Cosmeston Lakes and Sully

 

Cwtch at Cosmeston Lakes

Son the Younger: There were lots of red Astras, but I knew which one was yours as soon as you came around the corner because of the way you drive.

 Me [suspicious]: What d'you mean, because of the way I drive?

Son the Younger: Oh, you know ... ♬ 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 ...

Yes, it's that time of year when Son the Younger's car needs servicing and MOT-ing in Newport, because that's where he was living when he leased it, and I have to meet him at the appointed Industrial Estate and entertain him for a few hours while he waits for it to all to be sorted.  

We've had some memorable trips over the years ... Porthcawl in 2019 and St Fagans National Museum of History in 2020, with a break for lockdown in 2021 and Son the Younger sitting it out on his own, then Chepstow Castle in 2022. This year I considered going all the way to Neath, as Cwtch's mam, Skye, had gone missing and I thought maybe scenting one of her pups might draw her out of wherever she was hiding, but thankfully she turned up safe and sound on Monday. So instead we stayed a lot closer to base - which was as well as I have a trapped nerve in my shoulder, which makes driving painful - and went for a leisurely wander at Cosmeston Lakes, just outside Penarth.

The site of the lakes were formerly four quarries for limestone, with a big cement works nearby; then, in the 1970s, two of the quarries were used for landfill, with the other two being turned into lakes when the Country Park was developed. 

jelly ear fungus

It being an overcast, quite cold day, there wasn't an awful lot of wildlife about in the woods, apart from squirrels and some very bold robins and great tits.

There was, however, a detectible air of expectation, of all the spring and summer to come.

The best thing about our visit, though, was the trees of Cogan Wood, many of which were either magnificent or in magnificent states of decay.

Son the Younger, possibly rather fashionably dressed for a muddy dog walk 

Bracket fungus

After a while we started to glimpse the lakes through the trees, which meant we were nearly back at the point we started from.

No time to stop and explore the reconstituted mediaeval village if we wanted a pub lunch, which we did. And so on to the Captain's Wife at Sully, where muddy paws and boots are welcome, and we were well fed for reasonable cost, while Cwtch was fussed over and lavished with dog treats, much to her pleasure.

Unsullied

If anyone had asked me the name of the pub in the Vale of Glamorgan where I'd attended ... oh I don't know, a wedding reception or maybe a wedding anniversary celebration some 30 years ago, I wouldn't have remembered, but googling for somewhere slightly further afield to go for Sunday lunch, I recognised it at once: The Captain's Wife, Sully.  

And in that moment I was right back there: heavily pregnant with my first child one warm Saturday in September, waiting in the dim, flagstoned lobby to depart while my former late ex-mother-in-law, who came alive in the company of her children and grandchildren, took her long-drawn-out leave of them. After a while, I began to feel a bit giddy and leant against the wall. 'You'd better get used to this,' said my ex-husband's aunt in my ear, her tone a bolt shot home. 'You're a G------- now, my girl.'

Ghosts to lay, then. Though there was no strong sense of returning. It's been taken over by a chain in the meantime, its former quirkiness Farrow and Balled into nondescription. In any event it was warm enough to sit outside: our first outdoors pub lunch of 2017. 

The beach is less than welcoming at first glance. 

This is on account of the proximity of Sully Island and the huge tidal range of the Severn estuary, which means the causeway connecting it to the mainland for three hours either side of low tide is covered by rushing water at a dramatic speed.  

By the time we'd eaten, the tide was already far too high for us to contemplate going out there, though Ted was undeterred. 

As it was, we didn't hang about on it for long. There was three minutes between this photo ... 

... and this one. 

Sully island will have to wait for another day. 

Flat Holm and Steep Holm wrapped in mist and the wrong way round

Back on the opposite side of the Severn, it was time to celebrate my father's birthday. He is 95 today, and this being the opposite side of the Severn, in an excellent mood on account of the rugby.

Not a bad day.