The Royal Oak, Flint.
A beautiful sunny day and sitting in the pub with no ash-trays. Yes - Still in Wales and the No Smoking Ban has started.
The regulars are stoical about it, and the pub feels clean. There is an enormously fat chap at the bar, sitting on a substantial bar stool that disappears into his backside. He fancies himself as he has a shaved head and wears..... training shoes and tracky bottoms.
In fact, virtually the entire clientele is wearing the same outfit. The speakers are banging out disco style pulp crap music, slightly too loud.
It is wonderful.
A mention for last night's B&B in Carmel - Celyn Villa. The husband is a bit of a star. At an early age he cycled (twice) to Turkey by different routes and still has his passport with all the border stamps - including (I think) Albania, where his bicycle was stamped in the passport in and out of the country, just in case any import laws were flouted in that weird Communist economy.
I was speaking with him about Prestatyn and the shock of it all. He asked if I had ever been to Rhyll, just to west along the coast. Apparently that makes Prestatyn look like Cannes in comparison.
Lord Elpus provided the translation this morning to the handy Welsh phrases to help me get to the front in the queue at the Welsh bars. Thankfully I did not have recourse to use them as, as you can see, I am still alive.