The Welsh Wander wobbled on, through Kidwelly (quaint) to Burry Port (oddly, not quaint) where Mrs RM kept the engine running while I nipped in the Ship Aground (packed with diners) for a half.
No tables free, so a rich Gower Black Diamond (3.5) in the garden in the rain. #Hardcore
It was still drizzling when we reached the Travelodge in what constitutes the entertainment quarter of Llanelli (“fla-nef-lee”).
Mrs RM wasn’t moving (“Bring me back wine“), so I set off to trudge the mile north to do the two GBG ticks alone. As Springsteen sang on Valentine’s Day, a man ticks faster who ticks alone.
The Old Road out to Stradey Park would be quite attractive in the dry, but not today. Still, I was keen to see Stradey, once home to a proper Rugby Union ground which is practically the only thing I know about Llanelli (except that the Spoons is scary).
The Stradey Arms had a children’s birthday party in the lounge, always a BRAPA favourite, and the Old Boys on the Stella in the public. Well, multiple TV room.
Honestly, I never saw another pint of cask pulled in the 20 minutes I was there. On a Friday night.
Mark Crilley will want to know what the English Sports they were showing was; it seems to be a contest between budget toiletries.
Still, decent mid-2000 indie for the indie kids like Quinno.
And Rev James, like Plum Porter and Black Sheep, is almost impossible to ruin, isn’t it ?
Even in a Guinness glass.
But as I gathered my courage to brace the May chill and head east to Felinfoel, I knew it was all heading south.