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Aug. 2nd, 2006 07:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eiffel_71We set off at 8 am on Saturday. Stopped in Shrewsbury, where we had lunch (a delicious KFC) then my mother hit the clothes and shoe shops while I took refuge in the Virgin Megastore. It wasn’t long before the instore radio played a song I fell in love with – well, it was a girl group singing in Shampoo/Fuzzbox style voices over a guitar backing, with ballsy lyrics “I don’t want you, it’s just a one night stand”. How could I resist? I’d missed the announcement at the start of the song, and the DJ didn’t name the group again at the end, so I went over to the checkouts and asked the staff what the song had been. After a false start – they initially thought I meant the next song, the one currently playing – we established the group was The Pipettes, but a shop assistant searched in vain for the song both on the singles racks and in the store. Finally he checked his screen again and realised that it hadn’t been released as a single, but was only a track on the girls’ album. He offered to fetch the album for me : how could I refuse after he’d gone to all that trouble already? So I did a tenner of my spending money before we even got to Wales.
We had no trouble with traffic until Minffordd, less than ten miles from our destination, when we hit the back of a jam and barely moved an inch for nearly half an hour. While we were sitting there I got a text from Aunt Marian saying “Don’t come thru Porthmadog, still in Q about 4 miles already.” She suggested we bypass Porthmadog by turning off towards Beddgelert then turning back towards our destination later. So we did.
The B&B was, really, in the middle of nowhere. All around was nothing but fields and the odd other isolated house. As we arrived we met up with Gran, Aunt Jean, Uncle Graham, Ken, Yvonne, Trev and Kath, said quick hellos, collected our keys then headed for our rooms to unpack. I unpacked in ten minutes then crashed out on the bed for the hour we had before setting off for dinner at The Goat Inn.
The Goat was about a mile from the B&B, also pretty isolated, and was almost The Perfect Pub – only almost because of the lack of real ale other than bitter, but I was perfectly happy with cider and black, especially the ones bought by Aunt Eileen and Ken The bar staff were most friendly, the clientele seemed a jolly lot, and on the notice board, among the taxi firm adverts and ‘well done’ cards from various charities, was the fixture list for Porthmadog Football Club. After getting our initial drinks we headed for the dining area, where a long table had been set out for us all, everyone said hello to everyone else, and we all caught up with each other’s news from the past year over dinner (in my case, an absolutely lovely duck a l’orange).
After a choice of dessert – I went for perfect fresh strawberries – we all discussed what we were going to do next day. There was a general consensus that we’d go on one of the narrow gauge steam railways that Wales is famous for, but about four different railways were within reach so I was dispatched to the bar to collect some of the tourist information leaflets on offer on a rack there, and then sent back for more. Each time, as I was passing the bar anyway I took the chance to get a drink. On my first venture to the bar, I smiled at a young lady who smiled back, but by my next visit she was nowhere to be seen
We said we’d visit another attraction as well as go on a railway, so my mother went out to the bar and came back with a slew more leaflets. The table was soon awash with glossy paper. She’d included some on Portmeirion; naturally, as a Prisoner fan, I was all for going there, but only she and I were interested At 11 pm we drove back to the B&B with plans for next day still undecided, everyone agreeing to carry on the discussion there. I, though, was absolutely knackered, so withdrew to my room and left them to it.
At breakfast, after my mother had unthinkingly asked for a “full English” then flown her hand to her mouth and corrected herself to “full Welsh”, the others announced that we were going to Swallow Falls then on to the Llanberis Lake Railway. Swallow Falls was quite pleasant, lots of waterfalls (and, for several of our party, an excuse for lots of photos), then we crossed the road to the café to plan our route to Llanberis. As it was still only 12 noon we initially decided just to have a cup of coffee, till I asked whether we’d be having lunch at Llanberis. Trevor, over-dramatically, turned to face me and declaimed “You’ve had a big breakfast, and you’re having a big meal tonight!” I turned to my mother who was discussing possible lunch with Gran, and declaimed even more dramatically “There are some people talking about EATING NOTHING AT ALL between breakfast and evening meal!”
“That’s us,” said Trev, but Yvonne wasn’t fooled : “Watch what he puts on his tray now,” she said. Trev picked up the whole basket of Bakewell tarts and pretended to put them on his tray. We all went for a cake each with our drinks.
