s,” which is a veritable and venerable Llanelli institution. While lost looking for it, I stumbled across a Lidl, which didn’t have anything worth eating in for us, but did have some superbly cheap tramp juice for sale, so I bought a few bottles. John’s was eventually located, and I bought us all a chip supper, including a couple of huge slabs of cod for the girls, some glorious mushy pea fritters for me. You cannot beat British chippies, they are a (greasy) culinary delight!

That night Max Boyce was on TV, the girls, kindly, put up with me watching him. Of course this resulted in me waxing lyrical (pissed again,) about how he once had the biggest selling comedy record in the UK, and how his songs were actually Welsh icons, that they were in the Bardic tradition, and true street level poetry. I also pointed out to the girls people in the audience who were famous, or at least famous in Wales,  they both fell asleep after ten minutes of this.

Later that night I went down to the car, as I was convinced that I had left it unlocked, (again,) (I hadn’t.) While down there an old Welsh boy approached me, and gave me one of those verbal batterings which only the Welsh can do; [welsh speed talking] “You see this car here now, do you know who owns it? I don’t know see, but it’s been here now for three days with the windows down, that’s not right that is it? I mean three days, with the windows down and the rain getting in, not right that. Anyone could have stolen it see, or it could belong to some old person who’s had a fall or something. You don’t know these days do you? I mean I don’t know what to do, what do you think? Should I call the police, they won’t do anything though will they…” (continues for half an hour) [/welsh speed talking]

Anyway, I convinced him that I’d give our landlady a ring the next day, that Jane is cop, and that I’d run the problem by her, and he went away. Though he was still looking unconvinced.

I got back in, and a now woken and worried looking Lee-Anne informed me; “There’s no toilet paper!”  When I was walking down the shop early the next morning, on a mission to get bog roll, the window of the car in question had already been closed.

 

Thursday 22/12/11

We were up early again, and pottered about, I spent an hour drinking tea out of my huge mug and just staring out over the beach. (“Sometimes I sits and thinks, sometimes I just sits.”)

 We decided to do a shopping trip to Swansea. This was not made easy by the council who had decide to decorate the roads with speed cameras every fifty yards, I could have bankrupted myself in a day if it wasn’t for our GPS “gatso”  warning alarm warning me of each and every one before we hit it. We eventually got to Swansea, despite the cameras, and found a parking spot. To fortify ourselves for the nightmare of shopping we found a cafe. Not having a pasty for breakfast was a change, though Bethy did have a rather extravagant coffee with hers.

We decided to split up, me and Bethy went one way, and Lee-Anne, on a mission from god, in another. We needed a steamer, one big enough to fit Heston’s Xmas pud in, as this had to be steamed for three hours. We were all under orders to find one. I spent most of my time however playing my new game, “make-up counter girl spotting”. Is it compulsory for women who work at make-up counters to put on at least one example of each and every bloody make-up product they sell each day? Most of them look like their make-up has been sprayed on in the dark, and smell like a florists fart. Bethy was on the look out for “Oompah Loompahs”. We both  spotted loads.

I was also under orders to buy new trousers, as; “the ragged arsed casual trousers you usually wear are  embarrassing.” I couldn’t find any. Bethy wanted to find bras, I was little help in that. We weren’t having much joy here then. Half way into our tour of every bloody bra, trouser, and saucepan shop in Swansea, Lee-Anne rang me; “I’ve found Nicol’s birthday present!” I didn’t ask what it was, I knew it would be good. (It was.) But this didn’t help us with the trousers, bras, and steamer situation one bit.

I suggested  to Bethy that we should get Lee-Anne another Xmas present; “Just because”, Bethy agreed and said; “There’s this perfume I know she likes!” We found something resembling the perfume she wanted, in a specialist shop. Neat!

We all met back up, discussed the calamitous state of trouser and bra shopping in Swansea, and drove to Llanelli. Slowly.

I called into Mam’s; “Can you run me up to Eileen’s boy?” No worries Mam, glad to be of service. Eileen is an old friend of my Mam’s, who unfortunately is now disabled. I drove up there and had a hearty time being insulted by Eileen, who, despite her disabilities has not lost any of her battleaxe qualities. I was glad to leave, I could feel myself on the verge of “saying something”, and I knew Mam wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of my stay if I did.

Back at the flat Lee-Anne had been looking up gyms online, so we decided to try one out, just to keep some semblance/pretence of fitness going during our stay. The first one we went to, Llanelli Leisure Centre, looked very promising. We asked for three for the gym, the fat bird behind the counter asked if we were members; “No? Well you’ll have to book a one hour induction session, that’s eighteen quid per person, and then it’s ten pound per person for a session after that.” So, twenty eight quid each for a gym session? Stuff that. We asked if there was anywhere else local; “You could try the Diplomat Hotel.“

I’d been to the Diplomat Hotel gym with Jamesy on one of my stays, it had been a low-tech, but use-worthy enough little gym. We drove there, after waiting an age at the gym reception, and eventually resorting to ringing the main reception desk, a surly old git turned up carrying half a plate of sandwiches, obviously pissed at us for disturbing his tea. “It’s twenty two quid a session.” We didn’t stay.

