We’d already decided to give everyone a rest in the morning, which turned out to be a good thing as I didn’t really sleep worth a damn most of the night and finally dozed off around 6 am — it’s possible I was still somehow on Denver time internally, as 6am/11pm would be about when I’d go to bed at home. But even with the late start with much lazing around Glangrwyney, Lori was still feeling under the weather so Dave, Margie, Jackie and I went out at around 11am toward Cardiff Bay, where we intended to use our half-day shopping instead of sightseeing.
Ahh, the best laid plans…
The others stopped for tea once we arrived while I wandered around the docks, then we found a ridiculously overpriced art gallery masquerading as a craft shop with very few things I’d be interested in buying anyway and certainly, they had no goblets :) (You see, bereft of any other real goal for the shopping trip, Dave and Margie and Jackie had latched onto my goblet comment the day previous as both an interesting goal and one “easily achieved”. Oh the irony.)
I should mention that the last time Dave and Margie had been in the area, you apparently couldn’t swing a dead kiln without hitting a pair of interesting pottery goblets of the type I desired. This time, nothing. A few shallow-bowled and/or undersized things stamped with the Welsh Heritage logo, a few flimsey etched-glass follies, and that was pretty much that.
When we’d exhausted Cardiff Bay (and poked fun at the still-uncompleted and looks-like-a-stack-of-CDs-next-to-a-half-open-diaphram-case Millenium Center), we shot up* into the Brecon Beacon National Park to, predictably, the town of Brecon, which really seemed like a cool place (and where we’d missed monthly craft-fair by one hour and failed to find anything like what we were looking for). Lovely handmade wooden bowls, though; wooden bowls seem to have supplanted pottery wine goblets as the major ‘authentic’ Wales craft export in the last four years.
* - Dave claims we got lost for awhile exiting Cardiff, but I think we knew where we were the whole time — we just didn’t go in a very straight line.
We called back to the B&B to ask after Lori’s health, which hadn’t really improved much. We were planning to go out for dinner, but offered our services in acquiring comfort food in the form of McDonalds for her, beforehand. (DaveG planned to go with us.)
You see, Jackie remembered a McD’s in Abergavenny, a mere five miles from Glangrwyney Court. HA! Needless to say, there was no McDonalds — said establishment having appeared in Jackie’s mind in whole form from her no-doubt flawless memory of fifty similar burgs around South Wales. Perfectly understandable — it’s pretty darn confusing keeping all the little towns sorted out.
So we called back to the house to enquire about other food options and were informed that if not a cheeseburger, it would be preferrable not to have anything — too much bother. Now, knowing both ***Dave and myself, I’ll let the reader decide if we were more likely to drive to Blighted Bristol for the prize before returning home empty-handed. Something had to be done!
Our quest was further complicated by it being 6.10pm, ten minutes into the “magical” hour in Wales that lies between ‘day’ businesses being open and ‘pubs’ serving meals. Midnight might be the witching hour, but 6pm sees far more Americans uttering curses.
We finally found a fish-n-chips place that hadn’t yet shut off its ovens (or that had fired them up early, I’m not sure which) that did cheeseburgers — or at least something the folks at the Sunnydale Double-Meat Palace would recognize as such. They only served Coke, which Lori only drinks upon direst need (more on that later), so we got a Pepsi at the local Tesco and, with the bag of burger and chips tucked inside my coat for insulation, we returned to the B&B triumphant.
Then, finally, to The Bear.
The gate leading to the Bear’s parking in back (no parking on the street) is still labelled ‘horse postern’, if that’s any indication of what we were dealing with in finding a space. Unlike the first part of the day, however, we drove the short and stubby Mercedes POS Jackie and I had rented and, arriving with the engine buzzing with the hum of 250 angry sewing machines (I.e.: 75 horsepower — I’m not kidding), we found a space that could fit the ridiculous-looking thing.
The food was excellent, the drinks were more than satisfactory, and the dessert (lemon cream pie/sorbet or Chocoholics Anon or Ginger Roll) were superb. Also they’re a high-tech group, despite the ancient exterior, and use (largish) wireless handhelds to place orders — no surprise they have a decent website.
***Dave and I opted to be dropped off at the Bluebell for a nightcap or two afterwards, watched some guys playing pool, and walked the rest of the way home. (At least the Bluebell’s close… that’s all it’s got going for it.) That was the night.
