Thanks Glenn and two Dons.

Today was wonderful. I had a great sleep, although it really lashed it down with high winds and heavy rain. I’m sleeping heavily recently. At 70 you wonder if it’s significant. Am I transitioning? As people get older they sleep less. Perhaps I’m getting younger. What do you think?

Now that bloke doesn’t look 70. But in January he did. Proof. I’m getting younger and I bet my hair grows back and then I’ll drive down a dark desert highway with cool wind in my hair. YEEEEESSS!

Che drove me down to Polperro where we had breakfast together at the Wheelhouse.

Breakfast was great but expensive so we’re going to do our own from now on.

I think Polperro is the most beautiful seaside village in Cornwall, but heavily touristic in summer.

Looking back the other way is just as good.

Then out on to the salt path. Is dying like this or does it all just go black forever? I think it goes black. Bet you a quid it does.

This is the magnificent cliff protecting the harbour from the south westerlies.

I love this path. It’s great at this time of year with not many folk on it, and those who are on it take it seriously but enjoy it too. What’s not to enjoy? Looking back towards Polperro.

And forward towards Talland Bay and beyond to Rame Head, which protects Plymouth from the south westerlies.

I made reasonable time, despite stopping to talk to solo travellers coming the other way. People wanting to feel the freedom and transcendental effect of trekking day after day. People trying to find something.

You might be thinking ‘Pretentious prick’. If you are then it’s an accurate thing to think but it contains a swear word so you are barred from this blog for at least 5 minutes.

Five minutes?

Yes, starting now. But you have to self-time it. Don’t cheat……You cheated you prick!

Talland Bay is lovely too.

I was feeling very unfit and I wasn’t carrying a heavy rucksack, just my daysack. The long uphill stretches were doing me in. I hadn’t trained and I was feeling it. But it’s only 12 miles today.

I’m leaving a gap from Fowey to Polperro that I will fill in on Sunday with my friends Senor y Senora Kilby. Tomorrow I’m having a rest day with my sister, just walking to places that mean a lot to her emotionally, and on Friday I’ll walk Downderry to Plymouth. I’m organised, but I prefer busking it.

This is a hill beyond Downderry. A place where those beneath the crosses will spend eternity. Nice view of the sea.

The shoreline is rugged throughout Cornwall, decorated occasionally by beautiful beaches.

Then over the brow of a brow I could see the outskirts of Looe and the island, to the right of the photo, which Joseph of Arimathea visited with the Christ child. According to local legend.

Between Looe, on the left, and the island, on the right, is Downderry in the background. That’s where I’m aiming for today.

But before I get there I’m walking to Looe. It doesn’t scan as well as New Orleans. But I’m sure the journey compares favourably.

Looe was ere!

The next step was a quick dap up the river, crossing the bridge and a march up the next cliff. But on the way reality kicked in. A poor Navy lad, killed by a nasty get on a motorbike. He got a suspended sentence and Rohan’s parents get a life of grief. The legal system letting decent folk down again.

I didn’t realise that my mate Gary Illingworth was here.

Then up the cliffs again looking back.

And a bank of pure beauty.

Then I came across a place called Downderry.

Che picked me up and I’m back at camp. Great day, great walk.

Night night.

Last April I walked the first half of the South West Coast Path, 378 miles, from Minehead in Somerset to Fowey in southern Cornwall. That left 254 miles to complete the full Path up to Poole in Dorset.

So this morning I caught a bus and a train to get to Sheffield to meet my sis, Che at Meadowhall. In her British Gas van she drove us down to Looe. What a star.

The walk is in aid of Prostate Cancer UK and so far, thanks to the generosity of my sponsors we’ve raised £3,270, plus nearly £700 from Gift Aid tax relief. I’m happy and my mate Chip would be ok with that too.

If anyone wants to donate it would be more than gratefully received, and you can do so at https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/blade-goes-west-again-60145

Thank you my dear friends and family.

To be honest Looe looked a bit rundown on the main drag, with groups of ne’er do wells and empty premises. But the view down river was as good as ever.

We’re camping here for a few days, with Che picking me up and dropping me off where I finish each day. She is a kind sister.

Thanks for reading this.

Night night.

I’d loved it yesterday but, waking up this morning my leg was very painful and the bruising still quite deep. It was a shame because the sun was out and it was a lovely day. To be honest I struggled to get out of bed. Once out of bed it was clear that I wasn’t going to be climbing to any great height. This knock had been like a forceful dead leg.

