For a number of reasons I will now recount, I’m lucky to have made it out alive.
The one thing that will stick in my mind from my visit to Welshland is a rather odd, but comfortably stereotypical one. I saw a sheep on a road.
Not just a minor road next to a field. A road in a town. And the sheep used a pedestrian crossing. As I only came upon the road-traversing woolly one as it was completing it’s adventure, I’m not sure if it had actually waited for the lights to change. There wasn’t much traffic around, so maybe it didn’t bother pressing the button.
Part of my weekend of fun, excitement and adventure involved clambering up a really rather large hill, which I was told had been Snowed-On, but I didn’t see any. Mind you, there was a railway line and a cafe at the top, so some frozen precipitation didn’t seem that unlikely.
Regrettably, I forgot the fact that if you’re really knackered somewhere near the top, you’re in jumbo helpings of trouble by the time you’ve got back down again. Still, my Damon Hill baseball cap from 1997 had a nice day out, clinging desperately to the top of my head in gale force winds, even if my knees didn’t enjoy themselves quite as much.
Apparently, the modern world hasn’t reached some parts of Wales either. I was served a pint of something that was allegedly a cappuccino, or at least could have been. Unfortunately, most of the ground coffee was down the outside of the mug, which might have explained it’s notable lack of coffee flavour. I might be being picky, but coffee should really taste of coffee. The froth on top also vanished as soon as a spoon approached. So, a cup of very hot water, with a hint of milk, and a suggestion of coffee. Must try harder.
Escaping slightly ahead of schedule, I then met with the wonder that is Health & Safety. I couldn’t get a seat on the train (of course), so opted to stand in the doorway of the buffet carriage. I ordered a nice hot cappuccino (which a machine did far more effectively than the cafe earlier) and accepted the fact that a lid would be put on it, to prevent me spilling it.
The nice chap behind the counter then went to put it in one of those strangely tiny paper bags with handles. Being an environmentally friendly sort (I’ve been recycling my jokes for years), I said “don’t bother with the bag”. The chap smiled, in a resigned kind of way, and said “I have to, sir. Health & Safety”. I needed to transport it a whole 2 feet. As the train was, for some reason, hotter than the surface of the sun, I decided not to argue.
I’ve never been so pleased to see the familiar stonework of Lancaster station, and know I was almost home. Cumbria is quite sane, really.
This post first appeared in my 'Thank grumpy it's Friday' column in the North West Evening Mail on the 21st of June 2013, where it was retitled 'Welsh drinks cause a stir'. You can view the version used by the paper here For a change, it seems to have gone in unedited.
In hindsight, this does sound quite like a whiney, middle-class, bunch of grumbling about relatively unimportant subjects. Actually, that's exactly what it is.
That's my own photo of the sheep mentioned in the article. I may take up a career in reportage-style photography next.
Having been woken at 3.45am this morning by men in uniforms, I think I may have a topic already lined up for next Friday...
(Listening to They Might Be Giants - "Here Comes Science". You're never too old to learn something.)
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