R****** wanted to help M**** write the shopping list. I'm loving the attempt to write 'curry powder'. Of course I knew what he meant. The meal actually didn't turn out all that great, but that's another story . . . Oh, and I bought the wrong kind of 'fat three fromage frais' but that's another story too, albeit a simpler, shorter story - I had to return to Booths and buy the correct fromage frais, the fat free version. Yeah, I'm joking. The problem was the fruity stuff at the bottom of the pots of fromage frais; there should have been a single pot without fruity stuff. Fun times.
Today the boys were staying at home with Pop and Cathie, whilst M**** and I stayed over in Ambleside, in a little flat near the centre. In the afternoon, we went for a long (well, long-ish) walk,
along Stockghyll Lane, past some waterfall thingy and then . . . beyond. Later on, we had a quick drink at a predictably busy Golden Rule and then got ourselves ready for a night out. By about 23:45, I was pooped, as can be evidenced by this last photo (yeah, thanks M****). Must have been all that walking.
The weather took a little turn for the worse, but it seemed to clear up and pretty much stop raining about halfway through. We just couldn't be bothered to remove the waterproof over-trouser thingies. So what's happening? We drove to White Moss, somewhere between Rydal and Grasmere and then walked to Grasmere for lunch. Realising we still had a fair amount of time, we took a different, longer route back to the car, via the old coffin route, kind of retracing some of the steps I made on my stag do. So yeah . . . that was good. That night we watched the 'absolutely hilarious' film, Bernie, and then went out for dinner at Zeffirelli's. The food was good, but M**** thought the restaurant had an odd atmosphere. Also, the service failed towards the end. What is it with restaurant staff completely forgetting / ignoring their customers after it seems obvious that they've finished eating? How about asking if we want coffees / desserts or perhaps we just wanna pay the bill and get the hell out of there? Hmmm? But no . . . so you're kind of saying goodbye to any hope of getting a tip after we've been sat around waiting for like 20 minutes to be served. Shame, really. Anyway, we went for a quick drink at this new pub not far from our flat and that was that.
This was our wet weather plan - head for the mines! In this case, it was Sygun Copper Mine. If interested, just do a Google search. A couple of the reviews on Trip Advisor summarise the experience fairly succinctly - "Slightly over-priced, a couple of hours amusement" and "Interesting but very expensive." Well, I enjoyed it and I think the boys got something out of it. But, yes, it was way over-priced.
I can't quite remember now, but M**** suggested the pub we stopped at for lunch should be remembered for another name, perhaps something suggestive of the extraordinary change of mood that overcame R****** whilst we were waiting for our food to arrive; it was indeed as if he had been possessed of some madness, but the less said of that the better. As can be seen, we were fortunate with the weather and easily cycled 14 miles that day without much in the way of complaint. Back in Dolgellau, I was badgered into buying some new walking boots (or shoes); the ones I bought in Elterwater something like six weeks ago were already falling apart. Okay, so they were cheap but still . . . I think my feet are too wide.
Who the hell is that breathing in the background? Must be R******.
So, of course, a trip to Barmouth would not be complete with the customary trip to Harlech Castle. So there we are . . . we had lunch at this fantastic café, which I think would have been the Cemlyn Teashop. After doing the Harlech Castle thing, we had to walk past the same tea-shop on the way back to the car park, and this crazy woman was having a massive rant at the proprietor (I'm guessing) just outside. She uttered the immortal phrase, "When you've lived in Harlech all your life, then you can have an opinion about such things, but until such a time . . ." which really confused me. She was angry about an A-board he had outside his café, which was forcing her to use the road to get her push-chair past the café. The fact that there was scarcely any pavement anyway or that there were sections of that road completely without pavement . . . or that this was hardly some hideously busy main road . . . obviously none of this was important - it was all his fault. She had clearly lost it, and he was kind of stood there looking slightly bewildered. But hey . . . fantastic food, fantastic location, good service . . . blah, blah, blah. And they were licensed too! But I only realised after I had ordered my coffee and fizzy water. Ah well . . . maybe next time. The 'Boney Tail' in the title refers to a conversation we had that night at the Last Inn. R****** was talking about the mother of one of his class-mates and said something along the lines of, "You know, she's the one with the boney tail." He meant pony tail, of course, but saw the funny side, which was fortunate, as M****, A****** and I had trouble seeing any other side but.
