In the McDonalds at Glyn-Neath (aka Glynneath) we were treated to early morning prog, something I’ve never warmed to.
“There’s always been Ethel” ? What’s that all about ? I like a minimum of clutter in your wardrobe.
Gynneath lies in the heart of Waterfall Country, at the foot of the roads leading to the Brecons, show caves and Ystradfelte.
My walk takes me to show gardens and viaducts and streams as we wait for the Dinas Rock Hotel to open.
It reminds me of one of those east Lancashire mining towns like Tyldesley, loving maintained, worth exploring, but ultimately bypassed by visitors in favour of the bright lights of Leigh/Merthyr.
Look what they’re missing.
The Halfway House offers Double Dragon and the better pale colours, but the Dinas Rock is our tick and opens an hour earlier.
Loads of Welsh places still say “Hotel” though their last guest was probably surveying entries for the 1975 GBG.
Not much has changed since then.
My sort of pub, Proper seating, tiled flooring, the sort of place Mrs RM says “I’ll wait in the car“.
OK, perhaps a bit basic for our Pauline, too.
Despite being there bang on noon there’s two Old Boys at the bar already, talking medical ailments.
Cans. Surgers for the Guinness. Nice wallet, sir.
Only one pump on (it’s plenty, believe me), but the landlady STILL turns the clip round to check she’s pouring the Evan Evans Cwrw, the way you would if there were a dozen casks on. I like that.
I love the pub. They’re friendly, acknowledge me on entry and departure, and acknowledge my pathetic attempts to enhance their Sunday lunchtime as we note the rush of motorbikes past the window.
I sit in Pissheads Corner and enjoy a cool, rich Cwrw (NBSS 3+) and life is good.
My notes say “Crackling fire“, which shows you how much global warming has affected temperatures inside pubs in the last month, but I wouldn’t be amazed if it’s still on today.