On the drive Ken and Trev had us stop at the roadside by some hills for photos – lots of people took loads, in various combinations. At Llanberis, I bought a postcard for Ann in the gift shop, wrote it, affixed the stamp I’d bought at a garage en route and popped over the road to post it as we waited for the train. It was a nice train ride, offering a lovely view of Lake Padarn and the trees and mountains around, including the majestic Snowdon. On the way back we got off at the penultimate stop to visit the Welsh Slate Museum, which was fascinating. There were placards telling the history of Welsh slate production and export, lots of the machinery used in slate mining through the centuries, and a 50 foot waterwheel. We also had a demonstration by a slate carver, who made a couple of preliminary notches in the top edge of a piece of slate then carved it right through, into two perfect halves. There was a shop selling house name and number plaques, with a notice saying how Welsh slate is the best in the world and by buying one of these plaques you’re preserving a vital piece of Welsh heritage. If I’d had a home of my own to stick it on, I’d have bought one.
On the platform waiting for the train back to Llanberis, Graham and Bev engaged me in a conversation about the World Cup. We sympathised with Zinedine Zidane, but I couldn’t agree with Bev that Rooney was innocent. You just don’t stamp on an opponent’s Jacobs, though she protested that Costinha deserved it. Bit of England-fan bias there, I think. Aunt Eileen came up halfway through our conversation and immediately groaned at the realisation we were talking about football. Back at Llanberis we went to the café by the Snowdon Mountain Railway next door. I had a first class lamb burger and a tub of locally made blackcurrant and cream ice cream.
We stopped in Beddgelert on the drive back and hit the gift shops. I got some home made Welsh fudge.
That evening we went back to The Goat for our farewell meal, first-class Welsh lamb. More drinks flowed, people showed each other holiday snaps, Gran gave everybody little gifts (I got a pack of cards with Snowdon on the back) and, as the people with little kids left earlier, the last hour or so of the evening was given over to fond drawn-out goodbyes, especially between those who wouldn’t see each other in the morning. I got plenty of stick when it became known I’d be travelling back by train, with Gran and others making jokes about me “not wanting to” drive back with her and my mother, but when I explained I was going by train so as to make it to Havant & Waterlooville’s friendly with Portsmouth, and that I was already having to miss their three other friendlies, everyone was OK. When she said goodbye to us Aunt Eileen said “After all that, I hope they win,” while Ken’s farewell was “I hope, by some miracle, your football team win”. At the time, I never thought for a moment that the Hawks might actually beat our Premier neighbours…
Leaving The Goat and saying goodbye to their friendly staff (my mother had made a speech thanking them and led us in a toast when our waiter and waitress entered the dining room towards the end of the night) I thought to myself : I could live here. Well, dreams are free.
On the train ride on Monday morning, at Dovey Junction our train was withdrawn and we all had to pile onto another one across the platform. Then at Machynlleth, those of us who were travelling beyond Shrewsbury had to move to the front two coaches! There were several unexplained delays, and we got to Birmingham 15 minutes late – just enough for me to miss my connection to Guildford. Just then, one of the handles of my admittedly well-filled carrier bag burst. Because my ticket was specific for particular trains, I was gloomily convinced I’d have to pay up for a full single fare from Birmingham to Havant, but thankfully the lady at the enquiry desk marked my existing ticket valid for the next service to Reading then another train to Guildford. With that sorted, I went to WH Smith, bought a bar of chocolate and asked the lady at the till for a carrier bag, sadly explaining and showing my burst one. She was a bit bemused, but gave me one.
West Leigh Park was packed full when I arrived just after 7. I got a burger and chips from the tea hut then found a rare spare seat. Portsmouth fielded a side with a couple of regular starters and a lot of squad players. It was no surprise that the ground was full of Pompey fans, but the four young guys behind me spent much of the first half disparaging Havant & Waterlooville FC, slating Dean Holdsworth for being ‘old’ and scoffing at a couple of Hawks fans who cheered him on. So imagine my delight when after half an hour Deano put Havant in the lead! The lads behind me switched to moaning about their own players then. Portsmouth equalised but I was cool, just hoping we’d hold on to the draw. For most of the second half there didn’t look much prospect of any further score, I sat there willing time to pass, still just hoping to hold the draw, then in the last ten minutes Rocky Baptiste gave us the lead! We Hawks fans raised the roof while, all round the ground, all the Pompey fans surrounding us fell dead quiet (apart from a group of nutters behind one of the goals who never stopped chanting). But even better was to come as, with a couple of minutes left, Brett Poate slammed home a beautiful shot. 3-1 TO THE SUPER HAWKS!