With the van being iffy as well I thought it was best to beat an early retreat home, just enjoying what we’d already done, and giving Che time to sort out things if the van conked out completely.

What a shame when Snowdon looked like this! And how much snow had melted overnight.

Well it’s been a good trip, even if I only climbed one of the mountains. At least it was the biggest. The biggest in England and Wales. The coast path was good too, although I didn’t feel a great affinity for the place. I don’t think I’ll be trying to complete it. Not whilst Scotland stands proud and unconquered.

We wrapped up the tent and set off slowly across the country on A roads, not risking a motorway breakdown. Monkeys can drive cars.

She’s been very kind and generous and as she is retiring in March we will spend more time together on treks. It’s great support and camaraderie.

Back at last over the moors to Sheffield.

I’m staying at Che’s tonight and then on home to Leeds by train tomorrow.

Parting is such sweet sorrow. See you in March.

Night night.

Here’s Ray again, the lad I came across when I was walking to Beddgelert to meet my sister Che.

Ray has spent his life climbing and hiking. He’s spent years in Nepal, Tibet, Bhutan, Peru, Bolivia and many other places. He’s worked as a guide and Ranger in Nepal, loves it there as much as I do but can’t get insurance for altitude trekking any more because he’s 85!

He’s got four girlfriends and calls them when he’s off somewhere to see if one of them wants to join him. He bitterly regretted being in hospital for 26 days being bombarded with radiation to destroy his cancer recently because he wanted to be climbing. Proper climbing.

He goes to Festivals in the summer and makes new friends.

Bye Ray.

My sis drove past me on the road. Her van had broken down earlier but after leaving it for ten minutes it started again. She was on her way to the campsite. She pitched the tent and then came back for me as I was still walking. What a sister.

A pleasant meal, a great night’s sleep and we spent the next day driving down to the coast at Porthmadog, having lunch, driving back, cooking an all day breakfast in the tent and having a great night’s sleep.

This morning Che drove me up to Pen y Pass, where I took the Pyg track to the top of Snowdon. Setting off the swirling cloud was wonderful. Looking down to Llanberis which I hiked out of two days ago.

The track climbs very quickly at first, amongst boulders and rocks. Clouds rush through the Pass and disappear.

I really like this shot. Down the pass with the lakes next to Llanberis in the background, snow spots top right and sunshine central.

The Pyg then seriously climbs up high and over a saddle to the left. And it wasn’t too long before snow covered the path.

I’ve bought some great walking crampons wot I took to Himalaya. And it was time to strap them to my boots. These big boys will stop me slipping off ice and snow down into the abyss.

You will have noticed that I am also wearing long, waterproof, insulated trousers. It’s too chuffing cold for shorts. The windchill is quite chilly. Even on these middle slopes the snow tends to inhabit the path. And it’s so rough either side of the path that you need to stick to it.

It took me three hours to reach the summit. But I did it. This photo emphasises my vast forehead. As well as the smile of achievement.

This next one shows the summit marker beside me. I’m happy because I’ve climbed the big three in Scotland, Wales and England, in that order.

There were a few folk venturing up Snowdon. It’s popular and I was able to follow footsteps in the snow. I’m not sure that any of the other mountains in Snowdonia will have the path defined for me. That’s my concern. But now I’m heading down. Without my crampons this would be a serious problem. Or maybe I’m getting soft.

These lads in front of me didn’t have crampons. Daft really. That drop is not far off a thousand feet.

The snow takes over swathes of Snowdon, with ice underneath. It’s not a pushover by any means.

I dropped to a level where I could take off my crampons.

And almost immediately took a tumble on slippery rocks. Head first and I banged my thigh on a rock. Clumsy old bastard. I laid there for five minutes checking if I’d hit my head or damaged my arms or ribs. Staying still and letting my pulse slow and breathing get back to normal.

Why am I such a clumping, falling, slipping, tripping tosser?

Don’t tell him Pike. The lake below appeared through the cloud.

And then there were two great photos on my way back to the car park where Che was waiting. Hooray!

Home to the tent and safe. Hooray!

Night night.

