Day 4 – Abbeycwmhir to Llanidloes

I woke up feeling drained and with a bad stomach (It took three trips to the toilet before I felt better since you asked.  Oh, you didn’t).  However, I did feel differently about Nita and Brian.  I no longer thought of this as paid accommodation but more like staying with slightly eccentric, chaotic friends or relatives.  I had a very nice breakfast and spoke to Nita about some relatives she’s fallen out with who live in Leamington Spa, her father who died aged one hundred last year and that she recently discovered she has an intolerance to fruit (I’ve seen people queuing in McDonald’s who have a similar ailment).  I plastered my blisters, covered my legs in Deep Heat and headed for the door.  “What’s that you’re wearing, Patrick?” Nita asked as if it was a new cologne.  “Deep Heat”.  It was very nice that they all gathered by the front door to say goodbye but wrapping myself up and tucking sweatshirts into waterproof trousers and putting gaiters and boots on can be a long process.  Brian asked if I felt fit and prepared for walking today.  I did.  “Would you normally walk at this time of year?”.  “No, not normally”.

I shook their hands, wished them well with retirement and holidays in Greece and departed.  The boots rubbed and felt a little tight at first but the legs felt good.  It was going to be a soggy day though.  In the first hour a postman in a van passed me several times as I emerged from a field or wood and was briefly on a road.  It seemed to amuse him how slow my progress was.  Here’s something that’s fairly obvious; water that’s on the tops of hills will find its way downwards.  It can be found doing this in rivers and streams but also, as I discovered, down long distance pathways.  Often, as I made my way up there was water around my feet making its way downwards.  There were lots of steep ascents but I was often on forest roads which aren’t quite tarmac but helped me make good time.  Whenever a good ‘80’s 12 inch remix came on the mp3 my pace quickened.  I’d classify the gradients I experienced later in the day as ‘Bloody hell’, ‘Fuck me’ and ‘I want to go home’.  Around midday I spent ten minutes or so wandering around a field searching for the lens cap on my camera.  Although I found it that dampened the mood slightly.

It rained or sleeted for most of the day and there were several occasions where my backside suddenly descended to the ground.  However, there was socialising to do since I saw two people today to say hello to.  They were talking to each other in Bwlch-y-sarnau.  That was around 10 am.  Then I didn’t see a soul until I got to my accommodation.  It was in the early afternoon that my sense of humour left me a little because the ground was so boggy that my boots would disappear such that I would struggle to pull them from the suction of the mud.  This meant that water got into the boots and then my socks and I knew this was ideal for making blisters.  It was becoming difficult to appreciate the stunning scenery or the different colours of the leaves or enjoy the rhythm of the rain.  I was viewing the walk as the hangover and the accommodation as the party, rather than vice versa.  As usual I panicked as darkness neared.  I tried to speed up which hurt my legs and feet more and with the pain I got slower and I panicked more.  As the afternoon progressed going downhill was really hurting my knees.  Then my boot descended into more sludge and my foot got even wetter and I got lost briefly around three as I neared Llanidloes.  I was really wondering why on earth I was doing this and had always wanted to do this.

   

My host, Roy, at Lloyd’s in Llanidloes, greeted me at 4.10.  He was lovely.  As is the becoming the norm I removed my boots, gaiters, coat and waterproofs at his door.  He said that another twenty minutes and he would have been concerned for my welfare.  “Would you normally walk at this time of year?”.  “No, not normally”.  He said he’d put my boots by his fire to ensure that they were dry by the morning.  He showed me to my room and quickly returned with a pot of tea and some homemade biscuits.  I was pulling on my cleanish trousers as he entered but was too tired to care.  After tea, biscuits and a spot of lying down and ‘Deal or no Deal’ I showered in an attempt to improve my overall smell.  The smell from the socks which had descended into mulch several times during the day defied description.  My feet are in a dreadful state and it was difficult to put ordinary shoes on (or move) but around 6pm I did so and hobbled up the road to The Red Lion for dinner.  I was quite choosy in selecting this establishment; It was open, it served food and it was the first place I spotted after leaving Lloyds.  There were some odd characters in there.  I think ‘Special Needs’ is the correct phrase.  I was able to overhear a conversational gem;

“Did you hear about Gary Speed?”

