Tales from the Celtic Caravan – Part 4

The CB and I lived on the west coast of Tasmania many years ago. Heading west from there the first landfall is Argentina so the weather was pretty wild. It had nothing on Aberystwyth. We were stupid enough to walk along the sea-front promenade from our hotel at one end to the castle at the other end. Copacabana it was not.

We may as well have been walking on the beach because a major proportion of the grit which made up the beach had been deposited by the wind onto the footpath and onto the road. Consequently we expected Cuz 2’s BMW to be paintless on the upwind side. Being parked a few metres from the seawall meant it was also being washed by the waves crashing over the wall when the tide was in.

Moving on, we went to a place which epitomises the saying “verbal diarrhea”. The name of this place is Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. How the hell do you pronounce a word with four consecutive L’s in it let alone 14 consecutive consonants. If you are the slightest bit interested, this place name means “The church of Mary in the hollow of the white hazel near the fierce whirlpool and the church of Tysilio by the red cave”. I suspect I have missed some capital letters there but frankly, I lost interest about a quarter of the way through.

After the South Pole-like conditions of Aberystwyth, surprise, surprise, it’s blue sky over Conwy (that’s not a typo – there’s no “a” after the “w”) today but the weather is as random as daffodils which incidentally grow anywhere and are as ubiquitous as sheep.

We have been rather lucky with the weather in respect of rain. It’s been ear-snappingly cold and the wind has been rapier-like but the rain has held off most of the time – that’s a small blessing. It’s been pretty bleak as well and that’s been a good thing, for me anyway. Those of you who have read all of this blog will have noted my occasional  ambivalence…..no that’s the wrong word…..hatred of “power generating” (ha!) windmills. Bleakness has limited visibility meaning the hundreds of these monstrosities parked a mile or so offshore are largely invisible which is as they should be considering how useless they are in the overall scheme of things.

Llandudno is a very pretty place with an interesting coastline (for the geologically / geomorphologically inclined) but shift your gaze to the open sea and it encounters a veritable forest of those things. Way to stuff up a nice view.

Notwithstanding the windmills, the major consideration at the moment is whether we are stuck here in the UK or whether we’ll be eventually allowed to go home. I expect the boffins will come up with a cure for the coronavirus before long (long before they find one for the Welsh language) but I suspect that won’t be in time to have any impact on our personal situation. So with life as we know it being cancelled in great swathes, for us – Cuz 1, Cuz 2, the CB and me, the intrepid travellers – life goes on. But for Liverpool supporters whose football team is on the cusp of winning their first EPL title in the 30 years existence of the Premier League, the suspension (or quelle horreur, the cancellation) of the competition would be like the cancellation of lunch for Mr Creosote (a Monty Python’s Meaning of Life character, if you were wondering).