You left us at Cardigan’s Angel Hotel with chilli sauce dripping down our chins (mine, anyway, can’t speak for Duncan).
No chance of a midnight pint of murk here. In fact no sign that the bar ever opened.
But despite an overpowering smell of air freshener on the stairs, I’ll be using the Angel again as I conquer the West. £32 a night for a quiet, well-equipped room.
And I’ll be back because the Grosvenor, my GBG “need” has decided to move forward its opening times by half an hour, just to frustrate me.
So I used my last hour in Cardigan to ruminate on marker pens with Duncan in the Coffee #1, and bring you the Highlights Package.
Hancocks HB (save that for next time) and some birds. Duncan will know what they are, he’s a bird expert.
It’s a strange town, but not in a Jam ay.
Very colourful, loads of independent businesses,
and a fair bit of history that interested me not one bit.
I walked it in 35 minutes, pausing only for the street art and to pick up a loaf of artisan sour dough at Bara Menyn.
There were clearly bargains to be had, but I’d run out of time.
But I’ll be back. As Duncan and Si say every time a micropub is closed.