It rained in Welshpool, it rained in Newtown, it rained in Llangurig and it rained in Aberystwyth when we reached the coast and the road swung south towards our destination. To our right the sea was grey and uninviting, lashed with spiteful squalls of stinging rain as wave after wave of dark clouds swept in from the Irish Sea and it was about now that I was forced to concede that we probably wouldn’t be having a barbeque this evening.
The road took us through the Georgian fishing port of Aberaeron which has a High Street and a harbour flanked by gaily coloured houses in a Mediterranean sort of way but even the pretty hues of the elegant buildings could do nothing to lift the gloom of the grey sky as great slabs of misery assaulted them continuously and robbed them of their natural vibrancy and leached them of their colour.
I have mentioned before that when I was younger and before cheap air flights holidays alternated between Norfolk on the east coast, Cornwall and Devon in the south west and occasionally Wales.
I seem to remember that we weren’t that keen on Wales because it always seemed to rain but in 1971 dad came across the Plas Panteidal Holiday Village near Aberdyfi (it was called Aberdovey then and Tywyn was Towyn) and we travelled there some time during the summer for our annual holiday.