John Owen Jones

What do we know about west Wales? I mean, really? Sure, we know that their corral is average – an OK Corral – and that the seaside town is full of bandits and cowboys, but what else? How good is the train station? And where can I get a WiFi connection that go whenever I try to get on YouTubes?

So I went strutting into town like I was slinging a gun; just a small town dude with a big city attitude. Before long I had parked my dad’s car close to a strip of seaside shops, making sure to purchase a stick of rock and a ‘I went to Barmouth and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’ t-shirt (haha). Pulling my ‘Kiss the chef’ cap over my face, I was ready to roll. Thing is, I don’t even know how to cook!

The seafront was filled with youngsters, about 15-years-old, probably taking some time out from the single-child summer schools I had to attend as a child. I remember those days fondly; me and Mr Haff intensely studying dry-stone walling for 18 hours a day. I think my mum and dad were trying to do a spot of dry stone walling too, as when I returned home they had a tan! It was nice that they wanted me to help them, although we never got around to putting up my ’special shed’.

The youngsters were playing football on the sand, and when the ball rolled stray to me I blasted it out into the sea and laughed – just like the older kids did to me when I was a child. It certainly kept me fit in those days, so it’s good to see the circle of life revolve.
I sat down in front of the rolling waves and before I knew it I was asleep. In my dreams I’m usually playing tennis with my grandma, but sometimes the ball is mother’s head! It’s a sign of how close we are that I even think about my mum in the strangest of circumstances!

On my way into Machynlleth I thought about how the name sounds like someone who Godzilla would fight in the 60s. I laughed when I thought about that, and swerved and nearly hit a bin!

Unfortunately, I was still laughing hard about this funny joke when I checked into the motel, and I think the receptionist was a bit annoyed about it. I tried explaining to her but could only get out the word “Godzilla!” with tears in my eyes. Within minutes the entire motel had been evacuated and I found myself alone.

Machynlleth became a ghost town, as its population of 2,147 quickly barricaded themselves in their homes. I walked through the streets and found a Starbucks – open – Starbucks will never let me down.

I ordered a Mechacino and sat down with my phone. I accessed the wifi and began to stream the latest episode of Mad Men. I’d never seen it before but I’m glad there are shows out there dealing with mental illness. Maybe we are all Mad Men?

The notes I’d made in my travel diary told me I had 16 days left to visit eight places in Wales. I reckon I could do it in five. However, I wasn’t quite ready to go back home. Sure, I missed the comforts of home such as 24-hour bingo and looking at funny cats, but I still felt like I had things to figure out about myself first before I went home. Mainly – when should I go home?

I finished my coffee and looked out into the streets. The people of Machynlleth were no longer afraid of a giant dinosaur smashing up their town, and were going back to their lives.

No fictional giant dinosaur will make me go back to my life.

Except Denver. Good friend among other things.

After the fancy dress party fiasco I decided to put it behind me as quickly as possible. No point crying over spilled milk – especially milk dressed as a famous person! So I got in my car, had a couple of ham sandwiches and headed out across the country to Aberystwyth.

The first thing I needed to do was learn how to pronounce the name without sounding like a fool. My subsequent three-hour journey mainly consisted of me saying “Aberystwyth” to myself over and over again like some kind of rubbish Tourette’s sufferer!

When I finally got to Abetyswyth I found yet another market town. Why does everybody in Wales want to get rid of things??? Anyway, I parked up and took a look at the tourist information centre, which was just a blind man with a dog, and before long I was on my way to the National Library of Wales.

I’m not a big reader (12 stone sopping wet hahahajoke!) but I do like to be in libraries. The eerie quiet and disdain poured upon you whenever you speak really made me miss home! I stumbled into the National Screen and Sound Archive of Wales but all they had there was the best bit from Gavin and Stacey playing on loop!

Two minutes later I was back in the main book area of the library, trying to look up the local history of the area. However, I got lost and ended up in the self-help section reading about casino tips and tricks.