Thanks John. Yes it’s a climbing day today. When I say ‘climbing’ I don’t mean rock climbing. I was never good at that. I mean walking uphill. Sometimes I’ll scramble and sometimes I’ll gain hand holds and foot holds. But I don’t use technical climbing equipment. I ascend. But climbing sounds manly.

There was nowhere in Llanberis for breakfast. My B&B was B only and even the hostel at the end of the village was closed. The Spar housed a Subway. Their bacon sandwich was a foot long piece of cardboard, which was passed under a grill briefly. I gave it to a gull. I hope it was the bastard that stole Chip’s fish in Looe eight years ago. That would teach it a lesson. Fond memories.

The track I wanted branched off the High Street and climbed steeply away from the lakeside village and into the hills. It crossed a saddle between the Llyn Peris and Llyn Cwellyn watersheds, at over 1500 feet, and dropped steeply down to the Beddgelert road.

The full extent of terracing of the slate quarry across the lake was highlighted by the snow.

Whilst the beauty of the range behind it shone through. I can’t wait to get up there!

The hill was beginning to make the rucksack a lot heavier and my chest was quite tight with the slight infection I had. Moaning old get. Then I crossed the snow line, but it wasn’t frozen and I didn’t need my crampons.

At least two people had been up this track since it snowed. And a mountain bike rider.

I was really enjoying this hike. The wind was strong, but it was dry and although it wasn’t clear, what I could see was great.

And then I was crossing the saddle. Well that wasn’t too harsh. I should do Snowdon, twice as high as this, without a rucksack comfortably in a couple of days’ time.

The path dropped down and the hurricane became a gale, and eventually a breeze. There were more footsteps here, where a new path joined from the right.

Further down the hill the path I was on ended at the Snowdon Rangers Path, which crossed its path. Path. Path.

All of a sudden Path doesn’t seem like a proper word. Is it right? Isn’t it odd that words you’ve used since you were first able to talk seem wrong? Wrong?

More footsteps in the snow. People heading up to Snowdon’s summit. But I haven’t seen anybody on this route since I was down over near Llanberis.

The lake wasn’t far away now and I got a bit of pace on.

Reaching the road I had to walk along it. Footpaths were a big diversion and I wanted to get to Beddgelert to help my dear sister put up the tent.

What does this sign mean? It looks like Lorrie’s are banned. But if they’ve got this far are they supposed to turn round and bugger off? And does the satellite drop a parachutist to bombard earth with death rays? I think this was the product of a road sign designer on hallucinogenics. Let’s have more. What about half cows/ half horses crossing the road for the next 300 miles?

Then I bumped into another Ray!

He was up Snowdon yesterday and didn’t need to use his crampons. He is a real climber and trekker. He first went to Nepal in 1972 and he has spent years there. I’ll tell you about him and the rest of this day later. I need to leave Wi-Fi and my campsite has no signal.

Night night.

I’m leaving the coast path and heading inland today so I can climb some mountains in the rain next week. Tonight I’m staying in a hotel in Llanberis and from Sunday I’ll be staying in a tent, erected by my dear sister, near a village called Beddgelert.

The red line is where I’ve walked this week. Around 50 miles, rounded up for heroic purposes.

The blue line is where I’m walking today and the yellow line is tomorrow.

For further cartographical information, I can show you the three Snowdonian ranges that I hope to wander amongst over the next week. The cunning black crosses are tonight’s resting place and the campsite near Beddgelert where we will pitch up for four nights.

Caernarfon was not so cold this morning.

A full English fired me up and I hit the road at 10.15, fully loaded with my rucksack. This is the Afon Seiont.

The first four miles were roadside, and as the footpath disappeared the road became narrower and busier. I pushed my rucksack backwards into the roadside hedge when cars came past.

As I climbed up the road to Llanberis, the Isle of Anglesey stretched before me, the Menai Straights hidden in farmland. In the distance is the peak of Holy Island, where the locals defeated invading Irish settlers during the dark ages.

I camped there with Maggie when we were courting. We went fishing in the sea on a rocky outcrop whilst the tide came in around us. Then I swam back with my fishing rod and Maggie on my back. Christ was it cold! But that’s when I was young and wiry.

Look at me now. I’m broken down, from a recent fall. Blood upon my body and ice upon my soul. Lead on my son, it is your world.

Thanks Len.

Look at’double chin. Should see t’belly. Fat bastard.