As the final whistle went (the ref gave no stoppage time at all in either half, perhaps to offset the 10 minute delay to the kick-off, but I wasn’t complaining), and delirious Hawks and sober Pompey fans filed out of the ground, I thought about all the relatives who’d asked me whether it was really worth rushing back from Wales early to see the game. YOU BET.
Back home, waiting for me was a £58.72 mobile phone bill, thanks largely to my multiple voting to try and save Lisa. It’s the fact that it was all in vain that hurts. With that bill and the £75 for hiring my suit for Hardcore Sue’s wedding, the memories of that night’s football will have to last me for a while, as I’m left unable to afford any games in August. My pint with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
whalefish will have to wait until 14 April at Farnborough. My copy of the new FourFourTwo was also awaiting me, but with several pages missing from the season preview.
Yesterday my mother hosted Civic Day, where all the mayors and council chairmen from Hampshire visit and we show them the sights of the town. At Haslar Hospital, we were given a ‘comfort break’; I came out of the gents to find everyone had disappeared, so took out my mobile phone and rang FourFourTwo to tell them about the missing pages. As I was talking to the girl at the other end, I heard my mother give me a shout and wave me on, so, still talking on the phone, I followed her out to the quad where everyone was waiting to do the photo call. The girl promised to send me another season preview, I told my mother truthfully that I’d just come out of the jacks and found everyone gone, and she said “Sorry, I thought we were walking slow enough.” I again used ‘Drinks’ as my ‘smile word’, prompting Michelle to joke that I was offering everyone free drinks…
The 17th Century Village was wonderful as always. We started with ‘Master John the Moneyer’ showing us how threepenny bits were minted in those days, by putting a blank coin between two blocks of wood containing the dies with the pattern on and hammering. Richard from Havant took out a modern pound coin and asked Master John if he’d mint him some of those. All the re-enactors were brilliant, making their parts come alive and calling us all ‘master’ and ‘mistress’. They weren’t able to share their 17th century food with us because of health and safety regulations, but at the end of our tour, as well as being given one of Master John’s threepenny bits each, there was old-fashioned lemonade and ‘small beer’ (really shandy) awaiting us, plus some 21st century fruit tart.
It was only at lunch that I learned, much to my chagrin, that I’d missed out on a different tart. Jim, Maria and Richard began talking about ‘the village wench’. It turned out there’d been a voluptuous young lady going about the village in character as a 17th century lady of easy virtue. Richard said he’d found her very pleasing indeed, so I said he should have got Master John to mint him a threepenny bit to offer her for her favours, and Richard said he’d have wanted sixpence’s worth… Maria was her usual lively self through lunch, first saying to Richard, who was in subdued mood because of personal family stuff, “Tell me, I’m your girlfriend,” then later telling me “Richard thinks I’m his girlfriend, he doesn’t know I’m yours too.” Lunch overran, giving my mother a near apoplexy as it looked like we were now going to miss the Royal Army Medical Corps band concert down at the ferry gardens altogether (she’d planned to take in the last half hour) but Michelle was an angel and ran down there and persuaded them to play on for 15 more minutes when we arrived.
From there we went on to the Hovercraft Museum, then back to the Town Hall where Michelle made me a cup of coffee to drink while she did some paperwork and my mother and Jan divvied up the leftover food from the buffet. Then home to rest and feast my eyes on the report on Hawks v Portsmouth in The News! I had a wee smile when I read the St Albans friendly tonight was off after a couple of our players took knocks in the Pompey match, as that’s one less game I’m missing.
Back to work today. Early on I passed Lesley and told her it looked like Mikey was going. She showed no emotion either way, so I added a “Yes!”
“Are you fed up with him?” she asked.
“Yes, kick him out. He’s a karzi rat!” I replied. Lesley and Sarah laughed, then Lesley said “I don’t really notice him”…
The shift, thankfully, passed without incident. Towards the end a lady called Cathy walked up and slipped me a note offering me a lift home as Sarah #2 was away. We had a nice chat on the drive and she offered to do the same for me tomorrow. What an angel.
This evening was the rehearsal for Hardcore Sue’s wedding. Father Ted was surprised to see me, as he’d had no idea Sue and I knew each other. He took Sue, James, best man Matt and matron of honour Sam through a quick run-through of the ceremony, quickly explained my duties to me at the end – I just have to stand at the back of the church as people come in, telling them which side to sit if they ask - and asked me how the mayoral functions were going. Sue and James both confessed to a touch of nerves, but judging by tonight they’ll be fine. Afterwards Sue gave me my cuff-links (with a little ‘Usher’ cartoon on) and dropped me at the top of my street. Home for a quick rest, then dinner, then to the PC to type all this… Got to go watch BB. ’Night folks.
