Shrewsbury. Again.

The Old Market Hall

I had a nice, quiet night in Shrewsbury. After a wander along the old town wall, from which I was hoping to see a worthwhile view but didn't, I went to the Old Market Hall. An arthouse cinema and theatre, it's located in a 16th century building in the middle of the market square and on Tuesday was screening Danny Boyle's film Trance, which I hadn't yet seen. The hall had a nice cafe bar and they allowed drinks to be taken into the screen. Large merlot? Alright then. The screen was pretty cool, with suede seats and a wooden beam roof, but the film was so-so. Movie review: DONE.

After the film, I went into the Wheatsheaf for a quick pint with country & western music and got talking to a middle-aged couple who had been to the screening as well. Carol was very nice and shared my opinions of the film, while John looked like Abraham Lincoln and was always a couple of sentences behind the conversation.

You would not believe how big this plate was

Afterwards, I made my way back to The Old Post Office; the inn just round the corner that I'd managed to get a room in. £25 for the night with the biggest full English breakfast I've ever seen was an absolute bargain, and it was nice to sleep in a double bed for the third night in a row.

In the morning I walked up the hill to the castle, the oldest parts of which were built during the reign of William the Conqueror, and finally got to see a good view of the surrounding countryside. Shrewsbury is almost completely surrounded by the river Severn, horseshoeing its way around the town in a natural fortification which made it such a strategic stronghold for centuries. Carol had said to me she hoped her beloved town remained undiscovered so it could be preserved in its historical beauty and authenticity, and I think its the protection of the river, preventing the town becoming a thoroughfare, that has kept meddlesome expansion and development pleasantly at bay.

From the castle

The castle

The lovely train station

Do I dare? Course I do.

An unplanned day in Shrewsbury

Shrewsbury isn't a bad place to end up to be honest. It has an interesting history and contains over 600 listed buildings. The town centre has quite a few examples of timber framed buildings, dating back to the 15th and 16th century, although obviously, due to the rentless march of capitalism, most are now soullessly occupied by chain coffee shops and restaurants. The abbey still has the original Norman archways inside, and the western tower, while not as old, dates back to the 1300s. The remains of Saint Winefride, the daughter of a 7th century Welsh prince, were interred here, but the shrine to her was destroyed along with much of the abbey during the Reformation. According to legend, she took a vow of celibacy, dedicating her life to God and the service of others, but a nobleman persisted in making forceful advances towards her and she fled. He pursued her and cut off her head. Don't worry though, because a well of pure water sprang from where her head fell and the Nobleman dropped down dead instantly, as the ground opened up and swallowed his body. Winefride's uncle then placed her head back on her neck, and she continued to live for another 15 years. Fucking mental.

The Abbey

Evidence of the Reformation

Being only 9 miles from the border, it's seen its fair share of England v Wales action over the years, and in 1403, the all-England Battle of Shrewsbury took place just north of the town, now appropriately and respectfully commemorated by the Battlefield Enterprise Park. Here, the forces of Henry IV defeated Henry "Hotspur" Percy's rebel army. I guess Hotspur is just an unlucky name.

Later, during the civil war, Shrewsbury was a Royalist stronghold and the Golden Cross Hotel, as it is now known, was a popular meeting place for them (if you believe the plaque outside) until Parliamentary forces took the town. Aided by a Royalist traitor, they were allowed access to the town via the St Mary's Water Gate, now also known as Traitor's Gate. The Traitor's Gate Brasserie sounded like a cool place to go for lunch, first for its name, but also because it was made up of three underground cellars, uncovered at the start of the 1800s, where the skeletons of those buried there after the Battle of Shrewsbury were found.