When we got back Mam rang me; “I’ve left my bag at Eileen’s, you couldn’t get it for me could you?” I drove back, expecting another tongue biting session, but the door was answered by Terry, Eileen’s husband. Me and him had a good natter, and I left pleased.

On the way back I called in at the shop owned by an old friend; Chris Snee, and had a damn good chat with him. I promised to call into the shop to see him again before we left, but each time we passed it again it was shut. I don’t know if that’s cause and effect there.

For supper that night we had pies and veg in cheese sauce. Luxury. I had spent a good few months, after recovering from my bike crash, just getting my cholesterol level back to sane measures. This had involved virtual abstinence from cheese, the use of anti-cholesterol margerine, and masses of fish oil capsules. We had taken to looking at the nutritinal information on everything we bought, and only choosing “low fat” or “low cholesterol” items. What a nightmare. that was! I had got the “all clear” thumbs up on my cholesterol levels from my GP just before we left. As I’d  been a good boy, Lee-Anne had agreed that, just while we were on holiday, I could have free reign with the cheeses. I intended taking full advantage of that!

It was a wild night that night, with gale force winds and heavy rain, apparently. I was in bed at 8.00 pm, so I missed it. When I got up at 4.00 am to have a pee, (unfortunately an all to regular event these days, it’s old age you know,) Bethy was sat up in bed, wide awake, reading. “Hello!” she said, chipper as a skylark. Obviously not quite over the old jetlag yet then.

Friday 23/12/11

After the early kip the previous night, I was up at 6.00 am, so I took a walk on the beach in the rain. It was wonderful. God, even just sat here in my office on a sunny Sunday morning in Canberra I can still feel the cutting drizzle, and remember the emotions brought back by being there again. I was surprised this trip, how strong my feelings for the UK were, but more on this later. I fired off a few shots on my camera, but in those conditions photography was hopeless, and you cannot capture the old  “hiriaeth” on a digital chip.

I got back to the flat and watched the sunrise through the drizzle, while freezing my tits off on our balcony. The other two decided this would be a good time to wrap presents. I never involve myself in this as I am quite hopeless, and constantly get told off for making a pig’s ear of things, getting sellotape on the dogs, and breaking stuff. I’d been getting texts stating Jamesy would be dropping by that morning, or that’s what I thought. At the arranged time I went downstairs to make sure he found the right flat.  There was no sign of him. However some flash git in a  top of the range BMW kept waving at me. “Mistaken me for a high class rent boy”, was my first guess. But no, it turned out to be Rattenbury. Ah! The texts had been from him, not Jamesy, sorted. “I told the girls Jamesy was coming over, “ I informed him, “I didn’t realise the texts were from you. They’ll be ever so disappointed.” He didn’t hit me. So Ratty came in for a cuppa and a catch up, and he’s looking fine and well, and obviously still thriving. We exchanged gossip, and news, and he agreed to come for a night out with me and Jamesy and Keith. Interesting fact, his Beemer has no spare wheel, it will run on flats for 100 miles. Amazing.

Following Ratty’s departure we drove over to Mam’s, collected her, and took her into town to do her final Xmas shopping. We were also hoping to get a steamer with Mam’s help. Though it turned out that she didn’t know where to get one either. To add to the joy by now it was pissing down too.  First stop; Lloyds Bank. There, my old mate Keith was sat in his cubicle. He was pleased to see us, and spared us time from his bankrupting of minor countries, or whatever he does there, to have a chat. Mam hadn’t seen Keith for years, so we couldn’t get a word in edgeways, not with her nattering on about things that Keith may or may not have done in 1976. Eventually I managed to find enough of a gap in Mam’s stream of conciousness chatter to get Keith to agree to come out for a beer on one of the nights while I was in Llanelli, and ushered Mam away before she caused a second global financial crisis.

Taking Mam about town was a nightmare in itself, she veered off at the most unusual angles, and always seemed to be looking for things, shops even, which no longer exist. “Ooh shiny things,” became something of a catchphrase this holiday. She decided to go see my nephew who works in a shop there. He wasn’t at work. “Never mind Shelley (my niece) works across the road from him,” she informed me. She wasn’t in work either. To compensate for this I diverted us into the market, and got some hot Welsh cakes off the little cafe/stall there. They are truly heavenly. Nowhere in the markert sold steamer pans though.

Eventually we steered Mam back to Asda, where I decided to stock up on Ales (St Peter’s Ruby Red is outstanding,) and Whisky (Balvenie Double Wood, 8/10), as you do. They were so bloody cheap! At least a quarter of the price we’d have paid in Aus for them. It was only out of pity for my poor liver, and Lee-Anne’s watchful eye, which stopped me going on a Scotch buying rampage. By begging, and nearly resorting to crying, and reminding her of her promise to let me have it, I also persuaded Lee-Anne to let me have a huge hunk of Stilton for an Xmas treat. They didn’t sell steamer pans there though.

