I woke feeling very chirpy. Eleri quickly informed me that this cheery
optimism may be a foolhardy way to greet the new day. It had rained all night and she told me there
had been some minor flooding where the river had breached its banks and,
consequently, I may struggle to access the early stages of the walk. However, she had called her mother who lived
near both the path and the river and the view from her window seemed
clear. Breakfast was very lovely. I’d told Eleri about my Cann Office experience and she seemed keen
to get it right as if I was a hotel inspector.
She talked anxiously just as she did last night and told me anecdotes
about some of her stranger guests. This
time next week I’ll be starring in one of those anecdotes. I’d already noticed that she owned the Dave
Peltzer books (‘A child called it’, ‘A teenager called it’, ‘A dog called
Spot’) so I didn’t let on what I do for a living. It was a conversational meringue; it passed
the time but was empty and unfulfilling.
 |
It's important to keep your spirits
up during snow storms |
The flooding which had concerned Eleri wasn’t an issue and I set
off at a good pace. After about an hour
it began to snow heavily and the snow began to settle. A problem I hadn’t previously encountered
developed in that snow began to gather under the strap of my gaiter on the heel
of my right boot. The snow would quickly
grow into a sprout sized ball and I’d have to stop very regularly and kick it
out. I couldn’t fathom why it was only a
problem with my right boot. I think it
was purely because my legs and brain knew this was the last day that I was
walking at a ridiculously good speed.
There was a steep ascent through Figyn Wood and in there I found a new
stick to help me. It was more like a
tree trunk than branch and I abandoned it later when I reached Welshpool.
I reached a very high and very windy point marked as Y Golfa on
the map and from there I was able to see Welshpool. Because of this I seemed to be within minutes
of it for a long while. The area before
I entered the town was like the grounds of a stately home and, as ever, I was
grateful for having tarmac beneath my feet.
I walked along Raven Street and Mount Street and into the area of shops
and shoppers. With the Powisland Museum
on my right I crossed the bridge over the canal and spotted down to my left a
small area of garden and in it the commemoration stone which marks the end of
the walk. It was 13.50. I felt extremely pleased and proud of
myself. A couple of people wandered by
and I thought of telling them I’d just walked 136 miles and requesting a hug or
a high five. I don’t know why I felt a
greater sense of achievement from this than various qualifications I’ve gained or
jobs I’ve been headhunted for but I did.
Some recognition of my achievement would have been nice; meeting the
Mayor to be given the keys to the town, construction workers downing their
tools to punch me on the shoulder, being carried into the town surrounded by
baton twirling cheerleaders to the sound of a marching band playing ‘Gonna Fly
Now’ or something like the ‘Thank you very much’ dance sequence from
Scrooge. In the absence of any
celebration I took a photograph of the stone and, as it began to rain, walked
to Tesco’s for a wee. I took my
headphones off when I entered the store and when I replaced them on leaving
found that the left one was no longer working.
Either it was broken or I’d suffered a stroke and lost all sensation
down my left side.
 |
| The end of the path |
I called Tynllwyn Farm and told them I’d be arriving early. Jane, my host for the night, told me it would
take fifteen minutes to walk to them. It
didn’t. It was more like fifty. My legs had reached the marker post at the
end of the walk and then booked themselves into a retirement home. They weren’t pleased to be asked to walk
another mile and half and my hips hurt more than they had all week. On arriving I noticed that there was a
Jehovas Witness hall just inside the grounds.
I wondered if they were going to try to convert me over the next few
hours. Jane opened the door on my
arrival at Tynllwyn Farm. I think I may
have greeted her with a less than charming “Well, that wasn’t fifteen
minutes”. I’d say my lack of charm was
temporary. Hers may not have been. Her focus seemed to be on ensuring that all
of my walking clothing remained outside more than on welcoming me. She and the house quickly struck me as all
gong and no dinner. I was, however,
guided into a sitting room to enjoy a pot of tea and a plate of homemade mince
pies. There was something very ordinary
and a bit sparse about the furniture which didn’t match the grandness of the
house or Jane’s somewhat affected manner.
It looked like they’d been raided, the house emptied of furniture and
someone had done a frantic supermarket sweep through Dunelm and TK Maxx. They did have some stuffed animals in
cabinets, something I’ve never understood.
I sat on the floor, enjoyed the tea and mince pies and bathed in the
glory of my achievement.
After three hours of lying on my single bed and several episodes
of ‘Come Dine With Me’ I descended the stairs for dinner. Martin, husband of Jane, greeted me at the
foot of the stairs with “Patrick! Patrick! Congratulations on making it
here!”. I said “Where were you at two
o’clock? That’s the sort of greeting I
wanted at the stone marker” (and from your wife). Martin and I chatted while he served my
dinner. There was a huge amount of
food. Even though I wouldn’t be burning
over a thousand calories the next day I ate all of it. His friendliness and helpfulness was
bordering on subservience. As I retired
for the evening he offered to bring up a pot of tea and cake later. What next? A bedtime story and tucking me
into bed?
