MAY 16: HOME
“OH NO," I said to Ev when we were packing last week, "it won't rain. So don't worry about taking anything waterproof." And didn't I look like a right pratt when it pissed down on the way back from Heathrow. But at least the rain gave us a reminder of Long Beach:
Thanks to a can of Fuller's London Pride ale and a couple of Advil PM's I slept for 7 ½ hours of the 10-hour flight. We met dad and Lou at Terminal 3 and were back home by six, stopping only at Reading Services for a bite to eat and a quick look at the quality British press:
Both of us are pretty wiped out — it's now 10pm, Ev's gone to bed after having the Eurovision Song Contest inflicted on her for an hour and I'm alternating between writing this on the laptop, concentrating on staying awake and trying to sort out my dad's PC.
BABY Siân is just as beautiful as her pictures. It's fantastic to finally meet my niece and it's great that she wasn't absolutely terrified of me as most small kids and animals seem to be. Ev got to feed her and we might even take her for a walk tomorrow. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to bed.
MAY 17: WALKIES
AFTER a refreshing four hours' sleep I was up at 6am and went out for my annual first-day walk. Here's some random photos:
I wonder if a Monty Python fan named this street.
Just to get it out of the way early, here's this year's obligatory photo of a Smart car.
I'm pretty sure this is the first pub I ever went into.
British Telecom's logo should be on a gay bar in West Hollywood, not a phone box in rural England.
This Mini is the highlight of the walk. Dad picked me up at the marketplace as to be honest I was too tired and hungry to be arsed to walk home. Luckily the hungry part was soon vanquished by one of dad's fry-ups:
In no particular order, there's toast, tea, bacon, egg, beans, black pudding, orange juice and HP Sauce. Just what I needed. But as I'm frankly knackered, I'm going back to bed.
MAY 17: 40 SECONDS OF SIÂN BEING SIÂN
MAY 18: WALKIES PART DEUX
THE jet lag is still hitting us and for the second time we were both awake at 5am. After a quick fry-up we were out of the door by six. And straight away I'm put in a rage by this sticker on a roadsign near my parents' place:
Much like the fat wanker in Los Angeles airport who had an Orange County T-shirt over his beer gut and "WHITE PRIDE" tattooed down his arms (he's yet another reason the OC should be nuked off the face of the planet), these tossers make me want to puke. My grandad went to war to fight against fascist shits like this. Feel free to call the above number and tell the National Front to die in a fire.
Anyway, on with the walk...
Mindless littering or a powerful statement about the importance of metal in the modern world? You decide!* Coming soon — Dan-yr-Ogof Showcaves.
*Hint: It's mindless littering.
MAY 18 (UPDATE DELAYED DUE TO SLEEP)
AFTER picking up our hire car we got on the road and headed for the showcaves at Dan-yr-Ogof in southwest Wales. The caves were a staple of school visits and birthday trips when I was a kid and I've wanted to go back for ages, and Ev wanted to go after I showed her the website last year. And by the way, Ev, when we get a house I'm buying this dragon and sticking it on the front lawn. Anyway, on with the show...
The caves were discovered in 1912 by two brothers. This is the entrance they used when they tried to discover where the river was coming from.
This is the way in today. I was surprised that we could take photos underground and was bloody happy that I'd taken my flash unit on the offchance.
It looks wet and horrible and like spilled porridge, but it's just solid rock that's been shaped over millions of years. Some of the calcite formations hanging from the roof are pretty spectacular:
We're heading deeper in. The first cave is an 800-metre round trip.
About the only shot I managed to get without the flash.
Once we'd been around the first cave we headed to the second, the Cathedral Cave, so called because of its huge scale. As my flash wouldn't do it justice, here's a video (that also doesn't do it justice):
FROM Dan-yr-Ogof we headed west to the coast. Well, I say "we" but I mean "me" as my trusty co-driver, navigator and scenery photographer was fast asleep in the passenger seat. After some expert guessing and a two-mile trip in the wrong direction I spotted a sign for Mumbles and headed there. After parking I woke Ev up and we went for a wander up the promenade towards the pier.
Another place that really should be in Long Beach or West Hollywood.
The greatest boat in the world.
