Wales

North Wales

''Farted, dogs went mental.''

That's the only note I've got on my phone from our time in Wales. It's the only thing I've got to refer to, other than my memory, to help me write this last entry. And I'm covering events that happened in September and October '21, in October '22. Quite why I'm writing this so late, I don't know. Oh well.

So yeah, I farted and it made some dogs go apeshit. Can't remember doing it, can't remember where. But it happened, apparently.

What I can remember is that we were now in North Wales; Rhyl, I believe. Or possibly Llandudno?

We met Rach’s mates for a few days’ stay at an Airbnb. It was a great time, and the place was ace. It had a hammock what I stayed in when everyone went out for the day one of the days. I was lying under an apple tree, listening to Test Match Special. Lovely. We had a good laugh. Everyone, I mean; not me and the tree. They took the piss out of our Mr Ballen obsession, we were dismayed at how much people seemed to love Guardians of the Galaxy. Each to their own, each to their own. We weren’t supposed to be there at all, really. We’d parked on the drive and were staying on the van. No harm done though. I broke a flower at one point, when squeezing through the gap between the van and the fence on the smallish drive, but fuck that flower anyway.

At the end of a cracking few days, we all said goodbye, and I said goodbye to Rach. She was on her way back to Birmingham with everyone else, as she had a wedding to attend.

Alone Again

So it was just Moo and me once again; this time for ten days as we roamed Snowdonia together. We stayed in some amazing spots in what is a really hilly, mountainous region of Wales, including a great stop right on the shore of a lake- where I finished a painting that to this day is still my favourite of all my efforts - and another spot which was just perfect; a large parking area off a small country lane in the middle of nowhere, where hardly anybody passed all day. At night it was completely pitch black. No light anywhere. It was a bit spooky trying to find Moo to call her in at bedtime. She never wanted to come in - she was far too busy hunting. During the days the weather was amazing, and the views out over the sheep infested fields was something else. So much beauty! I stayed here for a few days until I was forced to move on to bin all my bags of shit.

It was such a great drive through this part of the world; in a word - dramatic. Moobles was as good as gold. She'd really gotten used to life on the road by now. She would just sit nicely in her bag between the two pilot seats, relaxing until we got to our next destination. And she is SO affectionate on the van. She cannot get enough love.

Tiny Trains In The Forest

At a park up in Coed-Y-Llwyn, deep in the heart of Snowdonia, I went for a long, lonesome and wet three hour walk through the surrounding forest, while listening to a Lebanese-Canadian professor of evolutionary psychology called Gad Saad interview Tommy Robinson. Whenever I took my earphones out I would hear the distant toots of the colourful little local trains whose rail network ran at various angles through the forest. They were almost like toy trains, but they were actually carrying people. It was so odd, but charming as hell. I caught some pretty stupendous views, especially at the top of a steep, densely forested incline, where I came across a clearing looking out over a valley. The trees formed a sort of window frame for the view as I approached. It was really beautiful.

Moo The Shrew Hunter

Wales is seriously great for vanning. There are so many amazing places to stop. At another of these places - again high up and overlooking natural scenery for miles - Moo got back to her work. She absolutely loves going after furry little animals in fields. Her prey of choice? Shrews. My God, she loves shrews. I must've chucked about four out the van over the course of three days at this park up.

The sunsets were sublime. The deepest reds and yellows. I took about a hundred photos. This was the last stop, just me and the cat. I do enjoy time on my own, but I was looking forward to seeing Rach again, who was waiting with my cousin, Meg and her boyfriend, Joe, at a campsite in Barmouth.

Barmouth With Meg, Aberdovey With Dad

I pulled up next to Meg and Joe's tent - well, more a canvas mansion really - and we embarked on a lovely few days of laughter, drinking and wandering Barmouth. Joe's a lovely laaaaaaad. Meg was a nightmare as usual. Barmouth's a great little town. I couldn't really remember it, despite the many times I'd surely been there; my nan had owned a caravan at a campsite less than a mile or so from the one we were in. We had many holidays in that caravan when I was young.

After a rainy morning spent watching Meg and Joe fail to pack away their mansion, we said goodbye and hit the road. Aberdovey was the next destination, where we were meeting the old man. Colinflower.

I'd be lying if I said there was a lot to do in Aberdovey. On the contrary, it seems we exhausted its facilities within the first hour and a half of arriving; that is to say, we'd drank in two pubs. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely little village. Very pleasant and on the water. But it's hardly a party town. Being there felt more like how I imagine Neo felt in The Matrix when Morpheus uploaded him into a blank training programme. The monotony was thankfully broken a couple of times; once by a visit to the more interesting rural market town of Machynlleth; and secondly by a game of lawn bowls on the local village green on the last day, which I won.