“Yes, he committed suicide”. 

“No, an English footballer shot him because he was making the Welsh too good”

“But he was found hanging”

“That was to cover it up”

Back at Lloyds I covered my feet in Germolene, my legs in Deep Heat and rested. 

Day 3 – Felindre to Abbeycwmhir

I went to sleep surrounded by the aroma of Deep Heat and Germaline.  Nothing unusual for some of you.  The bed was huge, the mattress soft and the duvet thicker than the cast of ‘Loose Women’.  A pea, brick or another person could have been hidden beneath the mattress and I wouldn’t have noticed.  The body, or mine, is a funny thing.  You probably won’t be fascinated to know that I walked for just over seven hours yesterday, taking in liquid all the time, and didn’t feel the need to hide behind a bush for a wee at all and yet as soon as I got to the B&B I was in the toilet every half an hour and woke twice in the night to do so which I don’t normally do.  I woke before six but felt fully refreshed.  I repacked most of my things and went downstairs to be served breakfast by Richard.  It was, of course, wonderful.  Fully satiated I returned to my room and covered my blisters with plasters.  I was confident the plasters would have gathered at the bottom of my socks within the hour.  I put yesterday’s t-shirt (from a concert I attended in 1990) in the bin and set off just after eight.  Richard and I shook hands.  I think meeting me was less significant for him than meeting him was for me.  Today I was wearing my waterproof trousers and gaiters.  When it began to rain and then sleet yesterday it was too impractical to put them on without anywhere to sit down and do so.  There had been a decent snowfall overnight but the temperature was pleasant and I was very thoroughly wrapped up with my t-shirt tucked into my trousers and sweatshirt tucked into my waterproofs.  It’s not a sexy look though.  I walked through the tiny village of Felindre and out into the hills.  More sleet fell during the first hour but it didn’t bother me.  I walked past, and waved to, two workmen sitting in their van (until the weather improved I would guess) who smiled and nodded but clearly thought I was barking.  The first half of the day as far as Llanbadarn Fynydd was lovely and when I got there I was ahead of schedule and feeling good.  However, then there were a lot of steep ascents and when I was going up the hills they were often exposed and the strong winds were very cold.  I was increasingly aware of a blister developing on the sole of my right foot and aches in my right hip and left knee.  If I stopped to eat or drink or take a photograph it felt like my hips had seized up when after just a moment or two of rest I wanted to move again.  If I was on tarmac I was fine but there was very little of that on offer today.  The occasional stunning view or emergence of the sun to cast new light on a view or a favourite song on the mp3 would give me a boost.  And just like yesterday around 3.30, as darkness descended and I was moving slower and slower, I started to panic a little that I was yet to reach my base for the night in Abbeycwmhir village.  The positive is that although I did fall on my arse four times today I was much more focused about following the path and not letting scenery or photography distract me. 

After a brief detour into Abbeycwmhir village in search of my accommodation I arrived at Mill Cottage just after four.  A man in his sixties, who later introduced himself as Brian and a younger man, his son Isambard, were at the front of the property.  Brian said “Did you go into the village?  They always go into the village.  I don’t know why”.  I should have said “Is it because you don’t have a sign?” but just followed him into the house.  My host, Nita, then appeared and insisted I remove all of my mud covered clothing at the door.  More positively, she was also offering to wash and dry them.  The set up here is a little odd.  The home couldn’t have a more bizarre assortment of furniture and really doesn’t look like somewhere set up for paying guests.  My room is about seven foot by ten, doesn’t have heating, does have a single glazed window but, most importantly, doesn’t have an en suite.  When the booking was made the shared bathroom was mentioned but it wasn’t mentioned that this was the family bathroom and I was sharing it with three others.  When Nita showed me to my room and then the bathroom she pointed towards the bathroom and stressed “It’s a bath, not a shower.  A bath!” as if I might stand in it, turn the tap on and wonder why it was only my feet that were getting wet.  Okay, sharing a bathroom isn’t dreadful.  Nor is it’s chocolate brown suite.  Perhaps it is the absence of frosting at the bathroom window and a glass door, with minimal frosting, leading to the landing which made me feel uncomfortable.  Still, shortly after arrived I bathed and displayed my bits and bobs for anyone daft enough to stand in the field at the back of the house and look into the window.  It is also slightly disturbing that, with this set up, I won’t be able to make sure all of my things are dry for the morning.  And I don’t have a kettle so I won’t be able to make soups for my flasks (which would be cold by the time I wanted to eat/drink them anyway). 

