Yesterday I got fed up, as I never get to go out with large groups of people to expensive formulaic bars wearing identical style ben sherman shirts in various shades of pastel so that we look like a pack of dysfunctional starburst and drinking expensive bottled beer with bits of fruit crammed in the top whilst standing up because there are no seats and not being able to talk because the music is too lound and all sounds the same to any of these fair weather friends who are only there on the off chance of receiving free beer by not paying for their own rounds and then going clubbing and then pulling a townie and getting crabs.

On reflection, it may be for the best.

Did Wales, this year.

Walked about near the edges of the car park, almost onto the grass.

Looked at the hilltop walks from behind glass.

Saw Castles, though, took pics, ran about.

No more following of the little red man. Oh no. That was in the past. But marvelled at the walks on the walls, and how we managed not to fall.

The house was friendly, a welcome vision not seen outside the mind or pictures for 15 years. The plants were bigger but the gate was the same.

The smallest house in Britain was at the same town as the guest house. Both nice, but more space in the chartered room.

My mobile phone liked it so much, it stayed even after leaving to come back to this place.