I finally rolled into Llangollen at 7pm after a hard day’s driving. The first thing I noticed was that it was situated on the River Dee and on the edge of the Berwyn mountains. It has a population of 3,142.
Make that 3,412 + 1 (= 3,413).
Auntie Penny’s house was still a fair way across town, so I decided to pull up into a Somerfield car park and contemplate my next move. I hadn’t shaved for a day, and sleep was becoming a distant relative I only saw once a night for approximately eight hours depending on my plans the next day. It’s tough on the road.
I got out of my car and breathed in the Denbighshire air. Before long I’d made it to the Prince of Wales pub, but he wasn’t in. Locals said he never is. I ordered a coke and sat back with my digital movie player. I watched Burning Down The House – will those kids ever give Steve Martin a break?!
Next I walked over to the jukebox and looked for some swinging jazz. I wanted to recreate the famous Jazz Age of 1920s Wales, as chronicled in the famous Welsh novel The Great Gareth. Unfortunately, nobody wanted to dance.
I typed in the next leg of my random, spontaneous, independent trip into my dad’s sat nav, and before long I was heading out to Auntie Penny’s. She greeted me with a hug and a kiss that smelled like Silk Cut in a wet bin. Cheese on toast for dinner. I really was roughing it.
That night I lay in the guest room bed and thought about the cosy world I had left behind. No more online bingo for me, no more eating whatever I want when my parents leave the house, no more looking at cats on the internet.
I had arrived and yet, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I could hear Rhayader – home of the world’s biggest globe – calling my name.