Wednesday, 29 June 2016

Golden years...

As I was watching paint dry on Monday evening (some of you might recognise this as 'English Football') the husband casually mentioned in half time that he really wanted to go and visit Abersoch on Tuesday.

Now in all the years I have known the husband, he has talked about this place in hushed, reverent tones, often mentioning it with a happy, glazed look in his eye as he recalls the many childhood summers spent there with his sister, Mrs W.

As the rain had called a truce for a couple of hours, and the wind was down to just a dull roar, we set off with the dogs for the hour's drive to this paradise of his.  As we got nearer and nearer, he started pointing places out which had special meaning to him...

'You see that grey building?  That's the toilet block where I got caught smoking'.
'Look, look!  The fair's still there - my sister could never get me out of there'.
'I got sunburnt on one of those canoes'. (Surely not the same one?)
'I always wanted a wetsuit from that shop, but I was never allowed one'. (Probably punishment for the smoking).
'That's the fish and chip shop I always used to go in'....and then...'Oh no, they've moved the counter!'
It was at this point that I reminded him that it's almost forty years since he was here last, and things tend to move on (even if his memory doesn't).

Another beach walk was neatly nipped in the bud by Mother Nature and her warped sense of humour, but it did give the husband a chance to play with his recently purchased boomerang (for the dogs apparently, but I'm not convinced).

'Do you know how to throw one of those?'  I asked, stepping back behind him slightly.

'Of course I do.  Watch this'.

Having come close to decapitating himself with that first throw, he decided it might be better to throw it the same direction as the wind was blowing, rather than against it.  Miraculously, we managed not to lose it between the shop and car, although the husband did have to do some extra -curricular walking to retrieve it on occasions, much to the dogs' amusement.  I could almost hear them saying, 'Well, you threw the bloody thing'.

It was then off to Caernarfon to see the castle - we were banned from going in because of the dogs, so had to be content with skulking around the castle walls (much the same as other Englishmen a few centuries ago I should think). 

Heading home after a rather large cod and chips (Free Willy sprung to mind as its tail and head hung over the sides of the plate) we had to stop at three separate bakers in the hunt for Welsh cakes to have later on with our very English cup of tea.  Every one had run out, so we settled for half a dozen Chelsea Buns and four cream cakes.

Wales, my waistband salutes you...
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