Okay, it wasn't really monotonous. I'm exaggerating for comic effect; it really is a nice place, but I'd only really recommend a visit to those aged between 95-120. Anyone younger should perhaps be prepared for more serenity than they'd ideally like, while anyone over 120 should steer clear lest a really close game of bowls gives you a heart attack.

Aberystwyth

We absolutely bummed Aberyswyth. Firstly, the amusement arcade is probably the best I've ever been in. Secondly, it sits right on the seafront, and thirdly, it's a student town, and so it has that great, chilled out vibe that you tend to get in places with lots of educated young bastards. We took Moo to the pub with us on the one evening, where we sat outside to enjoy the sunset. In no time, Moo was the talk of the town. She stood at the entrance to the pub for a while, as if she was security, before jumping up on a large window sill to stare at a woman at a table inside, who gazed back, lovingly. And who can blame her?

Little Haven & Tenby

Little Haven is a picturesque little haven tucked away in the bottom left corner of Wales, in Pembrokeshire. We walked the windy coastal path from the van, all the way enjoying views of the ocean, before reaching a pretty harbour bay which signaled our arrival in the village. We had a sandwich and a couple of ciders in the sun before taking a brief and breezy walk on the beach. Rach's dad's cousin, Donna called her to ask if we fancied house/pet-sitting for them for a few of weeks at the beginning of November, as she knew we were in their neck of the woods,. We said yes, happily, as this would extend our trip by another month. They had two dogs, apparently. Both quite old; one called Alfie and another called Daisy. Moo was gonna love it.

After Little Haven, we traveled east until we got to our next planned destination: Tenby.

In the single day we spent wandering Tenby, it became our favourite Welsh town of all. It's a joy. So colourful and quaint, with plenty of character, lots of interesting bars and places to eat and, crazily, three different beaches! One cozy pub we went to had a bar made from an old boat. We had a walk up a hill for views out to sea and came across a store selling reversible, emotional octopussies. I did think for a while that reversible, emotional octopussies - whatever they were - were a weird Tenby thing, but no; apparently they are quite a popular kid's toy.

At the end of our day in Tenby, back at the van, we were approached by a nutter who proceeded to chat away at us maniacally for ten minutes before wandering off with his bike. Maybe it's harsh to call him a nutter. Let's just say he was an emotional, reversible human.

Amusement in Barry

We drove all the way across to the south-east to meet up with Rach's mum, sister and nephews in rainy Barry, for a fun day of slotting 2 pence pieces into noisy glass fronted amusement units. God, I love doing that. I'd missed out in Aberystwyth as we didn't have any coins on us, but now I was getting more than my fill. For some reason, everyone decided I should use the tickets won by Rach's 10 year old nephews to get a Star Wars mug for myself. A bit odd, but the kids seemed okay with it so... may the force be with me.

The Last Campsite

We traveled back west to what was likely to be the last ever campsite stay in the van. Next up was house-sitting Donna's, after which we would be heading back home to Birmingham.

The campsite was located to the south-west of the Brecon Beacons. We arrived in terrible weather, and were the only ones there, so we took our time driving round to find the best pitch. We were mainly trying to find a spot with decent internet signal, which was pretty difficult. Eventually, we settled on a spot. The pitches were at different levels and surrounded by trees and other foliage, and there was a river running through the back of the site; it really was a pretty place. The fact that the site was empty meant Moo could go 'sploring safely - once she'd finished her photo-shoot with Rach, that is.

It was all very lovely, apart from the spat I had to have with the old guy who came for payment. I tried to get a discount, because the site Wifi didn't work. It seems to always be the way with campsites. They advertise Wifi, but the signal is always piss poor, or non-existent. The old guy wasn't having it. He immediately got on the defensive and told us to leave if we weren't going to pay. That got my back up a bit. I think we had a disagreement over methods of payment too - something about us having to pay with cash - which we didn't have - despite their website saying we could pay by card. Eventually, after a coupe of minutes of making out that there was no other way to pay other than cash, he agreed that we could come and pay by card at the main reception area the next day (it was closed at the time). He then drove off, then I went and chased him down to have a second round, then finally he drove off for good, in a huff.

The next day we went to a little dinosaur-themed amusement park thing, which was a part of the complex, where we bumped into the old guy again. He gave a semi-smile.

