Saturday night ended the best possible way...with the husband wielding a box of matches, a bag of charcoal and some chicken quarters. He said it was chicken, but either they feed their poultry on something far more substantial in Wales, or it was a Dodo (don't think that they are quite extinct down here). Either way, it was all very tasty, and the four of us chatted late into the night.
I headed up to bed first, leaving the drinkers downstairs. Miss R had laid out my new pyjamas onto the bed, and I was quite shocked when I saw how far the material spread over the duvet. I assumed that they would be better when I got them on. What is that saying about 'assume making an ass out of you and me?' Well, once on, it became very apparent that a size 16 in Wales bears no resemblance to that on the other side of the Severn Bridge. There was enough material in the trousers to curtain the whole cottage, and I am surprised that Heathrow haven't been in touch about using the legs as windsocks.
Holding them up around my waist, I frantically pulled the drawstrings at the front to try and tighten them to preserve any semblance of dignity. Unfortunately, these were for decoration only, and one came away in my hand. Luckily I had a safety pin in my wash bag, so that was put to good use, although it did mean running the risk of piercing my navel sometime while I slept.
So having survived the night, it was off to Barmouth for breakfast. A very extensive menu revealed waffles, and Miss R and I put in orders for some with sausages and maple syrup. (When in Rome, eat like an American and all that). The lady taking the order did everything she could to deter us from this choice....
'Can we have waffles with sausages and maple syrup please?'
'Waffles and sausages with maple syrup?'
'That's an odd combination. I've never been asked to do that before. Are you quite sure?'
'Yes. Quite sure'.
'No, Belgian ones'. (Miss R jabs at menu fiercely).
'Let me get this right. Belgian waffles with maple syrup, but with sausages as well?'
'That'll be ever so sweet. Are you sure that's what you want?'
It took all of Miss R's self control not to haul the lady across the counter by her frilly apron and demand who she thought she was, The Sugar Police, but giving the lady a smile (her lips covering gritted teeth) she nodded... 'Yes. It's really what we want'.
The breakfast eventually turned up, but with two BLT Paninis and only one waffle. This was the cue for extra loud shouting from Mrs Frilly Pinny as to what she was supposed to do with an extra BLT Panini.
Miss R had a couple of suggestion...