What a splendid weekend, with daughter Jody and familan. To the hills and valleys, to the slate mine to the lush green Llangollen, its watery artery now showing infinitely less rage than when I last saw it, two years ago, in torrential rain, when the unforgiving torrent was so loud and deafening.
Now the distant sound of a Great Western whistle and the faint aroma of oily steam takes the centre stage. A fitting scenario to such unrivalled beauty.
Yet again I ask the question, why would anyone wish to go abroad when dear Britain has it all to offer, in our magnificent Islands.
This was a 40th birthday bash, and much supping dancing and merriment, to the entertaining and effervescent six ton dog, held in the splendid Ruthin Castle Inn.
What a strangely diverse country Wales is. The ever present planted motorway border trees do little to hid the compelling evidence of an industrial landscape past. Though the few remaining industrial enclaves stand proudly above the eye line. "Look at us, you aint got us yet"
The diverse nature of the North Wales landscape ensures that within a few short miles, you will be plunged into the , more contrasting landscape, synonymous with the Celtic culture. Sheer rock faces of crushed slate bleed into lush green valleys, thatched cottages, short terraced stone dwelling perhaps the homes of the lead miner or slate workers.
For my own part, being, according to my new found supping partners a southern softy, I quite like Wales as it was. I revel in dirt and steam, coal, slag heaps and the omnipresent pyramids of colliery waste.
Sunday life was aptly illustrated by the horrendous onslaught of noisy motorbikes, showing little concern or reverence to the ambience of the occasion, and the rest of the world who sleepily soaked up the summer blue haze, peering like the ancient mariner into the distant mists, not really sure what they wanted to see. Which was just as well because they only saw even more noisy motor bikes.
But when all seemed lost to the angels of hell, a spluttering chuffing cavalcade of Vespa scooters, bedecked with hundreds of chrome mirrors and red white and blue Quadrophonic roundels , came over the hill. Shades of Brighton 1965 ? surely not. Happily our age challenged Mods and Rockers now seemed quite content to share their chips in the End of the world car park.
Onwards and upwards, but a recap of some of the memorable architecture I manages to snatch capture from the moving car. Delightful Ruthin and historic Jail, Llangollen, packed with tourists and much welcome money changing hands, and the quiet serene countryside of the English / Welsh borders.
I Think I shall go more often to the wild North.
Tara and thanks for looking ! Love and peace to all of you.
