The thermometer is set to plummet. Real winter arriving at last. An icy northwesterly blasting across the frozen steppes of Lincolnshire bringing Greenland temperatures to unprepared yellowbellies. Make sure you have a good supply of fuel next to the hearth and plenty of food in the larder. You will not want to roam far.
I wonder if there is a temperature at which Deliveroo ceases to function. Where bicycle chains seize and insulated food bags are inadequate for keeping your chinese warm. Riders freeze. The only option is to bunker down, pile on the duvets and enter hibernation.
The shed could continue to function as the operational nerve centre of all things Tref. It has all the basic necessities: very good insulation, great connectivity, a Stella Artois branded refrigerator, bags of computer power, screen acreage and a leather sofa with very cosy blankets.
The preferred option may be laptop in front of the fire in the front room. This will need careful consideration due to the reduced screen availability. It comes to something when decisions are influenced by pixel count.
But first the journey home cross country needs to be undertaken. Two hundred miles of extremely boring motorway 🛣 driving. We complain but in the days of coach and horses this would have been a dangerous and uncomfortable ten day marathon that would not have been considered lightly. Probably would not have made the trip, especially as our stay in Cymru has only been for three nights. Whistlestop. Pheeeeeeeep.
In Caerdydd we are listening to the wireless. It brings news from foreign parts. Calais, Tel Aviv and Westminster. I turned the set on five minutes before the start of the bulletin to give the valves time to warm up. A few crackles and a voice came through loud and clear although we do have to huddle close to hear it properly. We sit in quiet concentration, digesting the information presented and thanking our lucky stars that we are ourselves safe with a roof over our heads. And bacon rolls to be consumed. With another cup of tea.
The Sunday service from York has kicked in. Doesn’t quite do it for me so I’m going to stick the bacon on. Bought some rolls yesterday on the way back from the Bannau Brycheiniog. I will not go hungry on this cold winter’s morn, in January, in Caerdydd. Blessed are those who keep warm when all around is frozen.
…
Paham mae dicter, O Myfanwy,
Yn llenwi’th lygaid duon di?
A’th ruddiau tirion, O Myfanwy,
Heb wrido wrth fy ngweled i?
Pa le mae’r wên oedd ar dy wefus
Fu’n cynnau ‘nghariad ffyddlon ffôl?
Pa le mae sain dy eiriau melys,
Fu’n denu’n nghalon ar dy ôl?
Pa beth a wneuthum, O Myfanwy
I haeddu gwg dy ddwyrudd hardd?
Ai chwarae oeddit, O Myfanwy
 thanau euraidd serch dy fardd?
Wyt eiddo im drwy gywir amod
Ai gormod cadw’th air i mi?
Ni cheisiaf fyth mo’th law, Myfanwy,
Heb gael dy galon gyda hi.
Myfanwy boed yr holl o’th fywyd
Dan heulwen ddisglair canol dydd.
A boed i rosyn gwridog iechyd
I ddawnsio ganmlwydd ar dy rudd.
Anghofia’r oll o’th addewidion
A wneist i rywun, ‘ngeneth ddel,
A dyro’th law, Myfanwy dirion
I ddim ond dweud y gair “Ffarwél”.
…
Cast off thy shackles
…
Whilst I was at the bar last night a fairy hairy bloke came and sat at our table. He had spotted my jacked, draped over the back of the chair, and came over to express his admiration. I’m always happy to engage with aficionados of jackets such as mine. Life is short. Talk to people. I wear it often.
Yesterday at St Mary’s Priory Church in Abergavenny the lady volunteer guide spotted the Route 66 sign and asked me if I had been there. That was a reasonable question. She was a good guide and was able to point out many interesting features inside the church. After our conversation she asked me if I would sign the visitors book and I was happy to oblige.
…
Made it home at a quarter to two. House is freezing so until it warms up I’m sat here with a tshirt, lumberjack shirt, extremely warm himalayan wool jumper and a thick woollen beanie with a v comfortable quilt over my knees.