It had been a lovely stay at the last campsite of our epic adventure. We left in high-spirits and made our way to Donna's in Gower, south of Swansea.

The Old Dogs Of Honeywell Cottage

Donna’s place was exactly what we were hoping for. A nice spacious bungalow cottage in a gorgeous, coastal area of Wales, with loads of great walks in the area. We were saved from the constant temptation of lazy sofa dwelling by the daily walking requirements of their two dogs, old Daisy and ancient Alfie.

It’s safe to say Daisy was the more active of the two dogs. She was a right little scamp. She loved dancing in front of you by lowering her head, raising her backside and patting her two front paws down in front of you whilst yapping her head off. I’m shit at dogs so I can’t even say what sort of dog she was. A small one with longish hair on her face is the best I can do. She loved going for a walk, and would excitedly announce it by screaming in Alfie’s face as we exited the front yard.

Alfie was amazing. A slightly bigger, but still small-ish brand of dog, with white and greying dark wire-y hair and black nose. He was so old he shook. He would forget to eat until he smelled Moo’s cat food in our bedroom, at which point he would slowly get up and slope across the corridor from the lounge - his claws tap-tapping on the hardwood floor - into our room and start munching away. Moo was incredulous. She would peer down at him from our bed; half furious, half terrified.

Alfie always had to be on a lap. At first it was me he seemed to prefer. But as time wore on, as is often the case with pets, he would more often choose Rach. He would just sit there next to your legs and look up at you expectantly with his almost human eyes, his head gently jittering. You just couldn’t say no. Whenever he wanted to get down off the sofa - which was never if he was on your lap - you had to carry him down, as the 10cm jump was too much for his old legs. Alfie was basically silent the whole time, which endeared me to him even more.

Walkies

Every day we would take them for a walk in the surrounding area; sometimes down to the beach; other times up the country road to the right, or down past an old castle through farmland; other times up onto the big empty camping grounds above and behind the cottage. The complex the cottage was attached to included this campsite, a social centre/lounge type thing, and lots of lived-in mobile homes (English for trailers), many of which faced the sea. We were quite high up above sea level where we were and so there were great views of Swansea Bay, or the Bristol Channel, or whatever it was. Especially when you were up on the camping grounds, which we often were; it’s where the dogs loved to run around with a ball. Despite the limitations of his aged body, Alfie loved playing ball. He would desperately chase it every single time, despite Daisy always winning the race easily. I would have to sell Daisy a dummy to send her the wrong way, then throw the ball just a few feet in front of Alfie so he could actually get to the ball first. Alfie really did capture my heart. I don’t know what it was; the struggle I could see he was having maybe? I don’t know. I just loved him.

We enjoyed visiting the beach, although we didn’t go as much as we might have because the walk back up the hill was pretty draining - especially for old Alfie. After their walks, if we had been to the beach, or if it was wet out, we’d wrap them in little blankets and sit them on their beds to dry. They looked like little furry Mother Theresa’s, only more saintly.

Shrew Removal, Visitors & Saying Goodbye

When not playing football with the dogs, we spent time working, watching Seinfeld, and removing all the shrews which Moo brought in via our open bedroom window. We kept it open to allow her to come and go as she pleased, as she wasn’t too keen on spending time in the same room as the dogs. As time wore on she became a little more comfortable, and would sometimes sit on the back of the armchair, as long as Rach was in it. Some evenings Rach would be sat there with two dogs on her lap and a cat behind her head.

But the shrews kept coming. And not just shrews; mice and other things too. She was in her element and gunning for anything that moved. One morning I awoke to find blood on the floor, and when I looked under the bed I found a dead robin. A robin for fuck’s sake! That is not on.

We were at Honeywell Cottage for a few weeks in total, during which time Rach turned a year older, thousands of shrews fell in battle, and we had a few visitors. Rach's dad and sister came down for a day, as well as my mum and dad. It should go without saying that we visited a few different restaurants while we were there, including one which we ate at on three separate occasions. That was a fun day. Buddum-tish.

Overall, it was a cracking way to end our UK tour, and a timely reminder of the benefits of house-living, to help relieve the sadness of what faced us: This was the end of our time living in a van. We made our way back to Birmingham, sad that it was all at an end, but relieved that we’d completed this amazing chapter of our lives still in one piece (each).

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the most medium of times... I'm sorry, I have now written approximately 100,000 words and my brain has broken.

Goodbye, Get Bus Go, and God bless.