I ate my evening meal with Brian and Isambard (that’s pronounced to rhyme with size not bizz....Izeambard).  It was only at this point that they introduced themselves to me.  Brian and Nita were due to fly to Greece on Saturday and spend the next month on a friend’s yacht so we talked about that and various countries the three of us had travelled to.  Brian always seemed disappointed and unimpressed if I hadn’t been to somewhere on the planet he’d been to.  He told me that he had lived in Kent and holidayed in this part of Wales in 1976 and liked it so much he, somewhat impulsively, soon relocated his family there.  He renovated the cottage and continued to work as a builder in the area and, it seemed, each former client had become a friend.  1976?  That explains the colour of the bathroom then.  He had met Nita in the mid-eighties after she was widowed.  Isambard told me that he had retired from the army on a full pension six weeks ago after twenty two years of service.  His girlfriend is in the RAF and he wants to find work as a tree surgeon next year.  Before he told me all of this I was well aware that he’d been in the forces since the house was full of pictures of him in uniform in some exotic location sitting on a tank or jeep holding a weapon.  I’m sure the home of every plumber is filled with pictures of them sitting on the bonnet of their van, slip-joint pliers in hand.  It’s a gift to get people to talk about themselves.  That’s usually most people’s favourite subject.  When Brian asked what I do for a living when even dessert had been consumed the answer was greeted with something close to silence.  It seems that it’s best to use the skills of a psychologist without letting anyone know I am one.  


I’m a little deflated and I’m not too sure why.  My legs ache a lot and I have so many blisters it’s hard to tell where one ends and another begins.  I worry that I may not be up to this.

Day 2 – Knighton to Felindre

I didn’t sleep well.  It could have been Christmas Eve type excitement about starting the walk today but I think it had more to do with the fact that I was in a fairly short bed with a board at the end.  It disturbed my sleep each time my feet hit it.  So I was awake for a while at three and finally woke at six am.  I repacked my things and went out to the main pub for breakfast at eight which was the earliest the George and Dragon would agree to serve it.  It was unremarkable.  The landlord gave the impression that when he asked if you wanted tea or coffee or how you might like your eggs cooked he really wanted you to say “Not for me, thank you” so he could return to doing something of greater interest to him.  I noticed from a sign on the wall that in 1982 the landlord was Walter Melon.  Water Melon.  Gettit?  As I was finishing my breakfast a couple joined me in the dining room.  They couldn’t be bothered to engage each other in conversation so I didn’t engage with them except to say Good Morning. 

After performing some stretches I began walking at 8.50.  I’d really wanted to start at eight.  As I left the town I spotted a dozen or more dead rats hanging by their tails on a fence.  Rarely seen in Leamington Spa.  The first twenty minutes were ridiculously steep.  It wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration to say that I was vertical.  It crossed my mind that if the whole day, let alone the week, was going to be like this I would really struggle.  Once on more level ground it was all quite boggy underfoot.  Over the day I made fairly slow progress when squelching through mud but made up for it when on any sort of path and especially when on tarmac.  Quite early in the day I discovered that my two flasks are not very good at keeping liquid hot, warm or even within their walls.  If you wonder what cold powdered soup tastes like try drinking the contents of your washing up bowl after you’ve done the dishes. 

