My Life, living with the Welsh

Personal Diary:
Day One

 After arriving safely at our luxury holiday cottage - home for the next week - situated in the 'village' of Bosherston, down in deepest West Wales, we immediately commenced a rudimentary unpacking - pants in drawer and wash-bag perched precariously on the side of the bath. as a result of usual space constraints with girlfriends toiletries, which have a tendency to expand on contact with bathroom surfaces - before setting out to explore our new surroundings, the local amenities and the indigenous flora and fauna, whilst there was still some remaining daylight...pub located, job done !
 To be fair, we saw all that Bosherston had to offer any passing, uninformed, unsuspecting or just plain LOST traveller, whilst on our way to the local watering-hole. There was the smattering of domesciles, a small chapel, a rustic - sorry that's rusty - public payphone and the essential bus shelter, which ran a regular service ( twice a day,except on Saturdays, "Well, Gareth has to play for the local footie ball team, you see !" insert Welsh accent here ).

Day Two

Bosherston has one other 'treasure' to be experienced...Aunty Scarlett's cream tea room, the home - and as it happens, also hers - of locally imported, semi-fresh cream scones and tannine infused teas. Our Scarlett has been serving her brand of comestibles for over half a century. Photographs adorn the walls, of what is essential her front room, of her days in the war - the second one I think, though there again, it could easily have been the first one. Doing her bit for the war effort, flying secret sorties, dropping her creamed buns to
our brave lads beyond enemy lines. But, it was for her serving of Prince William, and his school chums, one fateful day when their chauffeur driven coach had broken down, that Aunty Scarlett finally received recognition and subsequently an MBE
 Unfortunately, due to a successful, disintegrating slipper removal operation, she was not able to see anybody
on the day that we went. So all we managed to see of her were the over socked feet, twitching, spasmodically on her pouffe, every time her living room door was swung open.

Day Three

With expectations running high - we are eternal optimists - we look forward to visiting the much mentioned ' Walled gardens of Stackpoole.' What can I say about this agricultural tourist trap, well, if you are a fan of
grass surrounded by rather high walls, then boy, are you in for a treat ! If ever there was a place named after exactly what it is - and nothing else -then this place surely, wins first prize.

Now, I can't help but wonder....just what there really was, at the ' Hanging gardens of Babylon ?'

Day Four

Rain stopped excursions....... end of play !

In conclusion, Wales is only about 4 hours away by car, and yet it might as well be another country. Very similar and yet....it's just not quite right...not quite like home.