Later that afternoon we called around to see our friends Wynn, Jac, Bron and Dylan. Believe it or not, Bron is Bethy’s oldest standing continuous friendship, despite them living 12,000 miles apart. They have maintained facebook and e-mail contact for ten years. While at their house, we heard a “quote of the day”  from Jac; “Dylan, you know you’re not allowed to shoot your gun in the house!” Bron showed us an amazing sculpture she had produced for her art course. We were lagging a bit by this time, so we gave our farewell’s, but not before making arrangements to catch up on Boxing day.

Back at the flat we wolfed down some ready-made pasta meals, first class grub too, and then totally failed to watch “Have I got News For You,” by crashing at 9.15 pm. A big shame, as we’d been long  looking forward to catching up with that show.

 

Saturday 24/12/11 Xmas eve.

We were up  too early again, though we did manage to stay in bed until 6.00 am. For breakfast we had some croissants which we had thoughtfully bought in Asda, though I couldn’t help thinking we should have bought more Welsh-cakes instead. There was a beautiful pink sunrise outside, but I wasn’t quick enough of the mark to get pictures of it before the drizzle resumed. We took ourselves off to Tesco, it was dead quiet. WTF? On Xmas eve should be heaving there! It looked like everyone had shopped themselves to death in the run up to Xmas. This was great for us, and while the girls stocked up on essentials for Xmas day, I loaded a separate trolley with beers and snacks. (Betty Stoggs 10/10 and Ridley’s Old Bob 8/10) After an hour of visiting every bloody shop on the trading estate, (and there are LOTS!) Lee-Anne eventually found a steamer pan, one which was exactly the right size. “It’s a bit expensive though,” she said. Even if it had been gold plated, and priced at a month’s salary, I’d have bought it there and then, just to put us out of our misery.

We picked up Mam, and gave her the bunch of lilies we had bought her. Lee-Anne explained to her that having lilies in the house is traditional at Xmas in Aus. I bet there’s not a person over 65 in Llanelli who is not aware of that fact by now. We also gave Louise some. The funny thing was that while Mam and Louise put their lilies in cool places, ours (it’s traditional, we had to have some too,) were put directly above the radiator in the flat’s living room. Louise’s and Mam’s stayed bright white, ours opened bright pink. It’s an interesting experiment, you should try it yourself.

We drove Mam over to Louise’s. While there we watched a TV program on childbirth; “Desperate Midwives.” This made me ever so glad I was born with an (enormous) dick, and hopefully put Bethy off having sprogs for a decade or two.

That afternoon we decided to give our keep fit ambitions one last chance, and so drove to DW’s gym which is  back out in the big out of town shopping centre. The staff member who greeted us was young, bubbly and full of interest in us and Aus. She gave us forms for membership, and informed us they had a “12 quid for 12 days” membership promotion going. She also gave us a tour of the gym, the pool, the fitness studios, and all the facilities. They were first rate, better than our gym in Aus even, and the membership deal couldn’t have been better if we had designed it ourselves. The only downside to all this was her informing us that the place would be shutting at 4.00 pm, as it was Xmas eve. By now it was 3.45 pm, so that’s bolloxed that idea then. We took the forms and left.

When we were back at the flat, Jamesy phoned. He had been trying to get us on the number I had given him, and had spent two days annoying someone in Berkshire who was trying to sell conservatories. He then had the brainwave, (as did most people, eventually,) of ringing my mother. After a half hour of surreal conversation, he managed to get the right number out of her. We were to knackered to arrange anything for that night, so plans were laid to catch up on the evening of Xmas day.

While we were blissed out watching the TV that night, a perfume advert came on; “Your dad always bought me that one,” stated Lee-Anne, ” I couldn’t stand the stuff.” Bethy looked agast. We sneaked off and checked. We had bought a different one, thank god!

I ran the rack of my beers collection, and fell asleep by 9.30 pm.

 

Sunday 25/12/11 Xmas day!

I was up at 6.30 like a kid at Xmas.

Funny thing contextual memory, as at this point I remembered, vividly, being a kid in Bryn Road at Xmas, and standing out in the back garden, (I’d have been about 8 at the time,) and wondering if the birds realised it was a special day that day. I was a strange kid. Xmas at that age was a magical time. Not so much when you hit your early teens, and thus I also remembered the day which was my worse Xmas day. This day my parents had invited an elderly aunt and uncle over, this was odd as we never, ever, had people round usually, let alone at Xmas. The four of them spent the whole of Xmas sat on the sofa in our living room, with the TV switched off, (we only had one TV in those days.) Their sole topics of conversation being; “who had died recently”, and who;“wasn’t looking very well these days”. I was close to tearing my ears off with boredom, seriously, it was purgatory. It didn’t help when Jamesy came around the next day and said; “You should have come to our place, we had a great time playing monopoly and stuff.” Though leaving the house on Xmas day would have been impossible, such a great sin! Xmas is for family! Even if the event is as boring as watching milk curdle, even if you are going insane with boredom, even if you are feeling like if one more dead person is mentioned you will throw your Xmas dinner up over the cat, you stay “with the family.”  This is one of the many “rules” which my family lived by, and never questioned. Strange really, and a bit sad. Anyway, I digress.