The significant incidents of the day would be....falls onto my arse = 3, human beings encountered  = 3, brief bursts of rain = 2, prolonged falling of sleet = 1, getting lost  = 2.  The real joke about spending £27 on two guide books is that Glyndŵr’s Way is very well signposted and so I barely referred to my books all day.  When I got lost the first time it was because I turned a corner and found a stunning view.  I took some photographs and then turned to my right and took more photographs.  And walked in that direction.  I realised ten minutes later that I’d lost the trail.   I was completely lost for a while and unsure of quite where I was or what to do.  For a brief, poignant, moment I knew what it feels like to be Louis Walsh.  It took me twenty minutes before I realised that the best thing to do was to retrace my steps to a point where I was definitely on the path.  It was when I did that that I realised I’d walked in the direction of the scenery and ignored a very obvious signpost.  That was around midday.  When I lost the path again around two pm I didn’t retrace my steps because that involved going back up a steep hill.  I’d slipped onto my backside twice descending it so this didn’t appeal.  So, to find the path again I looped around a hill and it took ages and added on several miles.  The arrival of sleet as daylight faded dampened my spirits slightly and it occurred to me that those who told me I was daft to do this at this time of year were right.  My rainproof coat ingeniously moved all of the water down my body and into its own pockets where my iphone, mp3 and guidebook could be found.  However, it’s been a really great day.  The forty one year old legs, knees, hips, ankles and toes have coped well and the mp3 music has kept me motivated, smiling and moving at a good pace. 

This evening I am at Brandy House Farm near Felidre.  My hosts, Richard and Medina, couldn’t be lovelier or more welcoming.  After I arrived and Richard greeted me with “Welcome, welcome old chap” I was served with a pot of tea and some sponge cake.  Although my coat and trousers were covered in mud he was indifferent to this and welcomed me in.  He said that what fell to the floor would dry and could be picked up with the vacuum cleaner.  Amazingly, I felt re-energised very quickly.  That’s the power of tea, cake and friendliness.  We had a brief chat about my day, the walk and the area.  “Would you normally walk at this time of year?”.  “No, not normally”.

I had some time to inspect my considerable blister collection and arrange my clothes over the radiators in my room before I was served with dinner.  This started with homemade tomato and coriander soup (amazing), homemade bread roll (wonderful), poached salmon and vegetables (delicious) and apple crumble (stuffed!!).  The crumble had nothing to do with rubbing flour and butter together but appeared to have been made by mixing muesli and milk or yoghurt and grilling it.  I suspect Medina has her own kiln and made the crockery too.  I may give up on the walk and stay here or keep walking and get a taxi back here to eat each evening.  Their home is extremely homely and full of books from their travels around the world.  While I ate there wasn’t the sound of television or Wii games in the background but radio three and a couple talking and helping their son with homework.  As lovely as they have been Richard and Medina have asked nothing of me or about me and I, in turn, haven’t felt the need to interview them and identify their risk of reoffending.  Bliss.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Day 1 - A train journey to Knighton

 

I’m not sure where the interest came from but I’ve long been interested in country walking.  I love to get out in the countryside and get some fresh air in my lungs, enjoy some views and fanny about with my camera trying to get one shot I’m pleased with.  Also, ever since I knew that they existed I’ve wanted to walk national trails.  When I was twenty nine my former spouse and I attempted The Peddar’s way in Norfolk.  We had trained and prepared and had good boots, gaiters, waterproofs and all of the equipment you could need but, even though it was August, it rained relentlessly from the moment we began.  This meant that there was no resting to take in the view or drink or eat.  Each day consisted of nothing but relentlessly knocking out the miles with our heads down.  Not even the most effective waterproofs remain waterproof for the entire day.  It was a miserable experience.  I forget quite what her ailment was but the former Mrs Bodger was struggling a great deal and so after completing two fifths of the walk we headed home.  I would have carried on because, despite the rain and some aches and pains myself, I viewed it as an adventure but out of loyalty to her I went home too.  I/we said there would be another attempt at a long distance walk soon but there wasn’t one for years.  Six years after the incomplete Peddar’s Way and when there was no longer a Mrs Bodger I walked the South Wolds Way during a pleasantly mild seven days in December.  I vowed to do more but once again another six years have passed. 

