Day 8 – Llanbrymair to Llangadfan

 I woke feeling tired and in need of more sleep but the legs and feet felt good.  I thought they’d finally got used to what I was asking of them.  I descended at 7.30, which felt incredibly early but is over an hour later than I’d normally get up, and had breakfast in the dining room.  It was, like the rest of the house filled with an assortment of expensive furniture (and a hostess trolley).  I had porridge and then some scrambled eggs.  I was slightly surprised that before we left Richard charged me for the lifts to and from Llanbrynmair.  This seemed a little odd since it was Sue’s suggestion.  I paid but in my head I pulled out a Christmas card list and removed their name.  While I put my boots and gaiters on Richard told me that he made walking sticks as a bobby and often sold them.  He brought some out to show me.  I wasn’t sure if that was my cue to buy one.  I didn’t.  Richard drove me to Llanbrynmair so I could rejoin the walk where I’d left it.  It started with a steep ascent but there’d been a mild frost so the ground was firm underfoot.  The path then took me into a lovely area of woodland. 

 There had been a strong frost in there and even some snow.  I took the time out for some photography.  I haven’t done much over the week.  I haven’t had the time and it’s been a struggle to keep the lens clean and free from falling water.  I’ve noticed that sheep are very camera shy.  I don’t know quite what motivates this but when I first enter a field several will look at me and then urinate.  Is this an aggressive act or meant to intimidate me?  I’ve learned that there are several different types of sheep; small heads, wide heads, white heads, black heads, long legs, chunky legs.  Reading this is like watching QI isn’t it? 

When the path emerged from the woods it was straight into a boggy field.  And then the day started going downhill.  I spent a lot of time trying to find routes through the bog/water since it was consistently at a depth that would go over the top of my boots.  I noticed on three occasions that previous walkers had pulled up the signposts and used them to bridge these mud streams.  It’s dangerous to leave people unable to follow the path but I did use them for some tightrope walking.  I also climbed wooden and barbed wire fences to avoid sludge (I put my woollen hat over the barbs to protect my genitals, thank you for your concern).  As the ground dried out very slightly (or I’d given up on any hope of keeping dry) there were horses and ponies on the moor.  The horses circled me like a ‘West Side Story’ gang but quickly lost interest.  I also saw a fox up there.  It was a real struggle to keep my legs moving with wet boots and wet socks. 

Soaking wet and thoroughly miserable I felt like an escapee from a Barrymore pool party when I arrived at the Cann Office Hotel in Llangadfan at 15.50.  I’d done six miles less than yesterday but only finished seventy minutes sooner and was exhausted.  The member of staff who greeted me was then leaving and had only waited for me.  He put my boots in the laundry room and assured me they would easily dry in there.  The hotel is more of a pub and when that member of staff left I had the entire building to myself.  It’s basic to say the last.  My room is like a Gauntanamo cell with a Floral Border.  My feet are in a worsening state.  I have several black toenails and the back of my right heel is like an open wound.  The room is more than a little tired.  For the first time in a week I switched off in front of the television all evening.  The pub seemed very busy below me but I stayed in my room and let the X-Factor wash over me.  

Day 7 - Machynlleth to Llanbrynmair

I woke early again.  I am yet to get a full eight hours since this walk began.  I descended for breakfast at eight (the earliest they served it).  My host suggested that I should walk further than I planned to today.  I said I’d stick to the plan but ten minutes after I’d returned to my room he brought me a phone so I could speak to Sue my host for this evening.  She too thought I should walk further since I would probably reach Cemmaes Road (it’s a village not a road) by midday or one.  She said that I could go on to Llanbrynmair or call her in the afternoon whenever I felt I’d had enough and she would collect me.  I agreed.  When I set off my legs were pretty stiff but I soon got into my stride.  I walked out of Machynlleth like Bill Bixby with a rucksack full of tattered clothing.  It was a lovely day and, unlike yesterday, I stuck to the trail properly today.  It was quite firm underfoot which was surprising after yesterday’s weather.  I was also pleased that I was able to get a radio signal until 10.30.  It was a nice change.  So far this week every word I’ve heard whilst walking has been sung and it’s been like being trapped in an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical.  I was on track to arrive in Cemmaes Road around 12.30 but lost the trail and like a man in search of God I wandered around looking for a sign.  I descended a hill towards Cemmaes too early and had to walk along on the road. 

