OK, so it’s Tuesday. That hadn’t mattered at all to me till last night, when the Tuesdayness suddenly hit me like a smack in the chops. Since then, I’ve been doing the whole ‘smoothing down the belly’ thing, trying to assess whether that new ridge means I’m losing, or that new bump means I’ve put back on. I’ve been doing this in spite of the fact that when I last did that a couple of weeks ago, prior to a five-pound loss, d pointed out what should have been an obvious fact – “Honey, you have noooo idea when it comes to interpreting this stuff.”
Yesterday was fun – we got up with purpose and vigour, determining to get to Caldey Island. Now, we have history with Caldey Island. We’ve been trying to get there now for three years. It’s a working monastery, with all the usual 21st century monastic sidelines – wine, chocolate, perfume, yadda yadda yadda, plus of course it’s sited on a beautiful and naturally-gifted island. The first time we tried to get there, a couple of years ago, it abbbbsolutely pissed down on us in Tenby (the launch-point for the boats to Caldey, we couldn’t get on the boats cos they were going nowhere, and, not knowing the town, we had to walk around in the rain for two hours before the next bus went out. The second time, last year, there was less rain...but still rain. We got off the bus, asked the driver where the harbour was, and he said “Buggerall sailing today, look at it.” We looked. It was raining...a little. “Trust me,” he said, “they won’t sail today.”
Precisely what kind of wuss-ass sailors these were, we weren’t sure, but again, we got off the bus...and this time went to a little local cafe, whiled away the two hours talking to the owner about the degeneration Western civilisation and cake-making, then buggered off home on the next available bus. By this point, we were starting to be more than a little irritated with Tenby for its refusal to ever let us get to Caldey.
So yesterday, we picked a beautiful blue-sky, fluffy-white-cloud of a day to try and get to Caldey. It was lovely and bright, so we strolled down to the harbour.
Nothing, nada – everything was shut up and shuttered. “No sailing today – Gales forecast.”
Now technically, this was true – gales were forecast. For today, Tuesday. At least twelve hours away, by which time, we intended to be tucked up in our beds. But clearly, there’s no sense taking risks for these guys, they’d shut up shop and gone home.
“Right,” I said. “That’s it. Third time’s a curse. Caldey can kiss my lily-white, faintly spotty ass!”
This time though, given that we weren’t being actively pissed on, we decide to actively explore a little of Tenby. Not a whole hellofalot to see, but we did find a National Trust property – a Tudor Merchant’s House...which, although more-than-vaguely interesting, was filled with things that had been especially made for it, mostly around 1991. We went next door to Plantagenates for lunch – apparently named directly in defiance of the Tudor House, and while their five separate menus were daunting and the guy who served us looked to be strung tighter than a viola, their sausage and mash were entirely edible. Oh, and we found the Caldey Island shop(!) – picked up some gifts and drew a line under ever actually needing to bugger about with the Island itself. Then, once more, in the blue-sky beauty of it all, we sodded off home to our cottage by the sea.
Then, last night, shortly after we’d gone to bed...the gale came.
We’d always wondered what it might be like to do a proper winter here on the West Coast of Wales, because d loves thunderstorms and I love wild water. Last night we found out what it would be like.
Beautiful.
Today, with payday burning holes in my pocket, we’re gonna head to Saundersfoot in a while so d can make her annual pilgrimage.
There’s a place whispered in hushed and hallowed tones by cooks everywhere. It’s called Frosts, and it’s something like a third-generation hardware store of the gods. It’s the kind of place that makes my wife more than a little weak at the knees and whimpery, so it’s great that this year, payday has coincided with our visit. It’s kinda like letting me loose in Forbidden Planet on payday, and I love the way d’s imagination works on Frost-visit days. So here we go.
Blood was 5.3 this morning. Wonder what that means in terms of weight...
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