Down to the Gower again

Up, and finishing bag packing for our stay in Oxwich Bay before breakfast. It still took us a while to get going however, and it was gone eleven by the time we left under leaden skies. It rained most of the way to the Gower with fleeting respite and glimpses of sun. We arrived before one but were able to check in and take our room early. We have a sea view across the bay. The tide was in and just started receding, so we went and sat on the slipway visible from our room, and picnicked on sandwiches and coffee, watching a family of sand martins (possibly?) hunting for flying insects on the shoreline, their swooping flight pattern made jagged by snatching their prey out of the air above them. Amazing to watch but hard to photograph.

Before going for a walk along the beach, Clare was bold enough to don a bikini under her clothes hoping to swim, but a cold wind picked up. Although she stripped off and went into the sea, she only went shin deep, then turned around and came straight back. I didn't have a top coat on and started to feel chilled by the strong breeze. I headed into the dunes and found a path across a wooded area covered with young oak trees past the grazing wild horses, ending at the road and the the entrance to the big pond with the bird-watching hide. The only bird I saw was a swift. No ducks, moorhens, coots or swans visible, and few bird sounds from the thickets of reed.

After a cup of tea in our room, I went out again, walking up to St Illtud's church and along a short stretch of the coast path, up to where it starts to climb, then back to the centre of the village before returning to the hotel restaurant for supper - a substantial three bean chili and rice for me, salmon for Clare and plenty of veg all around A meal that cost forty pounds last winter costs fifty now, and I bet the hotel struggles to make ends meet despite its popularity with walkers, school groups and wedding parties. They certainly make an effort to maintain standards.

Hope of an evening stroll after supper was cut short by rain, but not before I saw a pied wagtail standing on a rock calling out to another bird. Then on another rock six feet away, I saw a smaller bird, about the size and shape of a sparrow, but didn't look like one. When it chirped it sounded like a wagtail, and then I noticed it had a couple of black and white tail feathers, which it wagged as it moved. That was when I realised it was the wagtail's offspring, just learned to fly properly, but not yet developed its distinctive plumage. That was a first ever for me to notice.

Then it was back to our room, time to upload photos and read more of 'La Sombra del Viento' before turning in for the night.

Avian delights in Oxwich

Before being consumed by sleep last night I finally finished reading all six hundred plus pages of 'Invierno en Madrid'. It's been my bedside companion over the past three years, but only taken up and read in fits and starts. The last twenty pages delivered a shocking tragic end, in the best tradition of spy novels and throught it I've learned a bit more about the Spanish Civil War and the early years of the Franco régime. No wonder some of the deep wounds and divisions of that era remain unhealed.

Another good night's sleep for both of us, waking up to a colder but sunny day, more like November fine weather days we hope for but don't always get.  After another substantial cooked breakfast, we packed our bags and loaded the car, then handed in our key cards and walked to the lakeside hide, to see what birds we could see. 

It was quiet, with just a family of mallards and a couple of single drakes roosting in the reeds, a moorhen, glimpse of a teal, and a pair of buzzards riding the thermals, out hunting. We caught sight of one of them high up in a tree, a quarter of a mile away. A chance long range photo confirmed the sighting, although the image was tiny and not sharp, but satisfying nonetheless.

Then we walked on the coast path track across the nature reserve, through the sand dunes to reach the sea, and walked along the beach to return to the hotel for lunch. As we came out of the dunes a flock of twenty Dunlin descended out of the blue and stopped within a couple of metres of us for just a few seconds before taking to the air again. In the air before they landed they resembled a small round dark cloud, or a swarm of bees as they moved. An astonishing fleeting sight. 

A few minutes later we saw them  occupying a patch of wet sand from which the tide had just receded. As we moved down the shore the flock followed us, foraging as it went. A couple of the birds flew on ahead to feed like, they were a reconnaissance party, I thought. Why they should separate themselves from the safety of the group is a mystery to me however.

We both ordered three bean chili and rice for lunch and relaxed for a while before leaving. I took a short walk up the St Illtud's church to take some photos, then we left for home a four, calling at the Coop in Bishopston to do some weekend shopping before joining the commuter queue around Swansea Bay and on to the Motorway. 

From Oxwich to the east side of Swansea Bay is twenty miles, and with the stop to shop took us an hour, and then another hour to travel the thirty five miles home from there. By the time we left the supermarket the sun had set. I'd forgotten just how early it sets at this time of year. We could have set off earlier and travelled home in daylight, but Oxwich Bay is so lovely it's hard quit when the weather is fine and the light is good. That was our third stay in the Gower this year!

I was delighted and grateful to find a free parking space in the street right outside our house, as nearly all the rest were taken.. We unpacked, Clare made a veggie soup for supper, I uploaded my photos of the day, and then watched another intriguing episode of  Walter Presents latest French crimmie Astrid and Rafaelle before turning in for the night.

Hazy Rhossili

Walking on the beach to the river at the far end of the wetland reserve yesterday was very taxing, with the temperature rising to 28C. I fell asleep on the sofa before going to bed, and slept for a couple hours before turning in. The stormy weather front caught up with us. After a few rumbles of thunder, torrential rain fell for about an hour, the sound of it on the roof was quite mesmerising and didn't stop me dozing off. Today is cooler, hazy and overcast, prompting a drive to Rhossili for a picnic lunch.

