It seems odd to be writing about Summer with November approaching, but it was 20 degrees in Waterbeach yesterday, and as I headed to a fateful rendezvous with the Pubmeister in Haverfordwest to complete Wales,

the sun was shining on the righteous. Look ! #NoFilter

This was Llandeilo (pop. 1,795), a smart little Carmarthenshire town with an unfeasibly high number of cafes and ladies outfitters that looks more towards the Brecons than Llanelli, that’s for sure. It’s the Thaxted of the West.

Three (3) GBG ticks in 2019, a bran’ new one in Yr Hen Vic now. With 20 minutes till opening, a bloke in Hi Vis gave me completely unsolicited tourist advice and watched me ascend the hill to Penlan Park, which was worth the modest effort.

How far did you get ?” said unofficial TIC man. I lied; he looked doubtful.

It’d possible he was heading to Yr Hen Vic (Latin for “Your Hen is Called Vic”) later on,

but unfortunately I had it all to myself for 20 minutes and I wasn’t going to be discussing the pros and cons of beer names written on slate (ugh) with the barperson.

It looked a jolly place, with lively jukebox and bright green pool room,

but I headed outside to see if the sun would revive a half of Mantle Hwyl Haf (“I’ll have half”).

It did improve it, a bit (2.5), but not enough.

Never mind.

By the by, last time here I got this in the White Horse;

In 2022, I got a deadly silence. That unpredictably is the joy of pubs.

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