Just to calm down again, following the realisation I was in Llanelli on Xmas day, and there were no elderly relatives around,  I went for another walk on the beach in the rain. When I was old enough, and I had escaped “the rules” of family Xmas days, instead spending  Xmas day in the house being bored shitless, (as all teenagers are, permanently,) I spent it in the rain on the beach, fishing. This was far more interesting for a teenage boy, though you’ll have to take my word on this. Being back there, strolling along the sand, remembering times spent, and the stupid but fun things we had done there, was all very emotional.

I’m getting to be a nostalgic and melancholy old sod, aren’t it? I always have been, truth be told. I find myself in my fifties collecting books, music,  DVDs of TV programs and films, those which I enjoyed in my youth and twenties, (and thirties, I didn’t grow up till I was in my 40’s, even then not too much.)

Bethy spent a pleasant Xmas morning plucking Guinea Fowl feathers.

We drove over to Mam’s, picked her up,  and drove her over to Louise’s. There the presents were exchanged, various family members came, chatted and left, the kids opened their presents with varying degrees of enthusiasm being displayed. Young Jessica did the traditional kids routine of being more enraptured with the possibilities to be found playing with the  cardboard box her present had come in, rather than playing with the present itself.

We all did rather well I think. Louise also gave me some bottles of wine she had acquired over the years, which she had no use for. I definitely did have use for them.

Eventually we gave our excuses and left. Back at the flat Lee-Anne cooked up a magical Xmas dinner, with stuffed guinea fowl for them two, and a huge flat mushroom, stuffed with vegtarian haggis, (see I told you we’d use it!) pistachios, oats, onion, sage, and feta cheese, for me. All this was accompanied by roast and steamed veg and served with a rich gravy.Heavenly grub, it was all fantastic, by god my wife’s a great cook! For desert we had Heston’s Xmas pud, which had been steamed in our new steamer for three and a half hours. Fortunately, after all the farting about over getting a steamer for it, it lived up to its reputation well.

They crashed out after lunch, bloated and sated. So I….took another walk on the beach….

It was dark by then, and as I reached the far end of the beach, the Pwll  end, which is totally unlit, I saw a UFO. At least that was my first (trouser browning) thought, quickly followed by; “Why do I never have my camera with me when I need it?” Sanity was resumed when I realised I was seeing a large dog with a lit up Xmas collar on, chasing a ball with lights in it.

We took a taxi to Jamesy’s. There we caroused the night away.

Jamesy, Rachel, Jamesy’s kids Rebecca and Ben, and Rachel’s mother and her partner Laurence made for very fine company. Laurence is an ex-Llanelli and Wales rugby player, exalted company indeed. He had a wealth of tales to tell, and some interesting dirt on some Welsh rugby heroes. Half way though the evening, when Lee-Anne had got a little “over refreshed” she started lecturing Jamesy on how there were; “No pubs in Canberra, none!None!!” God only knows why she chose this particular rant, but it was pretty impressive. Even Laurence backed off..

Ben told us all about his exploits as a cage fighter, which made me long for the days when I was young and fit and nasty. Becs told us about her adventures in the real estate market, I wish I’d had her sense at that age.

Late it the evening Jamesy dug out some “rum” which he had got; “Off some guy who was  flogging it off the back of a lorry in Barbados.” I took a large shot of it. I then ordered a taxi to take me home. Christ knows what was in it, but it damn near killed me.

 

Boxing day 26/11/12

Woke up at 9.00 am, result!

Actually it was the result of too much rum the night before, and a fucking great hangover I was determined to try to sleep off, but you have to count your blessings. Lee-Anne stayed in bed until 1.30pm, a new all-comers record for us, she wasn’t feeling too bright for some reason. I took a walk over to Mam’s and tried out the massage seat we had got her for Xmas, much fun it was too, I’d like one myself. Lee-Anne certainly could have done with one at this point.

Getting back to the flat, me and Bethy decided to go and  hit the gym, Lee-Anne passed on the idea. We got to the gym and while Bethy hit the cross trainers and cycles, I punished my now flabby body for all the beer and cheese it had forced me to indulge in. God it was good to be working out! After a fortnight away from the gym, and with the only exercise I’d had being shopping, and walking on the beach in the rain, I needed it.  The gym was brilliantly equipped, and had several machines I had never used before, some were quite painful.