So, I arrived in the village at one fifteen and shortly after doing so a woman in her sixties stopped her car, got out and asked me “Are you staying with me tonight?”.  It could have been an ill judged chat up line so I declared myself to be an idiot and said “I don’t know, am I?”.  “Did we speak on the phone this morning?”.  “Yes”.  She seemed a little stiff and humourless.  And that wasn’t just because of the huge amount of hairspray on her head.  She said she was going into Machynlleth (she pronounced it Mahuntliff) to shop and then would be available to collect me from Llanbrynmair (6 ¾ miles away) later in the day.  I agreed to this plan. 



Unfortunately, by about two o’clock I was really wishing I’d stopped for the day.  I trudged on being more than slightly frustrated that the trail was more poorly signposted on this section than it had been in others.  I then realised that I’d lost a glove and cheekily sent a text to Sue asking if she would buy me a pair of gloves if she was still in Machynlleth.  It was probably because I had to consult the guide book so often and was taking the gloves off to turn the page that I lost the second one later.  Around 3pm I happened upon a mother and her teenage daughter but had met their dog about two minutes before I saw who it belonged to.  Mum said “Did my dog jump all over you?  I’m so sorry”.  I said “It’s been that many hours since I saw anyone I was about to jump all over him”. 

As it got darker I tried to move faster but only arrived in Llanbrynmair at five.  I called Sue as I approached the village.  She collected me and drove me to her farm house/manor house and seemed intent on getting my full life history during the journey.


           “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a forensic psychologist”

“That must be fascinating”.

“No, I have to be honest, it isn’t”.  I’m trying a new policy during this walk.

Inside the doorway of her home she gave me The Daily Mail to stand on which seemed to be the ideal use for it.  She then produced the gloves she had bought for me.  ‘One size fits all’ they said.  This worried me slightly since I can’t imagine this principle working with trousers or shoes.  Although slightly tight they fitted well.  I’m not planning to play the piano over the next few days so won’t need full blood circulation in my fingers.  I then met her husband Richard.  It was soon apparent that he is a bit deaf.  I was invited to join them for tea and cake by the fire in their sitting room.  I learned that Sue is a former nurse while Richard works as a magistrate and in organising hunting and fishing trips.  He was a farmer but they sold their land to bail out their son whose ex-wife left him with huge debts.  Would they have told me all of this if I’d said I was a postman when they asked what my profession was?  They are soon swapping properties with their son and family who live in a cottage in the grounds and will then stop Bed and Breakfasting.  Their daughter is single, has had a number of weird boyfriends and is a fashion designer and lives in London.  She seemed to have more baggage than Louis Vuitton.  On that subject, they mentioned that she’d bought a handbag for £3000 and Richard said he’d once spent £70 on a pair of shoes.  He said that was in 1982 and then raised his legs to show them to me.  No doubt that joke had been told many times before.

They said that earlier in the year an eighty nine year old man had stayed with them who was also doing the walk and at the same pace as me.  There’s no excuse.  I have to finish this thing.  I left them to their evening at 18.30.  I hope the musty smell I was radiating didn’t distract anyone from enjoying our time together.  As I left them I asked if my boots and their copy of The Daily Mail could sit by the fire.  Richard asked what make they were.  I had no idea.  They were the pair I opted for after trying on most of what the shop stocked.  Despite the number of times I’d pulled them on and off I still didn’t know what make they were.  His were a very expensive, famous brand.  He got them and encouraged me to touch them and see how soft the leather was.  It’s hard to know how to respond when a man you met less than two hours earlier extends that sort of invitation.  I hobbled back to my huge room, bathed in my huge bathroom and then rested in my huge bed. 