I’m about to walk Glyndŵr’s Way.  This hasn’t been months in the planning.  It was only three weeks ago that Marianna suggested I do a walk.  I might normally have said that we couldn’t afford it or that I had work to do but I just said “okay” and organised it.  I chose Glyndŵr’s Way purely by looking at the list of The National Walks on a website and choosing the first one that was over one hundred miles in length and wasn’t closed for the winter as many of them were.

This morning I took the 11.22 train from Leamington Spa to Birmingham Moor Street.  It was standing room only on the train with lots of people heading into the city for Christmas shopping.  From Moor Street I had to make the short walk to New Street station, dodging shoppers and probably knocking several flying with my rucksack.  I certainly didn’t feel the anonymity of looking slightly like a homeless person that I often felt if I wandered into a town when walking the South Wolds Way.  Although I felt the need I didn’t/couldn’t use the toilets at Birmingham New Street station.  They charge you to deposit your waste there and you have to put 30p into a slot and then go through a turnstile.  The turnstile is so narrow it prevents anyone with luggage or hips from entering.  I was next travelling with Welsh Trains to Shrewsbury.  I had reserved seats for the journey but the hatred that the Welsh and their language have for vowels is such that they hadn’t labelled the carriages and Coach A wasn’t to be found.  This was fine though since there were very few people heading into Wales.  At Wolverhampton a young man got on, and felt the need to sit near me, who was carrying the aroma my walking boots would have if I spent a year walking through a swamp.  I had a forty minute wait at Shrewsbury station and arrived in Knighton, where the walk begins, at 14.56. 

If you know me you’ll know I don’t like to be too far from a duvet and hot shower.  This isn’t a camping holiday, it’s a walking holiday, so when I arrived in Knighton I headed for The George and Dragon pub rather than a campsite.  Knighton is right on the English/Welsh border.  When the driver applied the train’s brakes he was still in England......England....England..England.WALES!!  If you walk a few dozen steps away from the town as you leave the station you’re back in England but I didn’t, I headed into town.  I walked past ‘The Table Football Shop’ and easily found The George and Dragon pub.  Yes, that’s right, a whole shop dedicated solely to Subbuteo and that other one where you stand at the side of a table and twizzle the players left and right.  It’s a strange idea for a shop and this remote town is an even stranger place to have it. 

When I arrived at The George and Dragon to check into my accommodation the bar was full of red shirted men watching Wales play Australia at rugby.  Yep, I’d definitely crossed the border.  I then went to find the Offas’s Dyke Centre.  Waiting for me there was my guide book for the walk.  I had ordered one online when I first organised the walk but got a message eight days ago that my suppliers were out of stock.  I ordered one from Amazon but after indicating that it would be with me by today an email followed a day later telling me they would be delivering it to me mid-December.  Slight panic.  So, I was fully prepared apart from knowing where I was walking except that I’d start in Knighton and end in Welshpool 136 miles later.  However, I’d had the bright idea of contacting the Offa’s Dyke Centre who had a copy of a different guide book and agreed to put their only copy to one side for me.  The Amazon order arrived on Thursday but I still collected the one from the centre.  I then had a brief wander around the town.  It’s the sort of small town you find a lot of in Sussex; you can buy a mandolin, some antique furniture and some lovely crockery but can’t buy petrol and may struggle to get a pint of milk.  But I love tiny towns which won’t have famous chain stores but will have So and So and son of This Town established a long time ago.  I then retreated to my converted stable room behind The George and Dragon.  I quite like that there’s no internet or mobile signal here, although if I get lost over the next few days that aspect will be far from amusing.  I have a new mp3 player to entertain me, protein bars, the right clothing for walking, guidance on stretches for my legs and hips each day and a whole hospital’s worth of blister creams and plasters.  I know I’m under prepared physically but I’m more excited about doing this than I have been about doing anything in a long while.  Tomorrow I’ll take the first step of my 136 miles.         

