Holiday in Wales, Part 1
Gentle reader, it would not be unreasonable for you to wonder why our brave hero and heroine have just returned from Wales, rather than the originally promised Destination: Lapland. This is because, after spending a good eighteen months researching the best places to holiday in Finland for husky sledding, snowboarding, ski mobiling, northern light watching, and other heady adventures, (a destination I might add, originally chosen by the male member of the family), a Certain Person changed his mind!
Why Wales then, you might ask, not unreasonably (especially if you are my sister, who has Welshophobia). Because, dear reader, I'm fackin' fed up of holidays where being drenched in a downpour on is the order of the day, but spells disaster, of camping in muddy hedges and Rain in Spain. It's like I have my own personal raincloud which follows me about. Colleagues have started checking my social diary before they book their own engagements. "Going out this weekend Lucy? Oh okay, think I'll give the park a miss then".
ANYWAY - the order of the day was cozy, snuggly accomodation, log fires and hot tubs, blankets and warm beds. And if it rains - who cares?!
So, naturally, the weather was beautiful all week...
In an exceptionally good mood, I picked up our hire car later than expected, but was delighted with out tiny but nippy little Toyota Aygo. Just the sort of car I love to drive - little and cute, corners on the head of a pin, but speedy for its size. I just adore driving, and the roads in Wales are perfect for exploring - beautiful scenery, unknown landscapes unfolding, hardy any traffic.
We had two nights booked at the B&B and then four nights in a cottage further west, giving us the best of both worlds. The journey up was smooth, quick, and almost over too soon. I am recently coming back from a period in the wilderness, musically speaking, and my interest is sparking into a flame again. Musically, Rhandolph and I have very divergent tastes, with a small area in the middle where we cross over. We had just the best time in the car torturing each other with opposing musical choices. R began the offensive with motorhead. I pronounced it a thunderous din, and countered with Shakira. He claimed it was girlie nonsense and defended with Linkin Park, although in a surprise move, I undercut him by admitting to being quite partial to them when in the right frame of mind. In a sly riposte he espoused a similar partiality for Natasha Atlas, a claim I'm still not sure I believe.
I'm mostly doing a Latin/ Arabic/ Tribal thing with my musical taste recently, but my roots are still in something much more hardcore and grubby, and they throb in response to anything with the golden combination of:
A) Big Fuck Off Guitars
B) Pretty Melodic Riffs
C) Thumping Great Big Beat
D) A singer who can actually sing - passion really is important but should be ALONGSIDE skill and technique, not a replacement for it
and for extra added Throb:
E) Squelchy, Cybery-Techno lines
R introduced me to Eisbrecher on the way up, a surprise winner in categories A, B, C and D. To this epic band we arrived triumphantly at our first destination. We've stayed at this absolutely cracking B&B a couple of times before, and this time was no less delightful. Our room contained a huge square japanese bath among its enticements. After a quick walk where R let off some steam by running about and looking at sticks, we had a go in their garden hot tub and looked up at the stars.
We also had the first of several fantastic meals - otherwise known as Being Killed with Kindness. God, the food there is amazing but they are all 'just a little bit more - don't you want pudding? What are you, a man or a mouse?" and after a while it's all "please, please no, save me! Arrrgh, get away from me with those buttered mushrooms! NOooooo, stop feeding me ice cream!" I was fantasising about lettuce after the first day. Even R started to twitch when confronted with pork products, and that's positively unnatural.
The Resident Cat, a rotund black and white fluffpot, took a fancy to me, which he expressed through the medium of biting and licking my ankles. I had to push him off politely with my toes whilst carrying on a conversation with the owners. It was simultaneously socially embarassing, painful, and cute at the same time!
Why Wales then, you might ask, not unreasonably (especially if you are my sister, who has Welshophobia). Because, dear reader, I'm fackin' fed up of holidays where being drenched in a downpour on is the order of the day, but spells disaster, of camping in muddy hedges and Rain in Spain. It's like I have my own personal raincloud which follows me about. Colleagues have started checking my social diary before they book their own engagements. "Going out this weekend Lucy? Oh okay, think I'll give the park a miss then".
ANYWAY - the order of the day was cozy, snuggly accomodation, log fires and hot tubs, blankets and warm beds. And if it rains - who cares?!
So, naturally, the weather was beautiful all week...
In an exceptionally good mood, I picked up our hire car later than expected, but was delighted with out tiny but nippy little Toyota Aygo. Just the sort of car I love to drive - little and cute, corners on the head of a pin, but speedy for its size. I just adore driving, and the roads in Wales are perfect for exploring - beautiful scenery, unknown landscapes unfolding, hardy any traffic.
We had two nights booked at the B&B and then four nights in a cottage further west, giving us the best of both worlds. The journey up was smooth, quick, and almost over too soon. I am recently coming back from a period in the wilderness, musically speaking, and my interest is sparking into a flame again. Musically, Rhandolph and I have very divergent tastes, with a small area in the middle where we cross over. We had just the best time in the car torturing each other with opposing musical choices. R began the offensive with motorhead. I pronounced it a thunderous din, and countered with Shakira. He claimed it was girlie nonsense and defended with Linkin Park, although in a surprise move, I undercut him by admitting to being quite partial to them when in the right frame of mind. In a sly riposte he espoused a similar partiality for Natasha Atlas, a claim I'm still not sure I believe.
I'm mostly doing a Latin/ Arabic/ Tribal thing with my musical taste recently, but my roots are still in something much more hardcore and grubby, and they throb in response to anything with the golden combination of:
A) Big Fuck Off Guitars
B) Pretty Melodic Riffs
C) Thumping Great Big Beat
D) A singer who can actually sing - passion really is important but should be ALONGSIDE skill and technique, not a replacement for it
and for extra added Throb:
E) Squelchy, Cybery-Techno lines
R introduced me to Eisbrecher on the way up, a surprise winner in categories A, B, C and D. To this epic band we arrived triumphantly at our first destination. We've stayed at this absolutely cracking B&B a couple of times before, and this time was no less delightful. Our room contained a huge square japanese bath among its enticements. After a quick walk where R let off some steam by running about and looking at sticks, we had a go in their garden hot tub and looked up at the stars.
We also had the first of several fantastic meals - otherwise known as Being Killed with Kindness. God, the food there is amazing but they are all 'just a little bit more - don't you want pudding? What are you, a man or a mouse?" and after a while it's all "please, please no, save me! Arrrgh, get away from me with those buttered mushrooms! NOooooo, stop feeding me ice cream!" I was fantasising about lettuce after the first day. Even R started to twitch when confronted with pork products, and that's positively unnatural.
The Resident Cat, a rotund black and white fluffpot, took a fancy to me, which he expressed through the medium of biting and licking my ankles. I had to push him off politely with my toes whilst carrying on a conversation with the owners. It was simultaneously socially embarassing, painful, and cute at the same time!