When we got back to the flat Lee-Anne was in a panic, the hot water system had shut down, and there was no hot water for me and Bethy to shower. Normally that would have been bad enough, being around me after I’ve had a gym workout isn’t nice, but Wynn and Jac were going to turn up in an hour!

We legged it over to Mam’s, and there we all got a shower and change. She also gave as a large trifle that Louise had made for us, with strict instructions; “That’s a really old bowl, I’ve had it since I got married, don’t lose it or break it!” Oh, why not up the ante some Mam?  It was a glass bowl naturally.

Wynn, Jac and Bron turned up, and we plied them with drink and snacks and had a great evening of chat.  Unfortunately my gym session had taken more out of me than I realised, and half way through a sentence I nodded off and proceeded to give a demonstration of “basso profundo” snoring. So Lee-Anne hit me.

I still say it was my gym session, and not the large measures of Balvenie Scotch I’d consumed, which caused this.

 

Tuesday 27/12/11

Another day where we wake late, hell’s teeth, I’m getting good at this!

We decided to hit the sales, UK prices already being as cheap as chips, the thought of buying stuff at sales prices was far too good to miss. Funnily enough most people in the UK got quite belligerent when I told them things were; “SO fucking cheap it’s not true!” It’s all a matter of perspective I suppose, and in any case, it was fun to wind folk up. So here’s an example of what I meant; I bought a copy of Alan Partridge’s (mock) autobiography, “We need to talk about Alan,” (it’s funny as fuck BTW.)  It was on sale in Smith’s for seven quid or $10 Au, roughly.  The best price I’ve found for it in Aus? $42.99. Seriously!

So we drove to Trostre retail park. It was heaving, heaving beyond belief. We had to queue to get into the overflow car park, the sales madness was in full flow. While the girls piled into the fray,  I sauntered about, looked at a few things, and didn’t see much I fancied.But still, I  bought myself a lightweight fleece jacket, one which would be fine for Aus’s milder climes, but just cos it was cheap really. I also got  “Mock The Week” and “Inbetweeners Movie” DVD’s. The girls were in purgatory. They had found bargains galore, at prices that they were finding hard to believe. But, and it’s a big BUT, in order to keep the mayhem down, and prevent huge queues, the stores had all closed their changing rooms, so they couldn’t try anything on. This led to them being at first disheartened, then bloody angry, and then saying; “Sod this for a lark,” and us returning home.

We changed into our gym kit, and headed back. We had decided to hit the pool and steam room after our workouts, but, on the way to change, something nice happened to me. I was walking into the changing room, when a guy approached me; “Alan mun, how’s it going? Haven’t seen you for years!” Normally I hate it when that happens, when you haven’t got a clue who you are talking to. This geezer obviously knew me and my family, so that’s a start. I rabbited on about nothing in particular; “You still living in Plymouth?” he asked. I haven’t lived in Plymouth since 1986, so it’s obviously been a while since he saw me. Then I looked closer at his eyes, they were the lightest shade of blue I had seen since; “Beau!” Beau (or Bow, I don’t know which way he spells it,) real name Anthony Evans, and me had gone to infants, junior and grammar school together, though we were never close mates. I must have last seen him in 1980 or so. Now I knew who I was talking to I was able to have a conversation. We swapped tales, he seemed astounded that I was living in Aus, and we had a damn good natter.

I had a steam bath, and that was wonderful, haven’t had one in yonks.

Getting back to the car park we noticed that despite the crush, some thoughtless wanker had parked his small sports car across two parking spaces. Lee-Anne wrote a note, informing him of his total tosspot personality, his total lack of driving skills, and his incredibly small penis. The note also had an apology for “all the scratches we had left on his paintwork”, and hoping that he would be able to get them resprayed. We hadn’t scratched it of course, but we like to think he spent a great deal of time on his hands and knees in the dark and the rain looking for them.

That evening Jamesy and Rachel came around.   We had a very convivial evening, and I didn’t fall asleep and snore. Well not until after they had left in any case.

But Rachel was suffering. She had a secret and couldn’t keep it in, eventually she cracked; “You know the place you’ve rented for New years Eve, we’ve booked the place next door!” Jamesy had some choice phrases to say about that unexpected revelation. His plan had been you see to get the landlord of our digs in Sennen to tell us that, in order for us to let ourselves into our  accomodation, we had to go knock at next door to get the keys . When we knocked on the door, who would answer it but Jamesy! Well that’s that idea fucked then. From there on in, and for the rest of the holiday, putting your foot in it was known as; “Doing a Rachel.” Anyway, once we knew about this fantastic turn of events, plans for New years Eve were made!

 

Wednesday 28/12/11

The girls having had a gutful of shopping in Llanelli, decided to hit the big city and bright lights of Cardiff. They took a train up, and I left them to it. I took Mam into town instead. We pottered about, I got myself a god awful “cheese pasty”. I don’t know why I do it, well, I do really. But seriously though, when you are in the UK, you should have no problems in sorting out what a good pasty is, and what is fake and shite.