Mumbles is a rocky, pebbly beach which makes for interesting photos and an even more interesting time trying to keep your footing. After a cuppa in the cafe we headed on.
NO. BLOODY. WAY. I could only stare slack-jawed at this. Ev had to actually remind me to take a photo.
Somewhere in Swansea there are a couple of boat owners pissing themselves laughing.
We made it to the pier only to realise that we had about 10 minutes until our pay-and-display parking ticket ran out. So I only had time to snap a couple of pics before we began a two-mile forced march back to the car park.
I managed to find my way out of Mumbles, onto the M4 and headed home. I was surprised at how fast I got used to driving on the correct side of the road after five years on the heathen side. The biggest change was driving on A-and B-roads as in Southern California you're either on city streets doing 30 or freeways doing 80. Coming soon — Aberystwyth and Devil's Bridge.
MAY 19: KNACKERED
WE GOT up at 7am, left the house at 9.30am and got back at 11.15pm, which is why you're going to have to wait for the Devil's Bridge/Aberystwyth update. After driving from one side of Wales to the other and back, traipsing up and down the gorge at Devil's Bridge, sweating it out in a butterfly sanctuary and walking down the front at Aberystwyth in just a T-shirt and jeans in 40-degree weather, I'm off to bed. Be sure to check back tomorrow for an update that'll contain literally tens of photos.
MAY 20: THE UPDATE THAT SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED YESTERDAY BUT DIDN'T
DEVIL'S BRIDGE is not only spectacular, it's bloody miles away. As we were going to have to drive 95% of the way across Wales to get there we decided to go the extra 5% and head to Aberystwyth, which is on the coast. The route from my parents' place took us across some of the most remote and stunning parts of the country meaning I had to stop every few miles to take photos:
I know I'm biased but stone me, Wales a beautiful. After making several stops we arrived at Devil's Bridge just as the weather changed from "threatening to piss down" to "actually pissing down". We started on the Cauldron side of the bridge, where the Mynach pours down the hill and shoots through the gorge. (Any photos with 
in the corner means clicking on it will open the larger version.)
This is the bridge, or bridges; the lower one was built in 11-something, the middle one in the 18th century and the top one in the 1900s.
Ev went nuts over these three bearded collies. Here's a video of the river's course under the bridge:
After checking out the Mynach side we headed back up and across the road to see the Mynach Falls, which are bloody spectacular. Just as we started it began to rain even harder so I had to go back to the ticket office to scrounge a plastic bag to protect my camera. Here's the rain:
This is the Aberystwyth to Devil's Bridge train that we were planning on catching but missed completely. The train winds its way through the Rheidol Valley, one of the most beautiful areas of Britain.
The Mynach Falls as seen from the far side of the valley. Ev didn't realise that the path on this side of the bridge takes you to the bottom of the valley, and to get there you have to go down Jacob's Ladder...
...which is a set of narrow, short and uneven steps carved out of the rocky hillside (I shot this pic from the bottom after we'd negotiated them in the pouring rain). About a third of the way down Ev shouted "This is not fun!" leaving me to mumble something to the effect of "At least it isn't fecking Disneyland".
After crossing the small iron bridge at the bottom of the valley we began our climb up the other side. How the hell I managed this six years ago when I was smoking 20 ciggies a day is beyond me. The steps are steeper than Jacob's Ladder and the rain was coming down even harder. But we stuck with it (we had to otherwise we'd still be there) and were rewarded with some spectacular views:
And mud:
We made it to the top looking like a couple of drowned rats. After emergency chocolate and tea in the giftshop we headed back to the car and on to Aberystwyth.
ABERYSTWYTH is one of the most shittily signposted places I've ever been. Its famous Victorian seafront is virtually impossible to find if you're stupid enough to follow what few signs there are; my advice is to do what I did on my fourth trip through the town centre — just close your eyes and guess. Here's the famous front:
It's also scabbier than I thought it would be — at least until I remembered it's a university town. I really should know that seeing as I was offered a place at the uni but didn't get it thanks to blowing my A-levels.
Two questions: 1) Why does it have to be licensed? 2) Why do the mannequins look like blokes? 3) Do the owners not realise that the halo above the first "N" makes the name look like "Rice 'n' Naughty"?
They have Hot Topic in Aberystwyth?