The car parks at Rhossili were two thirds full and the path out to Worm's Head busy with walkers. Down on the beach 120m below were a few hundred people scattered about on the vast expanse of sand. It must be heaving with people when the surf is up and the sun shining. As the car park is on National Trust land our membership allowed us to park for free and not pay the six pound a day ch arge. The car park meter has a QR code scanner to register members parking there, but it wasn't working. The car park attendant issuing tickets was taking cash, but many drivers arriving had no cash with them. The habit of using real money is disappearing rapidly with the surge in use of contactless payment during the pandemic crisis.

There was no wind and it was warm enough to have a picnic lunch on the clifftop overlooking the island. A few spots of rain on the return walk and a drink in the cafe near the car park served to deter a further expedition down to beach below. On the return drive it started to rain in earnest. A last supper of fish and chips on the beach had already been mooted, but sporadic rain deterred us, so we sat around the caravan picnic tables and feasted, with copious amounts of wine, before moving down to the beach to light a fire once the rain showers ended. 

We agreed that not even the best of the Mediterranean's beaches can match those of the Gower, as it's not been ruined by developers, and the majority of tourists have to leave at night. There's not enough accommodation, nor ever will be as long as the land is as carefully conserved as it is. Besides the majority of tourists probably live within convenient driving distance. We've noticed a great number of cars leave between five and six - people taking their children home for tea, most probably. We are so very blessed.

Not brexit, but All Hallows Eve

Well, we got to Brexit day, and we're still in the European Union. Despite the blustering rhetoric and political gaming of Boris Johnson and his cronies, the rule of law and persistent critical efforts of most parliamentarians has so far prevented Great Britain from being hoodwinked into a departure from the EU, which one way or another will lead to continued imbalance in wealth, power and social injustice, no matter what 'deal' is brokered and push on the referendum majority.

Whatever sacred status is given to a first past the post referendum, it should never be regarded as more than advisory in my view, an expression of public opinion to be taken seriously, but weighed against the consensus of expert analysis of what is really in the common good for all citizens. It's bound to be complex and a difficult to reach a stable conclusion in an ever moving social and economic global environment.

After three years of trying to establish what the country really wants from brexit, and hopes for in an autonomous future, it's still worryingly unclear what lies ahead apart from a damaging impact on the British economy which may take a decade to recover from. Only opportunist optimists are convinced we'd be better off freed from the checks and balances of Europe wide governance and accountability.

What is sovereignty in reality? The reins of power in Britain are in the hands of a successful moneyed elite that can manipulate the way in which common people perceive the world, through control of the mass media. How much do they really know, let alone care about the privations of poorer people?

We are now faced with another general election, and already the media seems to be framing this as an opportunity to vote in a parliament which will 'get brexit done', another content-less mantra like Mrs May's 'brexit means brexit', inviting trust in those who got the country into this mess in the first place, by proposing a referendum.

It was intended to free Britain from the inevitable difficulties faced in its continued dialogue with a European system of governance that many Europeans already agree is highly unsatisfactory and in need of reform. Disengaging from that process is the last thing Britain should have considered.  But it happened. Whether we brexit or not in the New Year, Europe will not be any better for the absence of a critical British voice in the collective conversation, and Britain will be harder to re-unite that the same opportunist optimists think. It'll take more than World Cup Rugby glory to do that.

More low cloud, strong wind today and chilly dampness in the air. I needed more wound care supplies, so in the afternoon we drove to the nearest pharmacist in the village of Scurlage on the way to Port Eynon. We wanted to look around as well. It's twenty five years since we holidayed there, on leave from Geneva. It's changed very little but all the houses look more spruce, better cared for. The car park was empty, and the wind was so strong, blowing at us from the sea out of white mist and low cloud, that fine sand was piling up all around the roundabout on the car park approach road. A slightly dystopian image of a seaside holiday resort - admittedly without the usual litter!

In Scurlage, opposite the village mini-market, is a modern GP surgery with a pharmacy attached. It's called 'The Well Pharmacy' - a completely new name to me, but it turns out that Co-operative group of pharmacies changed hands and was re-branded as 'Well', and its the third largest group in Britain now, and the largest in Wales. An interesting discovery. We were 'well' impressed by the service we received.

Mission accomplished, we returned and then walked to the village shop to have a drink and buy a card to send to Emma and Nick, congratulating them on the safe arrival of their daughter of Eleanor Renee. It's been a tough pregnancy for Emma, and it's just great to know that everything has turned out the way we all hoped it would.

Weather bound

More high winds today, and colder. We walked as far as the hotel and back to the shop. It's called 'The Dunes Gift Shop and Eatery, and it's open this half term week to cater for holidaymakers out of what remains of stocks at the end of season. Then it closes until next Easter. The snack bar side of the shop is open and doing reasonable trade, hot drinks, freshly cooked fish and chips. Clare had a decaf coffee, Lavazza, freshly brewed, I had an ice cream. 

