After a brief sojourn in Maidenhead, I made my way to south Wales and the Brecon Beacons. Having spent a number of weekends in the bunkhouse at Upper Cantref as a scouting youth, I chose that as my base, and camped in the field that doubles as an overflow car park. Upper Cantref sits in the shadows of the northern-most Beacons, so the task on my first full day there was to conquer them.
The peaks of Fan Y Big, Cribyn and Pen Y Fan are very familiar to me, so the route wouldn't be too taxing, intermittent cyclonic rain aside. Each climb brought a number of memories rushing back. As I descended Fan Y Big, I imagined Benjy running past me on the way up...I could be mistaken as I'm certain he ran the last few hundred yards up Kilimanjaro once. On the way up Cribyn I remembered having paused half-way up for nuts and a bar of dairy milk the size of my chest, as a mere 14 year-old with Nev and Son Of, Pat, Andrew and probably Lloyd. It was on a PL/APL weekend with scouts and we had stayed in what I think was a small hall annexed to a church - I had miraculously saved two mugs from distruction with a diving double-catch as we acted as grown-up as we could by playing football indoors. At the top of Pen Y Fan - the tallest of the three - it wasn't so much that the rain was falling on me, more being on me. The wind wasn't too ferocious though - in the past I've been forced to literally lie flat to keep from being blown off the mountain. Here was where I was presented with my Queen's Scout award, and here was where I almost got frost-bitten fingers one winter, save for Stumpy's Nepal-thermo mittens. This particular climb was completely uneventful, however, the clouds only briefly parting to allow me to appreciate the retreating view north.
And so to Sheffield, via the Cardiff-Bristol-Birmingham megabus and a train. I was here ever-so-briefly on 2nd April, and now I return to aid Jim F in celebrating his 30th. Friday's original entertainment of a Red Snapper gig has been cancelled so, at time of writing, the night remains a surprise. Saturday will involve a party in the theme of BIG. I have been designing my costume in transit and require only a plain white t-shirt and this blue biro to complete it. (I have, in reserve, a bag of my recently-shorn travellers beard and travellers hair to manufacture a ridiculous moustache, if the t-shirt is not forthcoming).
With hindsight, Friday involved pubs followed by gin and music nightcap, and gin. The party on the Saturday was a great one, the rain just about holding off and allowing extensive use of the garden and its multiple barbequeing implements: Jim is quite the middle-aged 30 year-old and his Jamie stone-baking pizza wood-burner proved a particular highlight. Props to Dave for his Gulliver-tied-down-by-the-Lilliputians and Andrew and Helen for their Big Fish (Little Fish Cardboard Box)'s. Come Sunday, sleep deprivation deprived and handover abated, I now head back to Wales, the north this time, to spend time amongst the lakes and castles and mountains of Snowdonia. Smelling distinctly of woodsmoke.
Oh, and before I forget, I'm in the area at the back end of June...Maidenhead weekend of 25/26 and London for gigs (Destroyer 28th, Arcade Fire 30th, Flaming Lips 1st) and suggestions the subsequent week or two, should anyone want to do anything.
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Number 4 on the list: Lothario/Gigolo/Manwhore
It has been brought to my attention that prospective career options have been lacking from recent posts, almost as if I haven't been turning my mind to my future the last few weeks. It falls to the oldest profession of all to get the ball rolling again, so to speak. I am in the process of sourcing references and quotes to support this suggestion.
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