Tip for future visitors to Aber: if you spot curtains that look like someone's hung a ratty beach towel in the window, it's a student flat.
We left Aberystwyth and started on our long trip home. On the way I stopped to take a photo of the sunset over the town but was captivated by this view instead:
If this was in Southern California it would be a car park. A bit later on we stopped again to get pics of this view:
Christ, I miss my country. And then further on we came across another ruined church:
And last but definitely not least here's a village that should be in porn:
From here on we just kept going. It's not often you can drive across an entire country twice in one day but once we crossed the border near Hereford we managed it. After a "quick" stop at Asda we got back to the parents' at about 11.30pm. Tired? I was buggered.
Today (ie May 20) we went to the butterfly centre at Symond's Yat, but as it's 1.45am and I'm driving five hours to York tomorrow morning, you're going to have to wait for those pics. I'm taking the laptop with me as our B&B has wifi access, so hopefully I'll be able to do some updates from there. Later!
MAY 21: YORK
THE drive to York was nowhere near as long as I thought it would be; we did it in about four hours. After finding our B&B and dumping our bags we headed out for a look around. Here's some random photos from our wanderings:
Here's lunch before...
...and after. I hasten to add that this was shared between three of us. Night!
MAY 22: YORK II — THE YORKENING
YORK is one of the best cities I've ever looked around. There's plenty to see, the medieval buildings are beautiful and best of all there's loads of places to eat. Here's some photos from today's wanderings; we went to the Jorvik Centre, the Castle Museum, York Minster and the city centre.
When you see this monstrosity in the middle of a beautiful medieval city you just know that someone in the council's planning department was taking serious backhanders.
This was at the 60s exhibition at the Castle Museum. I think the conversation went something like this:
ME: Can we hang this in our bedr—
EV: No.
The tower is three-fifty to get in and to be honest it isn't really worth it. It's impressive to look at from outside, though.
The front of York Minster. It's six quid to get in and to be honest I balk at paying to get into a church — after all, it's not like the Church of England is short of a few billion. Ev and Flynn volunteered to do the tower walk while Becky waited outside and I legged it to a charity bookshop.
I have no idea what bile beans are but apparently they keep you healthy, bright-eyed and slim. Shame they sound revolting.
"YOU SAID IT WAS ON STRAI— oh, it is. Ta."
If you're in York and hungry, give 31 Castlegate a go. It's great food at good prices — the lunch specials are only six quid and the early bird three-course dinners are £13. Well worth it.
We're heading back to the rural paradise that is Ross tomorrow morning and may stop at Bosworth Field on the way. Bosworth is where Richard III lost to Henry Tudor's forces, ushering in the Tudor dynasty and all the fun and games that entailed. From there on it's straight down the M42, M5 and M50 to home. I'm off to bed.
MAY 23
SO I'M sitting in our room in the B&B, Ev's taking a nap, Flynn and Becky are packing and I have some time to kill. "I know," I think, "I'll watch some South Park." So I head to www.southparkstudios.com, click a series, pick an episode, and this happens:
I've said it once and I'll say it again: FECK INTERNATIONAL RIGHTS MANAGEMENT.
MAY 23: BOSWORTH FIELD
WE STOPPED off at Bosworth Field on the way back from York. Bosworth is the site of one of the most important battles in British history when, on August 22 1485, Henry Tudor's forces defeated Richard III, ending Plantaganet rule of England and ushering in the Tudor dynasty. Before heading for the battlefield itself we toured the visitors' centre and I tried on some armour:
Not only would this helmet match my Mini, IT'S NOT BLOODY ON STRAIGHT.
One of the odd things about Bosworth is that although it's hugely important battle and literally changed British history (there's a good chance we'd still be a Catholic country if Richard had won — no Henry VIII to divorce Catherine of Aragon, no split from Rome, no Elizabeth I to piss off the Spanish, no Armada, no Stuart succession, maybe no Civil War... the list goes on), no one really knows where the armies met. The rain stopped, the clouds cleared and we walked around the site on a perfect English spring evening. The scenery is stunning.
I know I give England some stick but it can be almost as beautiful as Wales when it puts its mind to it. I tried doing some sequential shots to make a panoramic photo but I haven't worked out how to do it yet. And with that, I'm off.