We had no trouble with traffic until Minffordd, less than ten miles from our destination, when we hit the back of a jam and barely moved an inch for nearly half an hour. While we were sitting there I got a text from Aunt Marian saying “Don’t come thru Porthmadog, still in Q about 4 miles already.” She suggested we bypass Porthmadog by turning off towards Beddgelert then turning back towards our destination later. So we did.
The B&B was, really, in the middle of nowhere. All around was nothing but fields and the odd other isolated house. As we arrived we met up with Gran, Aunt Jean, Uncle Graham, Ken, Yvonne, Trev and Kath, said quick hellos, collected our keys then headed for our rooms to unpack. I unpacked in ten minutes then crashed out on the bed for the hour we had before setting off for dinner at The Goat Inn.
The Goat was about a mile from the B&B, also pretty isolated, and was almost The Perfect Pub – only almost because of the lack of real ale other than bitter, but I was perfectly happy with cider and black, especially the ones bought by Aunt Eileen and Ken The bar staff were most friendly, the clientele seemed a jolly lot, and on the notice board, among the taxi firm adverts and ‘well done’ cards from various charities, was the fixture list for Porthmadog Football Club. After getting our initial drinks we headed for the dining area, where a long table had been set out for us all, everyone said hello to everyone else, and we all caught up with each other’s news from the past year over dinner (in my case, an absolutely lovely duck a l’orange).
After a choice of dessert – I went for perfect fresh strawberries – we all discussed what we were going to do next day. There was a general consensus that we’d go on one of the narrow gauge steam railways that Wales is famous for, but about four different railways were within reach so I was dispatched to the bar to collect some of the tourist information leaflets on offer on a rack there, and then sent back for more. Each time, as I was passing the bar anyway I took the chance to get a drink. On my first venture to the bar, I smiled at a young lady who smiled back, but by my next visit she was nowhere to be seen
We said we’d visit another attraction as well as go on a railway, so my mother went out to the bar and came back with a slew more leaflets. The table was soon awash with glossy paper. She’d included some on Portmeirion; naturally, as a Prisoner fan, I was all for going there, but only she and I were interested At 11 pm we drove back to the B&B with plans for next day still undecided, everyone agreeing to carry on the discussion there. I, though, was absolutely knackered, so withdrew to my room and left them to it.
At breakfast, after my mother had unthinkingly asked for a “full English” then flown her hand to her mouth and corrected herself to “full Welsh”, the others announced that we were going to Swallow Falls then on to the Llanberis Lake Railway. Swallow Falls was quite pleasant, lots of waterfalls (and, for several of our party, an excuse for lots of photos), then we crossed the road to the café to plan our route to Llanberis. As it was still only 12 noon we initially decided just to have a cup of coffee, till I asked whether we’d be having lunch at Llanberis. Trevor, over-dramatically, turned to face me and declaimed “You’ve had a big breakfast, and you’re having a big meal tonight!” I turned to my mother who was discussing possible lunch with Gran, and declaimed even more dramatically “There are some people talking about EATING NOTHING AT ALL between breakfast and evening meal!”
“That’s us,” said Trev, but Yvonne wasn’t fooled : “Watch what he puts on his tray now,” she said. Trev picked up the whole basket of Bakewell tarts and pretended to put them on his tray. We all went for a cake each with our drinks.
On the drive Ken and Trev had us stop at the roadside by some hills for photos – lots of people took loads, in various combinations. At Llanberis, I bought a postcard for Ann in the gift shop, wrote it, affixed the stamp I’d bought at a garage en route and popped over the road to post it as we waited for the train. It was a nice train ride, offering a lovely view of Lake Padarn and the trees and mountains around, including the majestic Snowdon. On the way back we got off at the penultimate stop to visit the Welsh Slate Museum, which was fascinating. There were placards telling the history of Welsh slate production and export, lots of the machinery used in slate mining through the centuries, and a 50 foot waterwheel. We also had a demonstration by a slate carver, who made a couple of preliminary notches in the top edge of a piece of slate then carved it right through, into two perfect halves. There was a shop selling house name and number plaques, with a notice saying how Welsh slate is the best in the world and by buying one of these plaques you’re preserving a vital piece of Welsh heritage. If I’d had a home of my own to stick it on, I’d have bought one.
