You are like the Cyclops of Greek myth, except you are Scottish AND I HATE YOU.

Okay. Welsh holiday didn’t go exactly as planned.

The positives:
– Battered Black Country chips in Ludlow on the way were entertaining.
– Hovertexts about the Demo/Soldier War update were delicious.
– Bought a snazzy new raincoat in Betws.
– It’s a beautiful country.
– We met fun people.
– Bacon.
– I am home and warm.

The failures:
– Upon arrival at Frongoch, the heating and electricity were both out. The electricity didn’t get better.
– Call from Nathan just before losing signal. Auntie Susan fell off her bike. Already… it’s unpleasant but accurate to say “emaciated” from overwork and anorexia, she broke basically everything and was airlifted to hospital in London.
– No signal – phone or internet – in the Llanberis valley. But we knew this already. Not helpful.
– Mount Snowdon in winter is murder. Frozen waterfalls are gorgeous. But not easy to climb. Took the Miners’ Track and gave up fifteen metres into the serious ascent, at about the third mile of the track.
– Having a pub lunch in “The Saracen’s Head” in Beddgelert, got a call from, of all places, the University of Birmingham telling me my wallet had been found. In Betws.
– Driving back from Porthmadoc/Portmeirion (as magical as ever), with sudden snow covering the roads, Dad crashed the car hard into a wall with all of us inside.

Daisychained power strips from the single functioning socket next to the boiler allowed for basic essentials (kettle, fridge, toaster, laptop), though there was a constant squabble of phone chargers. After fifteen minutes of back-and-forth phone calls with Debbie of North Wales Police and the answerphone of PC Mark Warmsley, eventually arranged to pick my wallet up from the camping shop I’d left it at. After which, while following Mum around Betws on a fruitless hunt for trousers, saw a large policeman who turned out to be PC Warmsley. Thanked him. He was a cool guy.

Car’s front left wheel pretty comprehensively screwed, machine undrivable though nobody hurt, getting it repaired/recovered is a steadily unfolding drama. Holiday cut short at great expense in train/taxi fares, abandoning our bulkier luggage in Frongoch like a frosty Dunkirk. Family scattered across the country – me and brothers home, mum to London to visit Susan, Dad still in Wales to unscrew things.

But still. I’m home.


3 thoughts on “You are like the Cyclops of Greek myth, except you are Scottish AND I HATE YOU.

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