MAY 24: COMPUTERS AND COWS
DEAR PC World: When I buy a PC I want to choose the one I want, take it to the checkout, pay, and leave. I don't want to have to answer questions about what I'm going to use it for; I don't want crappy Norton software on it so don't ask again; and yes, I have Office and no, I don't want to upgrade it. Oh, and please be kind enough not to talk to me about the extended warranty as if I'd already agreed to buy one.
Yes, today I braved the salespeople staff of PC World in Hereford to help dad buy a new computer. His current system is pushing six years old and is agony to use as even the simplest action (for example, clicking an icon) takes it 20 minutes to complete. But now dad's got a new Acer AMD system complete with 19" monitor, DVD burner, 2.6Ghz processor, Vista Home, and internet access. No, wait — he doesn't have Internet access because bloody BT don't do Vista drivers for his modem. Instead we've had to order a new broadband modem from them for £44 which is supposed to be here by Thursday so I can install it before I fly back to the colonies. So his shiny new PC is under the desk and I've had to plug his crappy old tower back in so I can check my email and update this just for you little darlings. Remember, kids — computers are EVIL.
AFTER an afternoon spent arsing around with dad's new PC we went to James' place for dinner. He'd got the barbecue out and we took advantage of the gorgeous spring weather to have mackerel, salad and pork, followed by bananas and chocolate for pud. In a desperate attempt to burn some of this off we went for a walk in the hills above his house and took in some of the gorgeous scenery.
Here's us silhouetted against the hedge.
Wild garlic.
As we approached James' place on the way back we saw these cows gathered around a gate and went for a closer look.
The cows decided to have a closer look at us and were soon crowded around the gate.
Then a bull showed up and tried to shag a couple of the cows, so we left them to it.
THEY'RE COMING RIGHT AT US!
AS FOR books, I haven't really bought that many over the past week. I know there's nine in the photo above which is an average of more than one a day but that doesn't qualify as a lot in my mind. I'm hoping to have a good look at the second-hand and charity shops in Ross one day this week and that should up the number to something respectable. I'd better binge on book buying in Blighty (how's that for some alliteration?) before getting back to America and my self-imposed ban.
MAY 25: SAY CHEESE
LAUGH? I thought I'd die. The annual cheese rolling at Cooper's Hill in Gloucestershire is one of the funniest things I've ever seen. It's also possibly one of the best fivers I've ever spent.
Another early morning meant we were parked on a nearby field a good 90 minutes before the races were due to start. Gathering our food, coats, brollies and cameras (but leaving the video recorder in the Astra — DOH!) we made our way to the course, leaving the cars to enjoy a beautiful view of Gloucestershire. At the top of the car park we got our first glimpse of some of the nutters competitors in this year's event:
As I said, the cheese rolling takes place on Cooper's Hill and the operative word here is "hill". We started going up:
and up:
and up:
Walking on a level treadmill in a flat in Long Beach in no way prepares you for this climb. Shit, running the London Marathon barefoot over broken glass with your balls in a vice would in no way prepare you for this climb. My legs were in agony and my lungs gasping for air as I followed the path up, and by "path" I mean "narrow strip slightly less slippery than the rest of the hill". Finally we made it to level ground near the top of the course and began looking for a place to sit, forgetting that about 30 squillion other people has already done the same thing.
This photo in no way does justice to the steepness of the hill. It's pretty much a 45° slope covered in long grass and it's very easy to lose your footing. The house at the bottom centre is sort of where the cheese rolling part of the hill ends.
Looking up to the top of the course. The orange netting is its boundary. Realising that we were going to see bugger all from where we were sitting me and Ev headed up the hill, losing James, Alex and Sarah in the process but getting to see more of the competitors lining up for their chance to be bloody idiots.
You'll be seeing more of Borat in a minute.
Toldja. I've had to bleach my camera, PC, Compact Flash card, lens, eyes and brain after taking this photo.
The hill itself. Again this photo doesn't really do it justice. It is simply bastard terrifying.
This guy, a sort of Ali G crossed with Buzz Lightyear, has gone for the "there's no such thing as too much padding" approach. But he did have to give up his plastic water pistols.