Is it pasty shaped? ….No? ….Don’t buy it.
Is it called a “Cornish style” pasty?….     Yes?….    Don’t buy it.
Does it look like it was cooked last week, by a blind baker, who had just had a pasty described to him by a dyslexic Albanian, and which has been sat under the heating lamp wilting  since then? ….Yes? ….Don’t buy it.
Is it from a local Welsh bakery called Jenkins?…. Yes?…. Don’t buy it.
Is it a  proper pasty, for fuck’s sake?!? Just look at the fucking thing, is it a fucking proper pasty Taff!?!?  ….No?…. Don’t fucking buy it!

 

But I did buy it, and was rewarded with a slab of soggy pasty stuffed with mashed spud and artificial cheese flavouring. It was foul. I loved it. We visited my nephew Jon in the shop he works at, and he was astounded to see me, what with him not knowing I was in the UK again. This was an improvement on our last visit, when we met him that time he wasn’t aware that I was married, nor that I was living in Aus. That meeting with Jon was seven years after those events had happened. Communication within some braches of my family is better than Interpol, in other branches its as much use as laryngitis at a deaf convention.

I decided to have a haircut and a shave. It took a while to find a proper barber, and eventually I had to settle for a suitably seedy looking place in the market, called, funnily enough,  “Taffy’s Barbers”! “Number four all over and a shave mate,” was my reasonable request. The barber didn’t even look gay, which is odd.  The haircut took no time at all, a quick wiz with the clippers and a tidy up, and I was done. “Won’t be a moment,” said the barber, and vanished out the back of the shop. I waited, and waited. Customers came in, sat down, read the paper, looked at their watches and left. Eventually he returned looking all flustered; “It’s been so long since I did a shave, that when I tested it I found my razor wasn’t stropped. I had to go home and sharpen it.” He could have just nipped out and bought a disposable razor a lot quicker. To be fair to the lad he gave me a great shave, and I always love the hot towel afterwards. He charged me fifteen quid for the lot, which is a great deal less than I pay for just a haircut in Aus.

And again, just to rub it in, in Smith’s in town I bought a copy of the latest “Viz” annual. It cost me less than I usually pay for a single issue of the magazine over here.

I drove Mam home via Louise’s. I looked in Louise’s fridge, with her knowledge, I wasn’t being sneaky. I couldn’t find a single thing of any nutritional value in there, my pasty was more wholesome. We discussed this, but I had to eventually give in out of sheer exasperation, worn down by my families logic, (or lack of it.) And ok, yes I’m a food and nutrition snob, so sue me.

Being at a lose end I took another walk down the beach, (insert nostalgia and youthful memories here.) I got some reasonable shots of the sunset and the dune system, and some quite dramatic ones they were too. Some guys were  kite surfing on the beach, so I snapped off some shots of them too. They seemed to spend all their time trying to see how high out of the water they can get. Which made me wonder why they didn’t sell their surfing kites and buy fucking paragliders instead.

At  the cafe and information point on the beach, which is laughingly known as the “Discovery Centre,” my old friend Sandra was just packing up her cycle hire shop. Since we had bumped into each other the last time I was over she had managed to work out who I was, and so there was no fun in trying to wind her up.  We chatted about old friends, Bryn Road days, and parted in that slightly fuzzy way old acquaintances who have not seen each other in some years, and didn’t really know each other that well in the first place, do.

Lee-Anne texted me to let me know they were due back in Llanelli, and I drove over to pick them up. I had a few minutes to spare before they arrived, so I strolled about the station.

 One of the most strong and vivid memories of my youth starts in that station, and came alive once more for me then. I remember, with amazing detail for one who drinks so much,  waiting for the train with Wynn, the train which would take me to college in Plymouth, and away from home to live for the first time. I seem to remember every sound, every brick in the wall, each and every other passenger waiting, the extreme anticipation. I remember seeing the train coming down the line under “devil’s bridge”. The racing thoughts of; “This is it, I’m actually going!” I remember buying four cans of “Double Dragon” to calm my nerves, I may even have given Wynn one. I remember dad and Louise being with me, and dad shaking my hand as the train pulled in. (My mother refused to come to see me off as she thought she may; “Make a fuss.”) I also remember staring out of the train window, on the journey to Swansea where I would change trains, a journey I had done hundreds, nay thousands, of times, and seeing it all as new. I remember leaving Wynn when we changed and took different trains at Bristol, and thinking; “Fuck me Thom, you’re on your own now!” I remember passing through Dawlish and other parts of the Devon line and wondering if I’d died and gone to heaven, and if I’d really get to know this place (little did I know it would become the place I long to return to the most). I remember sighting the moors, (we had passed over them when I went down for interview,) and being so thrilled to be moving near them. I remember disembarking at Plymouth station, my suitcase in one hand, camera bag in the other, and a huge rucksack on my back. There was a kid there with a sign; “Students for Marjons” and a waiting minibus outside. His nickname was “Wolfie” (as he was a dead spit for “Wolfie Smith.”) and he was deputy president of the student union. I remember…

..but I’ll stop there or I’ll be going on for hours.