Day 6 – Stay Little to Machynlleth

I was aware of the wind and rain in the night and again when I woke.  I wasn’t feeling too great on any level and was particularly lacking in energy.  At breakfast Becky told me that rain and winds of 27mph were forecast.  I was thinking of avoiding the path and zig zagging around it on roads and forest paths so that I always had something firm under my feet.  She told me that this time last year it was minus fifteen and didn’t get above freezing for several weeks.  She offered to drive me to Machynlleth but I declined her offer and stuck with my plan to keep on the tracks and roads.  While I ate breakfast she told me she’d previously worked as a music teacher although by that point I’d pretty much figured that out.  When I told her this she said thought I might also be a teacher.  “What made you think that?” I asked.  “The beard.  The walking”, she said. “The brown corduroy suit?” I added.  She’s been giving piano lessons at Rock Villa to a number of children under ten and a lady in her seventies.  She describes a very nice life.

So I walked on the road.  The wind, 27mph or not, was relentless.  I wouldn’t say it took my breath away but at times when it was blowing directly onto me I felt like I was going to suffocate because it was difficult to breathe out.  The breath was blown back in before it could escape.  I’ve also never known a wind so strong it could spin me around.  Within an hour of leaving Rock Villa everything I was wearing was wet; my waterproof coat, trousers, sweatshirt, t-shirt, underwear and, surprisingly, my boots seemed to be penetrated quickly and easily.  You know you’re wet when MacCarthur Park is playing constantly inside your head.  I kept my head down and just walked.  The only thing I can tell you of note is that I saw a farmer driving along the road and herding his sheep from his car.  I couldn’t say his activity was any more or less insane than mine.  Before I got to within a mile of Machynlleth I was passed by nineteen cars and four people stopped and offered me a lift.  That’s a hell of a ratio and either indicates how bad the weather was, how rough I looked or how lovely people are.  I think people tend to be closer and friendlier when there’s greater geographical space between them.  In a town or city you could be lying in the street and people would just step over you.  I was touched by each offer but determined to keep going although it registered with me that if I really did start to struggle another offer would soon come along.  So, I did two miles less than I should have today but because there was something firm beneath my feet I walked at the sort of pace I would keep on a treadmill in the gym and arrived at my hotel just after midday.    

I was shown to my room by a man who seemed to be particularly disinterested in me and may have had an operation to have his manners removed.  His hotel is a little dodgy.  So dodgy one of its AA stars has been erased with felt pen.  After a shower and a spot of 'Countdown' I walked/minced into Machynlleth for a brief wander and to get some supplies from the Co-Op and then retired to my tired hotel, tired.

Day 5 – Llanidloes to Stay Little

I slept well and woke feeling good except for a slight muscle spasm in the right hand side of my back.  When I slipped over later in the day and put out my left hand to stop my fall, because, as always I was holding my camera with my right hand, I realised why the spasm was only on that side.  Roy provided a somewhat minimal breakfast but he was still thoroughly charming.  His voice is so posh he makes Joanna Lumley sound like she’s in ‘Shameless’.  The name Roy really isn’t right for him.  He’s more of a Julian.  Anyway, I had company in the dining room and was joined by Martin who was in the area for a meeting.  He works in renewable energy and his meeting would be about wind farms of which I’ve seen many on the walk.  He looked like he’d stepped out of a Davidoff advert, was very interested in walking, had completed several long-distance paths and had even done some on mainland Europe.  Even when I’m in the middle of a walk and there are only two people in the room I still don’t get to be the one who knows the most about the subject.  You’ll notice I can always find time to feel inadequate.  Chatting delayed my departure a little but it was a very pleasant exchange.  As usual I covered my feet in plasters and myself in Deep Heat and descended to the ground floor to locate my boots.  Roy was reading and listening to music.  An ‘absence of television’ theme is emerging this week.  He had not only dried the boots but had cleaned all of the mud (and sheep shit) off them too.  “Fresh boots for a fresh day” he said.  I was really touched.  I’m realising that this trip isn’t about walking it’s about meeting lovely people and realising not everyone is like my clients.  I’d already noticed an African theme through the property.  With so many pictures on some walls there was barely any wall visible.  Perhaps it’s intended to create an impression or prompt conversation.  I followed the prompt for conversation.  It transpired that he’s originally from Zimbabwe and was there last week for his niece’s wedding, his first visit since his mother’s funeral last year.  He mentioned that he has two other properties in the UK.  Why on earth are you cooking breakfast for me then?         