MORE BLEACH, PLEASE. This guy actually raced like this, made it to the bottom and discovered that the bloke looking after his clothes had done a runner with them.
The blokes get ready for the first race.
AND THEY'RE OFF! Ali G has already carked it and the eventual winner — the guy in green in the centre — is miles ahead. The cheese itself, which shoots down the hill at speeds of up to 70mph, is the small white thing in the centre-left.
Action Man on the right is about to take off, Ali is still rolling down the hill and I can barely hold the camera straight for laughing.
The bottom of the hill. The people in blue rugger shirts are supposed to help the runners stop before they smash into the padded wall.
The start of the second race. Unfortunately my camera auto-focused on the guy with the video camera at the bottom of the picture, so while he stays perfectly sharp the actual race (you know, the bit you actually want to see) is going to get fuzzier.
The bottom of the hill. The people in blue rugger shirts are supposed to help the runners stop before they smash into the padded wall.
The MC of the event.
In between the adults' races there are uphill races for kids. The girls' race was won by this boy who joined the race from the halfway point and was greeted with cries of "You little bastard" when he reached the top.
The actual winner of the girls' race gets a hand up and her wheel of cheese.
Tree dwellers provided lots of amusement for the crowd, especially when a couple of them fell out.
The women get ready to race.
I have a horrible feeling that this is the best I'm going to do for this year's obligatory arse-cleavage pic.
The women head off down the hill. Some evil man at the top made a joke about holding up a sign reading "SHOE SALE" so they'd run down faster. Oh wait, that was me.
Notice how much more enthusiastic the guys at the bottom are about getting in the girls' way.
And Borat is STILL waiting. I hope to God he was being sponsored to dress like this 'cos if he did it of his own volition he needs locking up.
The men's uphill race. Once this was over we made our way down to the car (which was a bloody sight easier than going up) only to realise we had no idea where the other chaps were and that our mobile phone had died. Luckily we were able to gather everyone together and headed back to the urban paradise that is Ross. Having finally seen the ancient and noble tradition of cheese rolling, next year we're going to the bog snorkelling.
MAY 26: CASTLES AND CLEAVAGE
TECHNICALLY it's only one castle but "A CASTLE AND CLEAVAGE" didn't have the right ring to it. With the cheese rolling behind us and our legs almost recovered from the climbing we headed back over the border to visit Cardiff Castle. Although I lived in Cardiff for six years in a flat about a quarter of a mile from the castle I never got around to visiting it. We took the guided tour as it meant we'd learn more about the place and not have to follow a bunch of bloody French teenagers around.
Here's the original Norman keep on its motte, or man-made earthen hill. There's been a fortress on this site for about 2,000 years; parts of the wall in the background on the left date back to Roman times.
The tour takes you around the walled area of the castle which was once the Welsh home of the Marquess of Bute, one of the richest men in the world. This bloke had money coming out of his backside; not only was he descended from the family that produced Mary, Queen of Scots, Robert the Bruce and all the Stuart monarchs (James I & II, Charles I & II) he also married the woman whose family owned most of Cardiff and the South Wales valleys. And when the biggest coalmine in Britain was discovered in the valleys his annual income went up to about £300,000 — £15,000,000 in today's money (for the Yanks, that's $24,000,000 a year).
One of the ornamental waterspouts on the roof of the clock tower.
The roof of the first room on the tour, which I think was the winter smoking room. It's decorated with signs of the zodiac and has murals of the seasons going around the walls. The blue-and-white checkered pattern is part of the Marquess' family arms.
A detail from the roof of the passage outside the smoking room. Apparently this was supposed to scare off maids so they wouldn't go into the men-only room.
The ceiling of the Arab Room is covered in 22-carat gold leaf. Apparently no one actually knows exactly how much the castle cost to convert; the only things the Marquess signed were blank cheques.
Another look at the ceiling.
The main dining hall which is used for state occasions.
A detail from the ceiling.
The Marquess' bedroom has mirrored ceilings which reflect his name over and over. Apparently he was a bit of an egomaniac.
There's a roof garden which has a statue of Mary and Jesus. It's rare because it's one of the few in the world that shows Mary smiling.
A shot of the clock tower from outside. After the tour we headed to the gift shop and then to the Castle Store across the road. Then I saw the sign for the Castle Arcade and had to check on an old friend.
