John Owen Jones

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…

My second, unexpected day in Whitland was lovely. It reminded me of family holidays – beautiful scenery, lots of alone time and plenty of movies to catch up on.

I had at least 18 hours (not including sleep – I didn’t want to sleep after my t-shirt dream…) to kill so i decided to make the most of my digital movie player. Here are some reviews:

Rita, Sue and Bob Too: Excellent friendship film! Really liked how they all got on so well!

Eyes Wide Shut: Not for me!

The Mighty Duck: Best ice hockey film I’ve ever seen. FACT!

An Unconvincing True: Bit boring science documentary. FACTS!

Momento: Can’t remember hahahah just a laugh! It was good but I think my player might be skipping bits!
A really good day and night in overall. Oh, and for those keeping count: ten sandwiches. I think I have about 40 left. I’ll be fine with that.

On Saturday I headed over to Newcastle Emlyn which is a country rich in Norman’s castles. Of course, I drove around and around looking for Norman… hahaha I’m not that stupid! I went up to the ruins and licked the stone, tasting hundreds of years of history. Yum.

I next needed to find somewhere to stay, and Norman’s was out of the question so I found a B & B close to the town centre. The town centre is full of lots of small businesses and I found it difficult to get a true small-town vibe without a welcoming Starbucks or Costa nearby. In the end, I had to settle for a ‘Welsh milkshake’ (uses cheese-milk) while humming the McDonalds theme tune.

My bed for the night was sorted soon after, and it was great to find a place where they spoke Welsh. I love the Welsh language and I’m really proud of it. However, they didn’t bother speaking it in the motel – it sounds daft – and before long I’d unpacked my bag and was lay out on the bed.

Not a lot of people know this but Newcastle Emlyn is actually named after the English city of Newcastle and the former Question of Sport team captain Emlyn Hughes. I’m a big fan of culture, so it’s great to see two great English institutions celebrated here. Surrounded by Norman’s castles, this leg of my journey had taken on a really English feel…

Driving through Whitland in the rain was fun if a little bit scary. I was skidding around like It’s A Knockout but with cars!

The weather meant that I didn’t have much chance to check out some of the finer points of the area, and it was getting too dark to take any pictures, so I found and a bed and a breakfast hotel and checked in.
When I finally got up to my room I was bloody knackered! I’d only had a few hours sleep since my three-pint binge and I felt like my head was swimming in a ditch… I decided the best cures for this would be a lovely viewing of A Cinderella Story.

Before I knew it, I’d bloody passed out and I was having a dream. Basically, me and a friend were travelling across South America on motorbikes. I don’t know what we were looking for, but every now and then we’d stop and help out the local people. You know what? It felt lovely, like Lovejoy but with help instead of antiques.

Anyway, I really, really liked helping people (I wanted to be a doctor as a child but mother said that was the devil’s job) and eventually we were made dictators of this village. Then they took us to a secret warehouse where there were stored millions and millions of t-shirts all in my image:

I woke up in a cold sweat and calmed my nerves with a game on the online casino. I had a couple of sandwiches and eventually slept.
Perhaps I should keep a dream diary in future and try and keep track of what’s going on when I sleep! Normally I just dream about the kids at school – not in that way haha!!!

I arrived in Rhayader just before eight o’clock as the sun began to set in the east. The people were mad, mad to live, mad to drink, mad to speak Welsh in 2010, mad to be saved. I like the mad ones, I thought, checking into a Powys guest house which “acts as a great base from which to explore this fascinating area” (UK Hotel).

I spoke to Gwyneth on reception and knew that somewhere along the line there’d be visions, small kettles, everything. Somewhere along the line the room key would be handed to me. Thirty seconds later, it was.

Sitting on the edge of my bed I heard the sounds of the night which had come to represent Rhayader and the people. Kelly Jones’ voice bopped through the air of the local Wetherspoons, and I picked myself up and wearily headed out for what I knew would be a heavy night.

I was back in my hotel room two hours after leaving. I fumbled around for the bag of cotton wool I keep next to my bed at home only I wasn’t home, I was far away in a cheap hotel I’d hardly known, unsure as I stumbled past the small kettle to the en-suite bathroom, old wood creaks and old man snore, and after about 15 bloody weird seconds I figured out what had happened to me: I’d had another nose bleed after three pints.

Four ham sandwiches later, I sat up and looked to make sense of my crazy, crazy trip. I grasped the emergency sellotape roll I keep in my shoes and taped my phone to any stationery I could find so I wouldn’t run out of places to write should my battery die. I had something to say and I only found it when I logged into Twitter:

I saw that the best mind of my generation, David Mitchell, had retweeted me. Starving, hysterial, naked David Mitchell, burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night (Twitter).

