A taste of luxury, but to what end?

The weather couldn't have been worse yesterday. Visibility was terrible, with rain and gusts of wind through the day until mid afternoon.
Since we've been here at Oxwich, I have developed a streaming cold, due to a bug exported from Kenilworth by Kath, we think. The symptoms are much the same. It was an effort to walk on the beach and when I started to get chilly, we turned back for the Beach House Restaurant, where Clare had succeeded in getting us booking a table as we set out. Demand is so high that reservation in advance is essential. We were lucky to get a cancellation, thanks to the vile weather.
It's a gourmet dining venue, specialising in nouvelle cuisine, popular not only because of its setting just above the tide line, but also its highly reputable chef and a world class wine list, unaffordable to the likes of me. The entry level house red and white are eight quid for a small glass, and sixty quid a bottle. Main course dishes start at twenty five quid. That was all we could manage.
What we ate was tasty, excellently cooked and presented but main course portions were small. It was a much more pleasant experience than lunch at Heaneys in Canton, which also serves gourmet food on similar terms. But, I still don't 'get' the idea of food as entertainment - lots of minimal portions at great expense, often thanks to rare ingredients.
I love to cook and eat good quality food that I know I can enjoy, but the modern gourmet way is to my mind, eating for the sake of it. Small portions may be a step away from gluttony, but craving so many sensory experiences and packing them in to one meal, the price per head of a week's family shopping, seems to me like consumerism gone mad.
We went back to the bungalow afterwards, for coffee and a fruit 'n yoghout dessert. Clare and Owain then went out again and walked up the Bay and back for a couple of hours. I went to bed to try and shake off worsening symptoms but couldn't settle, so I worked instead on my new story until they returned.
The rain had cleared away and they'd seen a spectacular sunset. Better weather to come, but Owain won't benefit as he had to return to Bristol  at lunchtime today.
We watched this week's double episode of 'Spiral' together. Unmissable French drama for him and I.
This morning we benefited from the extra hour with the clocks turning back. As soon as breakfast was over, Owain was watching Wales get beaten (just) in the Rugby World cup semi-finals. Clare and I went to St Illtud's Parish church for the 10.00am Parish Eucharist, and met the warm, friendly congregation of about twenty people. The church sanctuary has sixth century foundations, and a twelfth century nave.
A beautiful well looked after building, good singing, good preaching by Fr Justin the Vicar.
We didn't stay for coffee as we had to take Owain to Swansea station. We missed one by a couple of minutes, but he was nevertheless home in two and a half hours. A bus took him from Newport to Bristol Temple Meads, due to work on the main line and/or Severn Tunnel, and this worked to his advantage for a change.
I felt well enough for a walk in the dunes in the hour before sunset, now at five. Then I set about changing the clocks on the cameras I brought with me. My Samsung phone stubbornly refused to update the clock all day, perhaps because it isn't as capable of getting and holding a weak cell tower signal. The Blackberry on the other hand, is fine.
On the ridge above Oxwich Bay a cell phone relay tower is prominent, visible, in line of sight, but it is a Vodaphone or O2 mast. In Spain roaming between service providers is often possible. It parts of Wales suffering from poor connectivity  for the past twenty years, only now is roaming between local service providers being discussed, but not yet in place. Nobody benefits in the end from making life harder for others. Sure, it's all about protecting vested interests and rights, but enough is enough.