Lee-Anne and Bethy got back, with aching feet and a few marvellous purchases, and after a cuppa we hit the gym. Beau was there again, and we had a more relaxed and fruitful chat. He’s still married to his childhood sweetheart, who was the best mate of my sister Debra. I told him that I haven’t spoke to Debra for twenty years, he seemed to think that was a shame. I don’t know why he thought that, it’s not as if he doesn’t know her.

That evening we went to Wynn and Jac’s.  We phoned in an order to “The Bengal Lancer” for a curry, but Dylan and his mate who was with him, wanted a McDeath burger. No taste some kids. Wynn and I drove down to collect the grub, it wasn’t quite ready, so the nice chap gave us a couple of Kingfisher beers on the house while we waited. Back at the house the curries were unwrapped and shared out. No one wanted a share of my vege vindaloo for some reason. Great, great, curries! I have to say that  for all its faults Llanelli can boast some truly ace curry houses. But there again so can most towns and cities in the UK.

We noshed and chatted, I was driving so I managed to stay awake the whole time, and not embarrass myself again. Wynn and Jac introduced us to the delights of “Outnumbered” which we watched on DVD. Jamesy had also recommended this show. It was very fucking funny, so we bought the whole shebang on DVD the next day.

 

Thursday 29/12/11

Woke up late again. I love it!

We had a very pleasant morning, and drove our way out to the Wesh countryside, this we had planned for some time. We had a pub lunch and met some really lovely people there. All of which turned out great, and made the holiday a more sublime and wonderful experience.

After a getting back, and the girls having a  nap, we decided to go to the gym again, fitness freaks that we are! It was easy to get inspired to go as the gym was so well set up. After a workout, and while the girls swam, I had a steam bath. I got chatting to an old boy who was in there the same time as me, when he found out I lived in Aus he had a tale to tell. Apparently he was going to be a “Ten Pound Pom”. He had everything set up, sold all he had, moved out of home. But with less than a week to go, he had got cold feet and not gone. He’d regretted it all his life, and had never visited Aus.

Sad tale eh?

We went shopping in Tesco after this, another case of; “Look at this, this looks  yum!” and “Have you seen the bloody price on this, we’d pay four times as much in Canberra!” and “Bloody hell it’s on two for one!” and “Can we get three types, oh bugger it, get all five,” and “Please can I buy this cheese Lee-Anne? And that one? And this one?” We must have seemed quite mad to the other customers. Well, we are a more than a bit doolally, so no worries eh?

We got back a bit later than planned, I rang Jamesy, as we’d planned our boys night out for this night. “We‘re leaving now. Rachel will drop me at the Greenfield, see you there.” Oh toss, I’m late! I rushed to get ready, threw on my best togs, kissed the girls goodbye and hurried out into the rain. I was half way to the Greenfied, when my phone went off; “Where are you Thom, we’re just about to leave.” To say the air turned blue would be an understatement,  just think of all the best swear words you know, string them together and intersperse them with; “half way down Queen Vic fucking road,” and “soaked though to the fucking skin,” and “pick me up from my mothers house”.

I walked back to Mam’s, steaming. I had a cuppa with her and she pulled out some old coins  she had collected over the years, and she wondered if they had any value. Fucked if I know. She does things like this, last time I was back it was vinyl albums she wanted valued. I told her I’d ask Lee-Anne to have a look on the net for her, to see if she could find anything out. (One of them turned out to be worth thirty odd quid. Another if it had been in good knick, even more.) Jamesy and Rachel turned up, complete with Ratty, and kindly  transported me to the Greenfield. Entering the Greenfield was a surreal experience. The first thing we noticed was tables and tables of food had been laid out. “Nice of them to lay those on, they must have known I was back,” I thought. The second thing we noticed was that the pub was half full of thugs, very nasty looking thugs, thugs dressed in black suits and black ties, with worn down frumpy and very bitter looking women with them. We’d imposed ourselves on the wake for a thug’s granny. Oh dear god.

Keith and Pickles soon arrived, and we decide that, discretion being the best part of valour, we’d leg it as soon as our pints were empty. So we did. The beer was shite in any case.

We found ourselves at what used to be called “La Caprice”, the humour in who’s name can only be found if you can pronounce it in a broad Llanelli chav accent. It’s now called “Boleros”,  and whoever came up with that name deserves an award for “not thinking things through fully”.  (“Where are we going tonight? Fancy a few pints down at “Bollocks?””)