So in Wales when the sun goes down and I sit in a broken-down Rhayader hotel room, when I see that wasteland and dream its immensity, don’t you know that God is David Mitchell?

Well I’ve finally done it. I’ve left Porthmadog and I’m now on the big wide road around Wales. “Goodbye Gwynedd!” is what I’ll be saying when I’ve left the internet cafe. I’ve been on the road for just over an hour and I felt like I had to blog and tell you all about what I’ve seen.

Life on the road has been tough and eye-opening in the 68 minutes I’ve been travelling. Already I feel more world-weary, and I’m wondering where I’m going to sleep tonight even though I know Auntie Penny is putting me up when I reach Llangollen. Already I can feel the open road having an effect on my mind – I don’t even want this latte, I’m not even sure what it is! “Do you have a loyalty card, sir?” asked the girl in Cafe Nero. “I don’t know, little lady,” I replied. “I just don’t know.”

Things have changed since I left home an hour ago, I can feel it. I have a slight crick in my back and I’m definitely a little bit older. Amazing how travelling can change you. Just last night I was sat playing on the online casino in the basement, little did I believe that less than 24 hours later I’d be sat in a coffee shop 20 miles away.

John Owen Jones the P.E. teacher from Porthmadog is out on his own now in Porthmadog. Ready to head on to Llangollen with nothing but a bag full of clothes, a carton of cigarettes (present for Auntie Penny), my dad’s car, my savings, my portable video player, my mobile phone, my diary, 60 frozen sandwiches in a cool box, a credit card, everything I could ever need for a cushy trip and a dream.

It’s time to hit the road again, cowboy…

Boyo boy! I am so close to my trip I can touch it in my mind! Two more days of school and then I’m done. I’ve been bouncing off the walls all day – literally – I’ve been playing squash with the Year 10s – not literally! But I am, literally, buzzing with anticipation. Bloody free coffee machines haha

My bag is packed and I’m ready to go. I’m nervous and a bit scared to be honest. I’ve heard south-west Wales can be quite rowdy over the summer – lots of loud music and driving! Maybe they will accept John Owen Jones as an honorary south-wester? I hope so – we can watch movies on my portable movie player together.

It’ll be hard saying goodbye to mum and dad. They’ve gone away themselves until after I leave and didn’t say goodbye or even leave a note – I think they knew how hard it would be. I respect them for that.

The house has been eerily quiet this week, as has Porthmadog really. I went walking in the moonlight last on Monday and thought about all the great times I’ve had here over the years:

• That time Gaz bought a car in my name for a laugh
• When Mark collapsed and started shaking on that bus (wasn’t funny looking back)
• Andy stealing all my money (cheeky!!)
• Lee gambling my inheritance on the casino website
• When Dad hid the dog

I’ve been through so much here, but it’s time for me to find myself and find out more about the world with my trip around Wales. This blog will act as my travel diary as I embrace Cymru like its name and dragon embraces the front of many a tea towel.

Try to keep up, boyos!

Tell you what! I have drawn up the best travel plan bloody ever! I think I’ve managed to really nail the essence of Wales with my crayon and unused, unwanted scrap paper. Have a look:

So the route is…

• Porthmadog – Home of the world’s biggest smile
• Llangollen – Home of the world’s biggest mini pork pie
• Rhayader – Home of the world’s biggest globe
• Whitland – ‘Whiteland’ until 1968
• Newcastle Emlyn – Named after ‘Emlyn Hughes’ and ‘Newcastle’
• Lampeter – The South of The East
• Brynmawr – ‘Brian Moore’ in Welsh
• Bulith Wells – Home of the world’s biggest exaggeration
• Abergavenny – Bouncy castle hotspot of the UK
• Llandloes – They once had a fancy dress party
• Aberystwyth – ‘The seaside Hull’
• Tregaron – Birthplace of Henry Richard (???)
• Machynlleth – Translates as ‘Mega leaf’
• Barmouth – As it sounds…
• Montgomery – 1974
• Dolgellau – Home of the world’s biggest tooth!
• Llanfyllin – Home of the ‘Llanfyllin Road’
• Harlech – Named after the sound you make when you accidentally breathe in dog
• Bala – Inventors of civil unrest
• Llanwrtyd – the smallest town in Britain.
• Porthmadog – Home!

I can tell my parents are worried about the idea of me travelling around Wales because they haven’t said a word to me since I told them. Still, I’ve been looking into ways of keeping in touch with them other than by phone (not comfortable with it). It might be that a VPN connection is a good idea, as it isn’t just open to me and my parents, but I could make it accessible to my friends. They could upload some of the latest Welsh music onto a shared folder and I could listen to it near a tree in Brynmawr, really getting the true Welsh experience.

Another idea is doing a ‘video blog’ like on fancy internet sites. I could put it on YouTube maybe! Stephen Fry can watch it!