I thought I’d died and gone to Wales.

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Hello folks: just a reminder to let you know I’ve not fallen off the end of the planet. I’ve been on a mini-break to North Wales and the 1st picture above was the scene that greeted us whilst navigating a track so narrow even sheep can’t get down the mountain road if a car is on it. We wanted to see the most remote farmhouse in Wales which was at the top of the mountain and the road happened to once have been the main road into London. Can’t imagine how long it took to get to London in the 1700’s. Apparently if you don’t go back the way you came you are likely to get stuck on the mountain.

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This is the farmhouse at the top of the mountain: my little bit of heaven. What a fantastic place it would be to write; no one else around. Reminded me of Lumb Bank near Hebdon Bridge when a few of us post-grads received a bursary to attend a creative writing course for a week, given by a male poet, and a lady author. This ‘lady’ instead of getting my creative juices flowing got my bile up instead, but what I did like about my stay at Lumb Bank was the fact Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes lived there for a while.

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The following day was spent at Portmerion. A lovely place on the coast where the 60’s cult series The Prisoner was made. I’ve actually got the T shirt: I am not a number, and I will not be filed or indexed etc. etc.

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The granddaughter taking a break at Portmerion. Note the red lesser- striped tree-creeper attempting to climb the rocks to her left. The other picture I just had to post as I think its a lovely picture of her sitting on the pointy end of a ship down by the beach.


This is the beach where Patrick McGoohan tried to escape from The Village. To those not in the know, he had previously made a series called Dangerman. It was about an MI6 operative during the Cold War. He finally retires and because he knows too much they imprison him at The Village. He never escapes because they have enormous big white balloons which patrol the beach like Rottweilers.


I think a mother should always come between her daughter and son-in-law, don’t you?


Time for a well-earned rest before travelling on to Bangor for one night: and didn’t we have a lovely time. Remember Ffidler’s Dram? Didn’t get any cuddles from Jack though: perhaps it was the fact there was no one in the car named Jack, also we didn’t open a bottle of cider: had a G&T when we got to the hotel.

Did take my lap-top on my mini-break, but during our two night stay in Caenarfon, I was frankly too knackered by the end of the day to even lift the lid, and still knackered the following morning. Upon rising it took a good half-an-hour before I could use my legs, but this was helped by numerous cups of tea. It was then off to fuel the tanks with a BIG full English breakfast, before donning my red National Trust rucksack to set off again.

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Penrhyn Castle was our next destination, but whilst having a chat with one of the National Trust volunteers in the first picture (you can hardly see me as my hair and top almost blend in with the background) a couple of weirdos trolled by, one of them pulling an odd looking gentleman in a rickshaw made from and old armchair and a couple of large bicycle wheels.

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Wherever you travel in North Wales there is always a view of the majestic Snowdonia mountains.  The beauty of the place is stunning: a place I would like to live and write because during most of our stay there were no signals on our mobile phones.


“Still no signal, Granny?” It’s all well and good having no phone signal, but when you need one, like trying to find out where hubby is,  who just happens to have trundled off all by himself like a two year old, then it can get very frustrating.

Finally we arrived back home after a 3 hour drive, including a one hour traffic jam on the M6. I slept for 11 hours that night and was as stiff as a board the following morning. So was hubby, but too tired to do anything about it. I am still suffering the after effects of all the climbing and walking, having difficulty even lifting my arms to type. When I did finally uncover my keyboard I found my grandson had nominated me for the Ice-Bucket Challenge (I’ll kill him)

So when this SHB gets her mojo back she will let you know how the Ice-Bucket challenge went. Perhaps if it’s flattering I might even post a photo, but then does anyone look their best when drowning. But if anyone out there owns a remote shack, a villa, a basha even, where I could lie-up for the next 6 months, I desperately need somewhere so I can get out of this bloody ice-bucket challenge.

SHB – Silver-haired blogger.

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