Alley to the entertaining Traitor's Gate Brasserie

It wasn't the best food in the world, but it was most certainly the strangest place I've ever eaten, and definitely the best food in the strangest place I've ever eaten. The main menu was split into Turkish, Greek and Moroccan food, and the lunch menu was English and Italian - definitely a place that needs to decide what it wants to be. The owner seemed nice, but definitely leaning to the wrong side of weirdo; overly apologetic about every tiny thing, he was a bit of an enigma to talk to. Panini was listed on the lunch menu, but no fillings were mentioned. When I asked, he said I could have whatever I wanted in it, but I pointed out that the menu didn't specify from what ingredients to choose. He insisted that it was because I could have anything I wanted. 'Sugar Puffs?' I asked, half joking, half to prove a point. 'No, not quite that far', he replied, unphased, then...nothing, no further clues! Not up for a life-sapping guessing game, I took a stab at ham and cheese being an option. It was pretty fantastic. A lot of paninis tend to be light on the filling and look a bit sorry for themselves, but this was full, hearty, and the seasoned chips that came with it were superb.

Waiting for my food, I heard him say to some walk-ins that there was a bit of a wait as they were very busy at the moment. Looking around, I could see there was just me and two other tables being served - hardly a lunchtime rush. I also heard him trying to describe his table numbering system to a bewildered new waitress, which confused the arse off me too; he seemed like a guy that considers himself organised and business-like, but has thrown logic and sanity out the window and is probably frustratingly stubborn when it comes to suggestion and reason. I don't know why I'm laying in to him so much; he was a nice guy, but if I was a new starter, I think he would have done my head in. Anyway, what I'm saying is, if you find yourself in Shrewsbury, GO - the food is awesome, and the service, mental.

Uh oh...

A few hours later and my enthusiasm has been well and truly kicked in the knackers. My plan was to hire a car from Shrewsbury and drive to Snowdon, see just how beautiful a countryside could be and, weather permitting, climb the friggin thing. As Enterprise had specified nothing in my confirmation about what I needed to bring when collecting the car, I decided to phone ahead before tomorrow to make sure. In addition to my driving licence (check), they need two utility bills as proof of address, which I obviously don't have access to. Even if I was at home, nearly everything I do is online these days, and I don't get bills or bank statements through the post anymore. I tried my luck at the building society, but because I do paperless banking, they are unable to print off any statement in-branch.

What we have here is a clash of the old world and the new; a company that still deals in paper and filing cabinets, and one that couldn't print on paper even if it wanted to. Add a moron like me into the equation, and you have an absolute shitstorm of fuckupery. When we hired a car last time I was in America, they practically threw the keys at us! In many ways, I'm like Napoleon; meticulous, to-the-minute planning, but somehow overlooking a glaring issue that is ultimately my downfall. In many ways, I'm also like Frank Spencer.

I have compiled a playlist that has been helping me get over my disappointment:

Raspberry Beret - Prince & The Revolution
Rainy Day, Dream Away - The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Pump It Up - Elvis Costello & The Attractions
Rapture - Blondie
The Rain Song - Led Zeppelin
Lady Day and John Coltrane - Gil Scott-Heron
Midnight Sky - Can
Me and Baby Brother - War
She Said She Said - The Beatles
Sticks 'n' Stones - Jamie T
Buona Sera - Louis Prima
Fishin' Blues - Taj Mahal
I Have Patience - Mark Mulcahy
strange Currencies - R.E.M

The road (or train) to Shrewsbury

I'm starting to really enjoy this. I have to confess that after a couple of days, I really wasn't sure I was up to it. It felt an age since I'd been at home and I'd hardly made a dent in the distance I'd planned to travel. But now, after an unplanned visit to Shrewsbury and the mountain train journey it's taken me to get here, all I'm doing is looking ahead.

There aren't many things the the world more beautiful than the English countryside in summer (Natalie Portman being one of those things) and Wales in the sun is no different. The British countryside is a patchwork colourchart of green, and on those days mixed with sun and cloud, it's at its picturesque best. Where the sun highlights, the clouds shadow, and any painter capturing the essence of its infinite colours would be considered a genius; any photograph, a masterpiece. Sadly, my phone can't capture the extreme contrasts of the sky and land together, so most of my pictures show a gloom that is an utter disservice to how gorgeous a day it is.