 I’ve just had a funny memory while writing this. Opposite Boleros is the “Llanelli Entertainment Centre”. It was Llanelli Cinema when I was a kid. We used to pay six (old) pence to go to Saturday morning cinema there. There they showed cartoons, and Laurel and Hardy shorts, and action stuff like cowboy shows, just for kids, it was a weekend treat for us. One thing I remember seeing there more than once, was a film of “The Happy Wanderer” which was screened, complete with German Mountain scenery. The lyrics were shown with a bouncing ball for you to follow them and sing along with.

I love to go a-wandering,
Along the mountain track,
And as I go, I love to sing,
My knapsack on my back.
Val-deri,Val-dera,
Val-deri,
Val-dera-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Val-deri,Val-dera.
My knapsack on my back.

Once, I remember vividly, a fat man in a suit got up and sang in front of the screen, and “conducted us” in singing with him. It wasn’t till years later that I had the gumption to think, “What the fuck was all that about”? We were scrotey horrible kids from Morfa, Seaside, and other “salubrious” areas of Llanelli. We’d never even seen a fucking mountain, let alone a German one, and the prospect of us going tramping over them with a knapsack on our back was so remote, well you may as well have said we were enjoyed going hitchhiking on the moon! Mam would have had a fit at the thought of us going further afield than Swansea, dad would have belted us for asking for a frigging “Knapsack.”

The last time I had been at this “Boleros” place with Jamesy and Ratty, I had flashed my arse at them while I was leaving. I was hoping that no one would remember the event. Or maybe I was hoping that people would remember, as I’ve got a lovely arse which deserves much admiration. We got stuck into the booze, switching from beers to wine (Jamesy and Ratty,) and me to Scotch. Keith got quite emotional at one point, bless. Pickles didn’t stay late, as he was doing a 4.30am shift at the post office the next morning, unfortunately, so we didn’t get to witness much of the guy doing his comedy routines. Pickles is one of the greatest natural comedians I have ever known. We had a great chat, as, apart from us, the pace was empty, with only a few herds of llanelli slappers, who prowled in and out looking for fresh young male prey. Ratty got very serious at one point, and very encouraging about our mutual love of writing, telling me I “should do more, you’ve got the knack,” which was very touching. So that’s enough of that sort of thing, we’re Llanelli boys for fuck’s sake, so I’ll call him a twat here so it goes no further.

All good things must end, and at god knows what time, I had to stagger home in the rain, leaving them lot to catch a taxi. I was so pissed I forgot to flash my arse at them.

Friday 29/12/11

I woke up feeling rather less than happy, for some strange reason. Possibly to do with the thumping hangover I had. I texted Jamsey and Ratty, to thank them for a great night out, but mainly to find out if I had done anything embarrassing/emotional/criminal, and what to expect as a consequence. Neither of them mentioned me removing my clothes, swearing undying love to Llanelli, or being caught with a sheep, so I felt a little better. Ratty informed me he was on his way to take his kids ten pin bowling, the man must have the constitution of an ox!

After a call into Mam’s, we went into town. Bethy was delighted at Llanelli’s range of shoe shops, and even more delighted at the low prices there. She bought herself some cracking shoes. We stopped into the market, and had Welshcakes and a mug of tea. It was the best mug of tea I have had, outside of home, in ages. Just so the girls could continue their shopping extravaganza we drove out to the retail park once more. The girls were like kids in sweetshops, or clothes shops rather, as the changing rooms had been opened! Luckily I bumped into Wynn and Dylan, and left the girls too it. Us boys went off, and Dylan changed a game at the local games store. The shop was run by a perfect “Comic Book Guy”, so good I that, when we reunited, I took Bethy and Lee-Anne there to see him .

After leaving Wynn and Dylan, I headed into HMV. There I got  the Remastered Fawlty Towers DVD, I’ve wanted that for a while. Here’s what I paid for it, now here is what it costs in Aus, can you see why I was so chuffed? I also got Bethy another “Poirot” box set, she’s collecting the whole series,  and the “Outnumbered” box set I told you about before.

Bethy had bought herself a new outfit, and Lee-Anne had got herself a lovely red duffle coat, at Laura Ashley none the less, for half price.

We called up to see Wynn and Jac and co one last time before we left. Jac gave us each one of the real trendy handmade scarves she makes, they are great, I look dead cool in mine. Then Bron sang a song for us, accompanied by Wynn on guitar. When I say sang, I mean god that girl can sing! She’s got a range that most would kill for, and sings in a tone that makes her sound far more mature than her 17 yrs. She could be a major talent if she had a  mind to. I was envious as hell, and told her so, which made her laugh. She should think herself lucky, I could have demonstrated why I was so envious, and sung for her, that would have stopped her laughing. (I’ve asked Wynn for an acapella version of the song, I want to work Bron’s vocals into my next “Hard House floor filler”.)

We took a trip to the gym, had a workout and a spa, then grabbed some ready meals from Tescos, and headed back to the flat. We packed, it was our last night in Llanelli!