I decided not to stay the night in Aberyswyth – the seaside Hull. My decision was primarily based on the fact that I was starting to run out of money, and couldn’t really afford a place to stay. I drove along the coast and parked up on a hillside and slept. When I woke up, a crowd of people had gathered around me thinking I was dead.

Bye!

One of the ‘biggies’ on my road trip across Wales was my stop at Llanidloes. Basically, I’d heard from my friend Gavin that Llanidloes have these things called ‘Fancy Dress Parties’, and they sound a right laugh.
Basically, at these parties people come but dressed up as someone else. Not just anyone – like Mad Alan from next door – but a famous person. Except for women – they usually only come as cats or devils.

Anyway, I made the long drive from Abergavenny to Llanidloes very early so that I could pick up a costume and be wearing it as soon as I arrived. Turns out there aren’t so many fancy dress costume shops on the major Welsh roads.

At about 5pm I pulled my car onto the hard shoulder. This was a real emergency and I needed to consider my next move. Before I knew it, inspiration hit me and a police car appeared in my rear view mirror. I should go as a the police! The driver slowed down, which I think was too give me enough space to get out, and I drove away, giving him the thumbs up out of the window. I was on my way to Llanidloes!

I rolled into Llanidoes at 7pm with my hair fashioned into a stylish mullet and a drab personality, just like Sting. I got out of the car, a rock star going to a real life fancy dress party, so far away from my days in the bingo games chat rooms at home, and shouted: “EVERY STEP YOU TAKE, EVERY MOVE YOU MAK—”

Someone barged into me. He was obviously going to the fancy dress party dressed as a hobo. He approached me and started shouting something nonsensical, probably Welsh. I backed away from my car and thought “What would Sting do?”
However, I didn’t have time to make another smug remark about how The X-Factor is killing music so I just ran.

Then I heard police sirens. I stopped and turned around. The police officer was stood at my car and talking to the man dressed as a hobo. Before long he was hauling him into the back of his car, probably to the Fancy Dress Party. I still didn’t want to go.

I waited five minutes and then got back to my car. Then I got the hell out of Llanidloes.

I spent most of the drive to Abergavenny from Builth eating sandwiches and staring up at the sky wondering if we are truly alone.

Suddenly I saw a bright light and swerved off the road. I remember the clock was at 5.35 just before I saw the light. When I woke up it was 5.36, but it felt like 12 hours had passed. Even more strange was that it was now evening whereas before it was becoming light. I didn’t dwell on the incident though, as I knew I was heading to Llandloes for my first ever Fancy Dress party.

As a got back on the road I switched on the radio. They were playing rock classics like ‘Do You Wanna Be In My Gang?’ by the Beatles and I rocked out for a little bit. I hadn’t heard that song since I was a little kid, and now here I was 20 years later embarking on this huge undertaking of self-discovery.

What have I learned about myself, now I’ve reached the halfway point of my journey? Well, I know that I like ham sandwiches a lot, and that I much prefer Starbucks to Costa.

Similarly, I’ve found out that Legally Blonde 2 is much better than the first one, mainly because it has more of a political slant. I have also discovered that I don’t really need my parents for anything anymore, only to give me money to finance my journey of self-discovery. I think when I go back to school next month I’m going to be a very different John Owen Jones.

Well, seeing as I’m heading to Fancy Dress Party Central I need a costume. I wonder where I can get one from at this time, and in a place so remote. Maybe if I send a message in a bottle…

It seems like a while ago that I visited Builth Wells. In fact, it was only six days. But that’s what life travelling around Wales does to you – messes with your perception of time and reality.

My internet connection has been a bit fragile this week, so I’ve barely been able to get online. The last thing I did do was look up Builth Wells online on Wikipedia. I discovered that the town has the distinction of having a rare post box. It’s rare because it bears the cipher of King Edward VIII, who was abducted from the throne in 1936 for loving Marge Simpson.
It must be very hard to abduct a king, and it makes you wonder why the government doesn’t officially acknowledge the existence of aliens. Still, it could’ve been an abduction by humans, but where the Gavin Henson they got a spaceship from I don’t know!

