Well, not far from Snowdon, anyway.
From a jubil(ee)antly ticked North-East Wales to an attack on the North-West, the land of Helly Hansen, Patrick’s Bar, and some of the most glorious scenery in the world.
And a cycle hire scheme to rival those electric bikes you rent by the minute from Cambridge station.
More knitting here in Llwyngwril, which I suspect I’ve spelt as well as pronounced wrong.
I believe this is a likeness of Princess Beatrice but I’m open to correction.
It’s the long Bank Holiday weekend, the UK is out enjoying their free Friday, so obviously the Garthangharad is closed till 3pm. Obviously that’s not what What Pub says, but you knew that.
The pub had actually publicised their hours, so well done them. And as I get bored of saying, pubs can open when they like; staff and supplies shortages make it impressive they open at all.
And it’s a lovely pub with Pub Curmudgeon approved seating,
lovely staff, and a tight beer range with a decent Golden Best (2.5/3). Tim Taylor is becoming as ubiquitous in Wales and Scotland as in London.
All I’m saying is the lack of lunchtime opening for meals in the summer season has been startling, even in the key tourist areas like Devon and north Wales.
By 15:07 there must have been a dozen in, several enquiring about food that wasn’t available until later.
“Well, can we have a menu to see what we COULD have had ?” said one lady, without irony.
I “blame” Wetherspoons. Folk never used to have such bizarre expectations about being fed in pubs.