Mid Wales, you have delighted us long enough

Towards the end of a holiday, with my to-see list mostly crossed-off, it's easy to lose a bit of momentum. The plan on our last full day of holiday was to park at Aberporth and walk up the coast path to Tresaith to see the waterfall that tumbles onto the beach there, but the weather was rainy and someone had left his raincoat at home - that is, 130 miles away - so we spent most of our visit in the pub instead. 

a scarlet tiger moth

I was a bit disappointed but Cwtch is easily bought. 

On our way to mid Wales, we'd driven up through the Bannau Brycheiniog national park, partly to avoid the M4, but mostly because we wanted to say Bannau Brycheiniog to each other as much as possible. (What a beautiful, mouth-filling word its new but very old name is.) We chose to return by driving around the top of it ... 

You're not leaving without me! 

... pausing not far into our journey to visit All Saints Church at Cellan, a small village just outside of Lampeter, which, I'd read somewhere, contains 'the only significant Arts and Crafts work in the country of Ceredigion'.  

There followed a familiar pattern of events. Having finally found somewhere to park, we couldn't find the church. Having found the church, we found there was a padlocked chain around the gate. Having found you could in fact lift the chain and open the gate, we found the main door was locked. Having walked around the church, we found the main door was the only door. 

In the porch a poster saying 'Come and see our beautiful church' taunted us, prompting the Northerner to quote Mr Bennett: 'Mid Wales, you have delighted us long enough.'

We pressed on homewards. I couldn't help feeling that something about this part of Wales had eluded me. Maybe it was down to the language barrier, which would be up to me to fix. Maybe we hadn't had enough time.

By the time we reached Crickhowell, we were famished, so stopped for something to eat at the Bear Inn. 

These obsolete petrol pumps reminded of some in Laugharne and Aust. 

Back home, my haul from the week was interesting but modest. I still don't seem to have broken the habit of picking up cone shells and limpets for my mother, proving old habits die harder than parents. Also, I think I need to start wearing my reading glasses when I go hunting, as I kept mistaking bits of broken mussel shell for blue and white pottery. I'm also going to need to find out what it is that's embedded in that piece of slate from Aberporth.