WELSH WALES

I remember coming to Snowdonia with Gaelic speaking Scot when I was a "yoof". As we walked into the pub the easy English chatter slid into Welsh instantaneously. Sideways looks were shot in our direction and Welsh muttering continued. Unfortunately for the unfriendly Welsh drinkers, my mate Bill knew enough of what they were saying to stand to his full 5' 6" and tell them in no uncertain terms that they were impolite and discourteous gentlemen; well, something along those lines.

They slipped back into English and nothing more was said.

This evening we pitched up at a campsite as the Glyders were getting a proper hail-pasting, paid our dues and popped the tents up. Noticing a shower block, I nipped in, stripped off in the cubicle and pressed the button. Nada; nothing came out of the pipes.

Dressed I went back to the farmhouse and a large lady in a magificent pinny told me quite triumphantly that I "needed a token, see!"

Unlike the Pinnacle Cafe, this time there were no notices, no one had told us about the tokens. No apology either.

Welcome to bloody Wales! And they are welcome to it too! The scenery is top drawer, the service industry is rubbish.

Eleven miles, all well and the Exos 46 is a little hunny!