I walked out of the town and into woods and that was the end of mobile phone signal for the day.  I managed to get a radio reception for twenty minutes.  Perhaps I should have brought audio books or comedy performances rather than all of the music as more of a distraction, to keep me company more.  Perhaps walking with other human beings would have kept me from panicking about time keeping also.  Soon after leaving the wood I saw an old woman collecting logs from the back of her garden.  I smiled and waved.  “It’s going to be a raw one” she said.  Not overly optimistic but her smile and wave cheered me.  I didn’t see another person until 3pm and they ignored me.  Was it the smell from the socks?  The focus for the day was Clywedog Dam and reservoir.  This was good since as lovely as it is the walk so far has been one hill or field full of sheep after another and it’s hard to distinguish one hour or day from another.   

I’ve noticed that farmers don’t recycle, trade-in or scrap their old vehicles and machinery.  The fields are full of rusting machinery and all farms have at least one moss covered caravan.  The contrast of the dam and reservoir from the constant stream of sheep filled fields was very pleasant.  When I got to the dam it became apparent that I was making very slow progress.  This was partly because of strong, cold winds but also because my legs were seizing up.  Well, it was mostly my right leg that was letting me down.  It had stiffened at the knee and it seemed that it was only moving because of the momentum caused by my left leg moving.  For the final forty five minutes I walked on tarmac parallel to the path so as to avoid boggy fields and ease the damage done to my knees.  I wandered into Staylittle village but the marking of Rock Villa, my accommodation, on the map provided no guidance when in the village itself.  Fortunately, and curiously given that the viIlage only had a dozen houses, there was a post office.  “It’s blowy out there” said the man at the counter.  I might ordinarily have thought “No shit” but I smiled and agreed and asked for directions. 

I was relieved to find Rock Villa in Staylittle at 15.40.  It was a beautiful little cottage surrounded by fields and sheep built in 1756 (and they don’t have a chocolate bathroom suite Brian!!).  I greeted my host, Becky, like a Labrador desperate for company.  She was a blonde haired woman in her early to mid thirties with a little girl attached to her hip.  As usual I stripped at the door, shedding flakes of mud on her floor and allowing puffs of musty smell to escape my layers of clothing.  She and her daughter, Alex, showed me to my room which couldn’t have been lovelier, more warm and embracing or typical of a country cottage.  I changed quickly and went back downstairs for tea and cake by the fire.  It’s amazing how quickly cake and tea can revitalise.

     

In my room I noticed that I was a little red faced.  I don’t know how this could be since I’ve barely seen the sun all week.  I bathed and rested and went downstairs for dinner at six.  I was clearly in the mood for company but Becky stayed and ate in the next room.  Probably some ‘my daughter is only two and can’t be left’ nonsense.  I flicked through her copy of The Thames Path guidebook while I ate.  She asked if I’d done other walks and if I would normally choose to walk at this time of year.  I discovered that she and her husband had lived in Budapest for five years, then in central London for three before deciding to relocate.  They wanted to move to Herefordshire and kept searching further and further west until they found property they could afford.  They’ve been at Rock Villa for three years running a B&B and small holding.  She said there was nothing she missed about London and loves that the nearest Tesco or cinema is thirty miles away.  There is no television here too.  I thought we might play scrabble, bake Eccles cakes or make wool into balls in the evening but she didn’t extend an invitation for any of these activities and I retired to my room.  It’s so blissfully peaceful here. 

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.