Not that anyone I know would need to travel between Swansea and Shrewsbury, but it is a train journey I wholeheartedly recommend. It travels through the hills and valleys, through tunnels and over Brunel-era viaducts, and, unless you're in a hurry, it is a 3 and a half hours well worth it. I've always been fascinated by the countryside in Wales; less farmed and mosaic-like than the English countryside, but with dark, almost black hills inconceivably living right next to green, luscious ones, and together they create a strikingly distinct landscape of contrasting peaks and valleys. Add the winding streams and tributaries that flow all throughout, grey and cold under shadow, then suddenly blinding in the glistening sun, and it's a miracle of nature that the human eye can process all of this at once. My fucking phone can't.

The rail line itself is one of reminiscence, but of a time I don't recall ever experiencing. Yes, the train is made up of just a single carriage, which is almost quaint if it wasn't for the fact that I'm so used to the woefully and inadequately short last train from Paddington on a Saturday night, but the stops all along the line haven't been developed and modernised like the stations I'm so used to. It's heartwarming to see old signal boxes and station houses still in constant use and proudly-kept, all welcome signs and hanging baskets, where most throughout the country have fallen into ruin or gone altogether.

I was sat on the wrong side of the train to get the best pics from the valley, but here are some more anyway:

Stupidly wore a white t-shirt

New celeb spot - Larry David on the train

Swansea

For a place that sees its fair share of rain, and probably quite a few other towns' share to boot, Swansea has a noticeable lack of outerwear shops. It's hard to take a shop assistant seriously when they tell you their current stock is the "summer" range as the rain is lashing in horizontally outside. I've never understood why clothing shops in the UK have specific seasonal stocks when it can piss it down here anytime without a second's notice. I think all clothes should have zip-off sleeves and legs that we wear forever, so we can adapt to the weather changing every five minutes.

Other things hard to take seriously in Swansea are the people wearing flip-flops in winter conditions and the twattishly bizarre haircuts. But Swansea is a place I always feel excited by. Having spent a lot of time here when I was younger, I always feel that buzz when I arrive, a pang of childish exuberance left over from some of my favourite holidays. Even on the train station platform from where none of the city is visible, I can still tell.

It's nice to stay with my aunt and uncle as well, instead of in a room with strangers; I was a little less lucky with my second night in Bath. Instead of sharing a room with two French girls, I was sharing with three men. One was pretty old (how he got onto the top bunk, I'll never know) and one I'm pretty sure was Michael Stipe. I couldn't say for certain as he wore an eye mask all night. Come to think of it, it probably was Michael Stipe.

I haven't done any exploring since I've been here, for obvious reasons, but it's nice to just sit and relax. Depressingly, I sat in Walkabout by myself for a lot of Sunday, watching football, but only because it was empty and I thought I could convince myself I wasn't in a Walkabout. I had what I was told was a Kangaroo fillet sandwich, but I suspect it was just ordinary beef. If you're ever in Sketty, Zaal do a very nice curry. The takeaway next door is run by an old Chinese bloke everyone calls Chris.

Day 3 - Bath

Thankfully, Bath is dry today. It was drizzling when I arrived yesterday afternoon and didn't stop all night. Still, I took a bit of time to explore the streets to start getting a feel for the place. There is definitely a residual sense of a city that was once walled; take one of the winding streets in any direction and you will almost always find your way back to somewhere you recognise. I had a quick local ale in The Old Green Tree (apparently one of Bath's oldest pubs, but no one seemed to know anything beyond that), one in the Garrick's Head and then some tapas in a semi-hipster place called Market. Luckily, one of the waitresses chose to have her break on the table right behind me and started a nauseatingly loud phone conversation with someone clearly hard of hearing. I assumed that because she kept repeating everything; "are you going? Are you going though? Are you going to it though? Are you going?" - Classic stuff.

I was concerned I was going to have to share my 4 bed hostel room with some other people, and low and behold, two French girls turned up. As you can imagine, I was horrified. They were so excited to see me, on the other hand, that they had to pack up and leave first thing in the morning before their natural urges took over. Understandable.