On the platform waiting for the train back to Llanberis, Graham and Bev engaged me in a conversation about the World Cup. We sympathised with Zinedine Zidane, but I couldn’t agree with Bev that Rooney was innocent. You just don’t stamp on an opponent’s Jacobs, though she protested that Costinha deserved it. Bit of England-fan bias there, I think. Aunt Eileen came up halfway through our conversation and immediately groaned at the realisation we were talking about football. Back at Llanberis we went to the café by the Snowdon Mountain Railway next door. I had a first class lamb burger and a tub of locally made blackcurrant and cream ice cream.
We stopped in Beddgelert on the drive back and hit the gift shops. I got some home made Welsh fudge.
That evening we went back to The Goat for our farewell meal, first-class Welsh lamb. More drinks flowed, people showed each other holiday snaps, Gran gave everybody little gifts (I got a pack of cards with Snowdon on the back) and, as the people with little kids left earlier, the last hour or so of the evening was given over to fond drawn-out goodbyes, especially between those who wouldn’t see each other in the morning. I got plenty of stick when it became known I’d be travelling back by train, with Gran and others making jokes about me “not wanting to” drive back with her and my mother, but when I explained I was going by train so as to make it to Havant & Waterlooville’s friendly with Portsmouth, and that I was already having to miss their three other friendlies, everyone was OK. When she said goodbye to us Aunt Eileen said “After all that, I hope they win,” while Ken’s farewell was “I hope, by some miracle, your football team win”. At the time, I never thought for a moment that the Hawks might actually beat our Premier neighbours…
Leaving The Goat and saying goodbye to their friendly staff (my mother had made a speech thanking them and led us in a toast when our waiter and waitress entered the dining room towards the end of the night) I thought to myself : I could live here. Well, dreams are free.
On the train ride on Monday morning, at Dovey Junction our train was withdrawn and we all had to pile onto another one across the platform. Then at Machynlleth, those of us who were travelling beyond Shrewsbury had to move to the front two coaches! There were several unexplained delays, and we got to Birmingham 15 minutes late – just enough for me to miss my connection to Guildford. Just then, one of the handles of my admittedly well-filled carrier bag burst. Because my ticket was specific for particular trains, I was gloomily convinced I’d have to pay up for a full single fare from Birmingham to Havant, but thankfully the lady at the enquiry desk marked my existing ticket valid for the next service to Reading then another train to Guildford. With that sorted, I went to WH Smith, bought a bar of chocolate and asked the lady at the till for a carrier bag, sadly explaining and showing my burst one. She was a bit bemused, but gave me one.
West Leigh Park was packed full when I arrived just after 7. I got a burger and chips from the tea hut then found a rare spare seat. Portsmouth fielded a side with a couple of regular starters and a lot of squad players. It was no surprise that the ground was full of Pompey fans, but the four young guys behind me spent much of the first half disparaging Havant & Waterlooville FC, slating Dean Holdsworth for being ‘old’ and scoffing at a couple of Hawks fans who cheered him on. So imagine my delight when after half an hour Deano put Havant in the lead! The lads behind me switched to moaning about their own players then. Portsmouth equalised but I was cool, just hoping we’d hold on to the draw. For most of the second half there didn’t look much prospect of any further score, I sat there willing time to pass, still just hoping to hold the draw, then in the last ten minutes Rocky Baptiste gave us the lead! We Hawks fans raised the roof while, all round the ground, all the Pompey fans surrounding us fell dead quiet (apart from a group of nutters behind one of the goals who never stopped chanting). But even better was to come as, with a couple of minutes left, Brett Poate slammed home a beautiful shot. 3-1 TO THE SUPER HAWKS!
As the final whistle went (the ref gave no stoppage time at all in either half, perhaps to offset the 10 minute delay to the kick-off, but I wasn’t complaining), and delirious Hawks and sober Pompey fans filed out of the ground, I thought about all the relatives who’d asked me whether it was really worth rushing back from Wales early to see the game. YOU BET.