No-one has ever abducted me. Auntie Frieda once took me to Tesco for 13 hours but she wasn’t well, I’m not sure if that counts. I ended up being pushed into a pile of discount cling-film by police, but it’s OK because they were just helping!

If anyone did abduct me it would probably be doing something like playing bingo or teaching Year 8 about Hitler again (I’m a PE teacher – why do they ask?!).

My time in Builth was fine other than that. Some lovely monuments and a really great Starbucks. If I was to rate Builth against, say, Lampeter I’d say that its leather seats are much more comfortable and that the staff are very friendly.

Next on my trip is Abergavenny – a town that cannot help but make me smile whenever I say it.

Abergavenny :)

I didn’t get much sleep in Lampeter, so it was with heavy eyes and a car that I drove to Brynmawr. When I arrived, I noticed that I was in a market town once again. I don’t mind market towns that much, it’s just that I wanted to experience the real Wales – a glorious metropolis filled with Starbucks’ and McDonalds’ – not a toothless old man selling fish by a lake.

When I was piecing together the road map for my trip, I was particularly looking forward to visiting Brynmawr as I was under the impression its name comes from the Welsh for ‘Brian Moore’ – the very famous rugby player. However, I’ve seen realised that it translates as ‘big hill’ which is nonsense really. Brynmawr is definitely not a big hill, it’s a town.
I almost cancelled my stop in Brynmawr because of that, but I decided to head there regardless to see if there was a Starbucks I could sit in and enjoy the view, eat a sandwich and perhaps watch Cheaper By The Dozen on my portable player again (great film – four stars).

Apparently, the growth of Brynmawr came thanks to the ironing industry, and it’s certainly worth remembering the effort those poor loves 100 years ago put in each and every day, making sure the men of Brynmawr were nicely presented.

I was thinking about those strong ironing women for a good hour or so, drinking a latte with milk and eating an iced barmcake. I thought about my own mother, and the sacrifices she made in her life by just having me. She has literally lost all of her friends.

I felt weary so I put on lots of clothes and left Newcastle Emlyn. My next stop was Lampeter – the smallest university town in the United Kingdom. I hadn’t shaved for two weeks and was already starting to grow stubble. My head was wired – literally (I ahd my mp3 player in).

Going west across Wales made me reflect on my trip so far, the places that were still to come, and the home comforts I was missing. What, oh what, would Machynlleth bring? And Bala? What is Bala? Questions I needed answering, questions the world needed answering.

Lampeter is known for having Wales’ first rugby team, so I have the town to thank for my lifelong love of the game. Indeed, I got into the sport as a baby – toothless, incomprehensible, fat and bald. I was meant to be a rugby fan!

Finding somewhere to stay was no problem. Lampeter is full of students, so there are plenty of motels to stay at. The one I settled on actually doubled as a massage parlour – presumably to service the sports injuries of all the rugby players – and the lady on the door seemed surprised when I said I wanted somewhere to stay. Even more annoying was the knock on the door of my room every thirty minutes, waking me from my nap! Very expensive though, I’ve never known a motel charge by the half-hour.

Once my nap was over I headed out to find the nearest quiz machine and finally show Noel Edmonds who’s really in charge on Deal Or No Deal. Unfortunately, the only pub entertainment I could find was a betting game involving a parrot riding a mini bicycle while toothless, bald men spat tobacco, clapped and threw money at it. Then we watched the rugby.

All in all, my experience of Lampeter was slightly hindered by the fact that the students had all gone home, leaving a quiet ghost town haunted by spectres wearing traffic cones.

When I went back to the massage parlour I shaved in order to stay respectable, wondering what my trip to BrynMawr (Welsh for ‘Brian Moore’) would bring…