Well, The Royal Oak did a good job, although I think the twice cooke chips might have been cook three times as the potato had mostly vanished. Why do people fall for the idea that twice cooked it better? It just means ‘cooked and reheated’ because it’s more efficient. They maybe taste nicer only on the basis if the inceased fat.
The chips were accompanied by faggots in gravy. I couldn’t help thinking that any American readers might come up with a completely different notion if I said I enjoyed ‘faggots and chips’. Funny old thing language.
The night was somewhat sleepless. I woke just after two by a continued screeching come from the nearby woods which went on for the rest of the night. It kept moving around but I couldn’t tell you what it was, buy sounded vaguely bird like.
I then had to get up and go to the loo which meant getting dressed and walking right across the camp site. Dark enough that all I could see was rounded shapes scattered around, and the low moaning and grunting that could have been mistaken for basking Walruses. I was right about my own neighbours, he was playing a lilting tuba but at least the kids stayed quiet. I drifted in and out of sleep until about 7am when I decide to give in, get showered, strike the tent and get on the road. The Walrus was generous enough to make a cup of coffee and we chatted for a while about cycling and camping.
Once back on the road, I stopped for breakfast at a cafe in Brecon, then set off again. Getting out of Brecon was a fairly long hill with some challenging bits that I thought might see me grinding to a halt, but I kept going and was rewarded with a splendid view across the valley toward Builth Wells and the descent into Glasbury.
There was a group of about 20 little ponies, not sure of the breed and not the same as the Exmoor ponies near home. Quiet shy once I got too close for a picture they scamppered clear.
I came across a quaint little church built in an unfamiliar style, possibly looking more French then British. Lots of wonky headstones in the churchyard which looked particularly photogenic.
The first bit of proper cycle path dropped my down into Glasbury, the former home of Mel’s cousin, the erstwhile Dr Timothy Crippin (named changed for dramatic effect). The house pictured has one of the most comical staircases, obviously borrowed from elsewhere and wedged into the stairwell you need crampons to get up it, and it can double as a slide on the way down. Dr Tim was well regarded locally during his time, and saw off an unhealthy quantity of the local brews, and probably a few of the local population as well through a combination of medical malpractice and his renowned driving style. Just kidding Tim!
Now enjoying Cottage Pie for lunch in the Bridgend Inn in Llyswen, famously named for it’s location at the end of the bridge over the Wye. I now get to follow they Wye toward Bulith Wells. The weather is holding up, no sunshine but warm and dry.