Back home, waiting for me was a £58.72 mobile phone bill, thanks largely to my multiple voting to try and save Lisa. It’s the fact that it was all in vain that hurts. With that bill and the £75 for hiring my suit for Hardcore Sue’s wedding, the memories of that night’s football will have to last me for a while, as I’m left unable to afford any games in August. My pint with
whalefish will have to wait until 14 April at Farnborough. My copy of the new FourFourTwo was also awaiting me, but with several pages missing from the season preview.Yesterday my mother hosted Civic Day, where all the mayors and council chairmen from Hampshire visit and we show them the sights of the town. At Haslar Hospital, we were given a ‘comfort break’; I came out of the gents to find everyone had disappeared, so took out my mobile phone and rang FourFourTwo to tell them about the missing pages. As I was talking to the girl at the other end, I heard my mother give me a shout and wave me on, so, still talking on the phone, I followed her out to the quad where everyone was waiting to do the photo call. The girl promised to send me another season preview, I told my mother truthfully that I’d just come out of the jacks and found everyone gone, and she said “Sorry, I thought we were walking slow enough.” I again used ‘Drinks’ as my ‘smile word’, prompting Michelle to joke that I was offering everyone free drinks…
The 17th Century Village was wonderful as always. We started with ‘Master John the Moneyer’ showing us how threepenny bits were minted in those days, by putting a blank coin between two blocks of wood containing the dies with the pattern on and hammering. Richard from Havant took out a modern pound coin and asked Master John if he’d mint him some of those. All the re-enactors were brilliant, making their parts come alive and calling us all ‘master’ and ‘mistress’. They weren’t able to share their 17th century food with us because of health and safety regulations, but at the end of our tour, as well as being given one of Master John’s threepenny bits each, there was old-fashioned lemonade and ‘small beer’ (really shandy) awaiting us, plus some 21st century fruit tart.
It was only at lunch that I learned, much to my chagrin, that I’d missed out on a different tart. Jim, Maria and Richard began talking about ‘the village wench’. It turned out there’d been a voluptuous young lady going about the village in character as a 17th century lady of easy virtue. Richard said he’d found her very pleasing indeed, so I said he should have got Master John to mint him a threepenny bit to offer her for her favours, and Richard said he’d have wanted sixpence’s worth… Maria was her usual lively self through lunch, first saying to Richard, who was in subdued mood because of personal family stuff, “Tell me, I’m your girlfriend,” then later telling me “Richard thinks I’m his girlfriend, he doesn’t know I’m yours too.” Lunch overran, giving my mother a near apoplexy as it looked like we were now going to miss the Royal Army Medical Corps band concert down at the ferry gardens altogether (she’d planned to take in the last half hour) but Michelle was an angel and ran down there and persuaded them to play on for 15 more minutes when we arrived.
From there we went on to the Hovercraft Museum, then back to the Town Hall where Michelle made me a cup of coffee to drink while she did some paperwork and my mother and Jan divvied up the leftover food from the buffet. Then home to rest and feast my eyes on the report on Hawks v Portsmouth in The News! I had a wee smile when I read the St Albans friendly tonight was off after a couple of our players took knocks in the Pompey match, as that’s one less game I’m missing.
Back to work today. Early on I passed Lesley and told her it looked like Mikey was going. She showed no emotion either way, so I added a “Yes!”
“Are you fed up with him?” she asked.
“Yes, kick him out. He’s a karzi rat!” I replied. Lesley and Sarah laughed, then Lesley said “I don’t really notice him”…
The shift, thankfully, passed without incident. Towards the end a lady called Cathy walked up and slipped me a note offering me a lift home as Sarah #2 was away. We had a nice chat on the drive and she offered to do the same for me tomorrow. What an angel.
This evening was the rehearsal for Hardcore Sue’s wedding. Father Ted was surprised to see me, as he’d had no idea Sue and I knew each other. He took Sue, James, best man Matt and matron of honour Sam through a quick run-through of the ceremony, quickly explained my duties to me at the end – I just have to stand at the back of the church as people come in, telling them which side to sit if they ask - and asked me how the mayoral functions were going. Sue and James both confessed to a touch of nerves, but judging by tonight they’ll be fine. Afterwards Sue gave me my cuff-links (with a little ‘Usher’ cartoon on) and dropped me at the top of my street. Home for a quick rest, then dinner, then to the PC to type all this… Got to go watch BB. ’Night folks.
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no subject
Date: 2006-08-02 10:08 pm (UTC)Good pub in Old Llanberis (Nant Peris), can't remember for the life of me what it's called, but it serves some cracking ales and does nice food. Oh, and there's a pool table too; and if you catch it at the right time all the walkers who are camped over the road (like I was last time I was there) come and create a excellent convivial atmosphere in there. Now that's my idea of a perfect pub.
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Date: 2006-08-03 07:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-03 11:11 am (UTC)