Rain was threatened so we returned for lunch, just in time to welcome the two cheery women who look after the holiday bungalows, bringing us fresh towels. The also hoovered the carpets and cleaned the bathroom. All while we ate lunch.

The rain arrived late and we spent much of the day indoors, keeping warm. Clare is now afflicted with the same cold as I am recovering from. I spent several hours writing more of my latest story. More ideas about the characters keep coming to me. It's grown from short story into short novel. Two dozen pages - a surprise to me!

There was a limit to how much I could write as sitting for very long periods over the past few days has started giving me trouble with the wound opening and not drying out and closing as it has slowly doing. It's a worry, being away from home and the clinic. 

Early bed again this evening after watching an episode of Inspector Poirot on ITV3.

  

Settling in where saints have walked

We walked along the beach to the river that flows out at the far end of Oxwich Bay today. Then we drove out to hunt for a grocery store to get some things we had forgotten to pack, for our two week stay. After supper I started writing a new short story about a modern troubador.
This morning's weather was warm and sunny  again with interesting clouds. First, we walked to St Illtud's Parish church a couple of hundred yards beyond the Oxwich Bay hotel.
It's a 12th century church on the site of a 6th century hermitage, with a churchyard that is two thirds of a circle. The coast path runs straight alongside the church on the remaining side above the shore. It may have been established at the time Illtud's monastic school in Llantwit Major began to operate. It's  forty three miles by road now, then it was at least two days walking, so it was quicker, more direct to sail across twenty five miles of coastal waters. The church was closed but there's a Eucharist there this Sunday so we will attend.
The coastal path to Oxwich Point from the church involves long flights of steps, ascending and descending nearly a hundred metres. Getting to the top alone was tough going which drained me frightfully, so we retraced our steps and walked along the beach instead, and had a picnic lunch on the edge of the dunes.
The beach is quite free of bottles and cans, but in one section, perhaps as a product of complex sea currents, the sand contains thousands of pieces of thin coloured nylon twine, from one to twenty centimetres long, of the kind used used in fishing nets. There was also a mound of broken net washed in by the tide. In a short stretch of shore, where the sea current may be strongest, I collected four handfuls of broken lengths of net  twine, the breakdown product from a large piece of net abandoned to the sea.
It's a toxic product of modern fishing practice. Why can't the industry revert over time to biodegradable hemp twine, as originally used?
The short story I started to write is developing into a novella. Ideas and words just flow, I've written four thousand already. Goodness knows where this all comes from. I'm quite excited by this creative growth spurt.
  

Return to Oxwich

Yesterday morning, straight after breakfast, I was collected and driven down to St John's for an early funeral service. This was followed by cremation at Thornhill at ten thirty, but despite heavy morning traffic we were on time.
We were in the Briwnant Chapel again, and after the brief committal ceremony, the funeral director's effort to accompany the mourning party out through the correct exit foundered. The door mechanism was stiff and hard to push open. Thanks to a few seconds delay, instead of following him smoothly, the family faltered on leaving their seats, then habitually turned and left the chapel the way they came, in much to the embarrassment of the F.D. The new one way traffic arrangement in chapel isn't working yet!
I think the family were too stunned by early bereavement to notice. Mam had died at the same age my mother died fifty years ago this month. Her two kids, the same age roughly, as I was then. I could see myself in them as they stood there, poised between numbness and tears.
Back home then to pack my bags and then squeeze everything into the car. Clare had taken much time to pack food supplies that will more than give us a head start in self catering. We won't need to visit a supermarket until the weekend, when we fetch Owain from the station.
We reached our well appointed holiday two bedroom holiday bungalows by four, on quiet hillside estate with a distinctly suburban feel to it, grass lawns, bushes, tarmac'd roads and plenty of parking space. It's situated just above the old main village street, now devoid of shops. The old Post Office has been a dwelling place for decades. There's a whitewashed thatched house with a plaque affixed to its front, recording five preaching stays on visits made there by John Wesley. Some dwellings are up market holiday lets, others are elite commuter residences or dream retirement cottages. As for village life? Oxwich Parish church overlooking the bay still has regular services, and there's a fair sized a rebuilt Community Hall hosting a variety social activities, just below the bungalow estate. But no food shops just a seasonal holidaymakers store the  beach snack bar and the Hotel we last stayed in fourteen years ago. Its prices have doubled since then.
After unpacking and storing foodstuffs, we walked to the beach to watch the sunset. The tide was way out, and we saw a flock of about fifty Dunlin scurrying about like ants on the wet sand of the foreshore. The temperature dropped and we called into the hotel for a drink before heading back in the dark. We heard an owl hoot in the woodland above. No traffic noise, pure fresh night air, silence.
The bungalow takes time to heat up so extra layers of clothes are needed indoors. Clare cooked a delicious celery soup for supper, and I sat and got started writing another story, on the largest of my three Linux laptops which I brought with me, as it works well without needing an internet connection. No wifi here, and an often flaky 4G phone signal, no good for tethering. It's normal for parts of rural Wales, but never mind, there are far more important and enriching things to fill our time with around here.