Washing Machine

We've finally bought a washing machine. The days of Febrezing each other before leaving the house are over.

Curtains

We now have curtains in every room except for the kitchen and sitting room. I thought the house would feel more finished when it was curtained but it doesn't. Perhaps that feeling will come when the constant stream of tradesman coming and going through the house ends.  

Steppin' Out

There have been changes, both personally and with regards to the house. Most importantly and significantly for me my workload has reduced to that of the average working person rather than that of several people. Where once I had a ‘Things to do’ list dating back generations and longer than a queue of people wanting to punch Piers Morgan I am now so up to date I have no list at all. Having completed her thesis and been awarded a Phd Marianna has experienced a similar reduction in work and stress. Towards the end of last year I visited one of our tradesmen on a Sunday morning to pay them and as I approached their house I could see them in their front room reading a newspaper and their daughter seated nearby reading a book. It had become the stuff of fantasy that people did such relaxing things between 5pm on Friday and 9am on Monday. I was tempted to ask to stay. For well over a year there has been no difference between Tuesday and Sunday and 3pm and 3am because at any of these times I could be working but now a separation between work and free time has appeared and I am very grateful for this. I’m making good use of it and have already attended Buddhist meditation classes, a film club, book club, have returned to watching Leamington Town FC and have been on several walks in the Warwickshire countryside. When they reconvene in September after their summer break I’ll pay at least one visit to Warwick Folk Club too. When I told someone about my sudden explosion of social activity this week their response was “What next, Patrick? Glee Club?”.


The outside of the house has been rendered and painted which is a huge improvement on the chipboard covering the lower half of the bay windows and the house looks increasingly finished. To complete the outside a new driveway and garage door are needed. Marianna contacted a local builder to provide a quote for the driveway and a patio at the rear. The name of his company adorned his vehicle and clothing which often indicates that he may be charging more than the norm and his complimentary comments on our front door, kitchen (a space so large the curvature of the planet is visible) and glass banisters indicated that he believed us to be much richer than we are. Still, his quote for £19,500 for a few dozen paving slabs induced more than a curled lip on my part. I don’t mean to be disrespectful to him since having made a mess of such projects myself I know that these things can be difficult but not as difficult as surgery or naming a kitten. So, we used Mybuilder.co.uk to generate quotes for the work. I may be wrong but the website works like this.....Advertise the work you want doing......a dozen people reply with estimated quotes......you contact them and ask them to visit so they can make a formal quote....only two people turn up....of those two one is a pikey and the other promises to call with his formal quote but doesn’t.....you tell the pikey you’ll give him a call....you don’t.

Dan, Max’s carpenter, spent a couple of Saturdays with us and constructed some lovely, slightly quirky shelves in the front and back rooms. This prompted the opening of boxes which had mostly been filled in mid 2008 and the placing of books and CD’s and records on the shelves. When everything was in place an orgy of self-congratulation began. I’m bemused that a number of my albums appear to be missing; the entire Eagles cannon, ‘Songs in the key of life’ by Stevie Wonder, ‘Music from Big Pink’ by The Band, ‘Night People’ by Classix Nouveaux, a Best of Jim Croce, some original pressings by Nat King Cole, Burt Bacharach and Shirley Bassey and possibly some others. I know I sold some a few years ago (largely Elton John) but not these. Since the start of 2005 I’ve called eight different properties home so it hasn’t always been easy to keep track of things. If you’re related to me perhaps you’d be good enough to check your attic.

In other news.....Martin, the neighbour whose name is never spoken within these walls, is in the process of turning his garden shed into a summer house. It’s been pained a sort of green colour and there are blinds at the window. I suspect he’ll be moving into it soon.