Troutmark Books was (and still is) one of my favourite second-hand bookstores. It's got a huge selection of just about everything and it's one of those places where you can browse for ages and not be pressured into buying anything. I picked up three books there — Archangel by Robert Harris, Tom Rob Smith's Child 44 and Dylan Thomas: A New Life by Andrew Lycett. That brings the total number of books bought over the past 10 days up to 13. Pathetic, I know, but I have yet to hit the charity shops.
I HOPE you have some of that eye bleach left after looking at Borat; you're gonna need it for this fantastic arse cleavage I snapped on Castle Street. And when I say "fantastic" I mean, of course, "AAARRGGGHHH KILL ME NOW!!"
MAY 27: LUCKY I HAD THESE BUTTERFLY PHOTOS OR I WOULDN'T HAVE HAD AN UPDATE TONIGHT
MAY 28: IT'S EVERY BIT AS BAD AS IT LOOKS
THANKS to Sarah for letting us know about this video. If you hang on long enough you'll see Borat and his neon mankini make his way down the hill. If you look to the right at about 27 seconds in, you'll see some poor bastard who's very obviously out cold.
The other great bit of this video happens at about 25 seconds in:
Yes, that's me holding my camera up to snap the photos I posted up last week. Fame at last!
And if you're the American bloke from San Diego we spoke to on the way back to the car — the one who did the uphill race and then threw up in the bin — I don't have any pics of you. Sorry!
MAY 29: SOME RANDOM PHOTOS 'N' STUFF
SO DOES buying an SUV turn you into an arrogant arsehole, or do only arrogant arseholes buy SUVs?
An overgrown grave in St Mary's churchyard.
St Mary's church.
Sunlit vapour trails cast shadows on the clouds.
An arty shot of Siān, which sort of works.
A complaint or an advert?
The cutest niece in the world.
MARCH 29: LAST DAY
I'VE never been a fan of the last day of vacations. The packing's done, the iPod and laptop are charged, mum's made the sarnies for the flight to supplement American Airlines' bloody awful "food" and we've said goodbye to little Siān. Scary to think that she'll be walking and talking by the time we see her next.
There's always a hint of sadness to the final day and a sense of aimlessness. On the one hand there's loads I wanted to do but on the other hand the knowledge that I'm flying back tomorrow just killed my enthusiasm. Even my plans for an early-morning walk were buggered by my swollen tonsils. We're talking about next year's visit and trying to work out if we should come out in May or wait until June but that's 12 months away and I'd rather not wait that long again. And as our taxi to Heathrow will be here in five hours, I'm off to bed.
MAY 30: SOME WORDS OF THANKS
WE'RE safely back in Long Beach after a delightful 11-hour flight during which my annoying sore throat matured into full-blown head cold complete with fever, headache, blocked sinuses, dripping nose, hacking cough and a dire wish for death. But after a couple of Lemsips and a good night's sleep I'm feeling better. It's just a shame that I couldn't have slept past 5am.
So while I debate the merits of going back to bed versus making chilli beans on toast and putting Life of Brian on the DVD player, I'd just like to say thanks to: Mum and dad for putting us up and putting up with us for two weeks, and to mum for doing the laundry and dad for doing the fry-ups; Flynn and Becky for the York trip and the Chinese buffet; James and Helen for the barbecue and the walk around Weston; Sarah for giving us the idea of going to the cheese-rolling; Alex for the terror-wrists; Lou and Paul for having the best baby on the face of the planet; and last but definitely not least little Siān Rose for being the best baby on the planet.
And not forgetting Ev. See, when most people take a vacation they get to laze around on a beach, or walk around museums, or cruise the Med on a liner. Ev, on the other hand, is dragged around Welsh valleys in the pissing rain; endures hikes up 45° hills to watch nutters chase cheese; puts up with my road rage and inability to find the centres of Victorian seaside towns; is woken up at 8am by shouts of "Come on, get up off your arse and let's go out"; fights car sickness as I shoot along narrow twisty B-roads; is dragged around charity shops and second-hand bookstores; and comes to terms with the fact that finding a toilet in Britain is like finding a white person in the Garden Grove Wal-Mart. What can I say? The woman's obviously insane.