Today I breakfasted (which is what posh people say) at the Pump Room, then took the tour of the Roman Baths. Audio guides bang on a bit I've concluded on this trip, but I did hear a hell of a lot of interesting things. It's hard to select what to write about from the sheer onslaught of information they provide on the tour, so I'm not going to bother. Also, I'm pretty sure I've forgotten everything I heard.

A bath and an Abbey

Ducks. Cool.

The 'Sacred Spring'. With shit in it.

I explored a lot more today, making my way a bit further out of the centre. The view at the weir by Pulteney Bridge is beautiful, as are most of the buildings here, built during the expansion of the city during the Georgian era from Bath stone. The Royal Crescent is a remarkable place, and I expect the views from inside the houses overlooking the city are amazing, but I'd much rather live in The Circus. Designed by the fantastic nutcase John Wood, the ring of townhouses that make up The Circus was inspired by the Colosseum. It just seems a much more fun place to live.

The Circus

The Royal Crescent

The Weir

The sandwich I had in the Roman Baths Kitchen was possibly the gayest I've ever eaten - goats cheese, cabernet-braised beetroot and creamed horseradish. It was pretty amazing though. I've just been to a little arthouse cinema called The Little Theatre Cinema (clever) to see Mud, a film in which Matthew McConaughey continues his career McConnaisance. I was distracted for the whole film as I was pretty sure Karl Urban was sat in front of me. As soon as the credits rolled he pegged it out (classic Hollywood sign) and I bombed after him, desperate to catch a glimpse like some deranged stalker. It wasnt him.

Currently I'm sitting in the Crystal Palace, a pub where Admiral Nelson convalesced after being wounded at the Battle of the Nile, and which now plays Gil Scott-Heron on the stereo. I've had Stonehenge by Spinal Tap stuck in my head all day.

Where the dewdrops cry and the cats miaow...

Fisherton Street in Salisbury is a bleak place. The wind and cloud may have had a little to do with it, but mostly it was because of the bleary-eyed vagrants that kept shuffling past me and because it doesn't look like it's changed in 20 years. There's a weird lack of cash machines and an equally-weird abundance of sex shops. Throw in a Blockbuster Video and an Airfix shop, and you get the impression of a place that hasn't really moved along with the times.

Half 10 in the morning is probably too early for a pint. Everyone else in the Kings Head Inn Lloyd's bar seemed to disagree with me however, and stared at me like I was the weirdo for ordering tea with my food before the bus left for STONEHENGE. The tour guide on the bus said that the canals through the town were originally dug to provide fresh water to the people, but the dirty bastards started using them for sewage disposal, spreading typhoid and cholera throughout. I thought this might have gone some way to explaining the specimens I'd seen that morning, but he insisted this happened several hundred years ago. He also explained that, even after Spitfire production was moved to Salisbury, the city saw very little bomb damage; the cathedral acted as a major landmark for the Luftwaffe, who were under strict instructions to leave the town unharmed.

They do their best on the tour to build up the idea that Salisbury plain is an ancient and significantly spiritual stretch of land, which it obviously historically is, but they end up diluting that by using modern landmarks as reference points; "You will get your first glimpse of this ancient and mystical monument as we turn on to the A303", or "Look at the majestic Heelstone, which is located next to the fence nearest the carpark" aren't phrases that help spark the imagination. The prominent smell of cowshit doesn't help either. There were some beautiful pictures for sale in the gift shop of the monument taken at times of the day that I'm sure lend themselves to the spiritual ambience of the plain; a gorgeously clear sunrise peaking through the isochronously-spaced archways of the henge, and a rich red and pink canvas of streaky clouds highlighted by the glowing sunset. At one point, the audio guide instructed me to "slowly turn in a full circle, gradually taking in the entire view and power of this ancient plain" and I knew what they were hoping for; they were hoping I would become overwhelmed with a sense of mysticism and spiritual awe. Unfortunately, due to gaps in the clouds for sunlight far and few between, and the blisteringly cold gale-force winds whipping across the plain making my head throb, all I was overwhelmed with was a sense of the right royal arseache.