I’m burning it off and putting more on. At first it was full English, afternoon cake and tea, dinner and beer. I’ve reduced it to full English, dinner and beer. I’ll get down to dinner and beer.

After 5 miles I was able to turn off on to a quieter mountain road. Much more pleasant. And Holy Island was still there.

The road ran past a decrepit castle, Castell Bryn Bras. Why wouldn’t the present owner pull a tree out of the window ledge?

The road climbed steeply beyond the castle and turned south eastwards in the direction of the valley where Llanberis rests on the banks of Llyn Padarn.

Great views.

The road, just a track at this stage, dropped down towards Llanberis. What is incredible is the extent of the quarrying of slate in these hills. Billions of tons must have been dug out, leaving massive terracing and deep canyons, excavated by the poor to benefit the rich.

Aah, the simplicity of capitalism. It is a more complex model now, but old black Joe’s still picking cotton, for your ribbons and bows. Everybody knows. Thanks Len. As wealth becomes more concentrated, and the influence of the wealthy usurps any pretence of democracy, let’s get ready to rumble. Venceremos.

Looking out over the first roofs of Llanberis was great. With heavily terraced hills from slate quarrying over to the left.

Llanberis is a shadow of its former self. In Victorian times there were 35 hotels. Now there’s not much. But the location is great.

With the occasional idiosyncrasy.

And after checking in to my B&B I went to the local Indian, ate well, back to my room, watched Harry Potter and fell asleep.

I’ll dream about what I want to do this year. Finishing the SW Coast Path. Walking from Mora d’Ebre to Montanejos in Spain. Finishing the John O’Groats to Africa trek. Two holidays in France and Cornwall with my wife and some kids.

Do it my son. Do it.

I will father. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.

No son. Do it for yourself. Not those three buggers. They’ll lead you down the road to Rome. And you know where that takes you.

Night night.

Another cold night, but the heater in my room stayed on all night and I slept well and long, despite the Blades loysin. Best to concentrate on promotion to the Prem.

The light was lovely and from the quayside I could just see the narrow exit of the Menai Straights over to the left.

Further round the quay was the marina. They always look attractive.

There was a pub open, which was attached to the Premier Inn, serving breakfast and unlimited drinks (hot). I pigged out on cereal and full English.

I won’t lose weight this trip.

This poster attracted my attention. I’ve had or got the lot. It’s the worst thing about being me. If I was clear of all this bollocks I’d be a normal bloke. But you’re not alone, just turn on with me. You’re not alone, just turn on and be. You’re wonderful. Give me your hand. Thanks David.

The bus to Bangor arrived at 10.12, the number 5c. Single decker, blue with raised seating towards the rear.

It was noisy walking down the street to the Menai Bridge so I sang. This is my last singing post. I’m becoming even more self-indulgent, attention seeking and pretentious. Pretentious? Moi?

Can you see the starlight in my eyes? Pathetic old bastard. What was wrong with singing ISB? You’ve sold out! Judas!

However, I quite like the hairs sticking out of my nostrils. They make me look even more bedraggled and unkempt.

Then the walking took over. In just a few minutes I made it to the old Menai Bridge. I have a lot of memories of crossing this bridge and they’re all great!

The Coast Path then runs through Treborth Botanic Gardens. This lad is a Scot’s Pine. Extincted here in the Middle Ages and reintroduced four hundred years ago. Johnny Come Lately.

What about this Turkish Oak!

Then the Path dropped down out of the gardens towards the sea. I made decent time, without a rucksack, as the track wound to the newer Britannia Bridge.

I walked underneath it and dropped down a very frozen, dead-end path to get a good photo. And it was good. The building in the centre of the photo is on an island called Ynys Gorad Goch. No further info on it I’m afraid. Good photo though innit?

This is the rest of the Britannia, completed in 1978 and taking the enormous traffic strain off the old bridge.

I climbed back up the slippery, icy slope and rejoined the coast path as it pushed further west. A statue of Lord Nelson graced the Anglesey bank.

Then the path ran into another forest, which I followed for a mile or so.

Dropping down to the gravel bank at the side of the Straight, the village of Y Penhily showed to the west.

Beyond there was a long slog. I abandoned the Coast Path as it went inland, and I wanted to see if I could make it down to Caernarfon on the exposed tidal banks.

It was a three mile journey but it looked like I could.

So I kept on going and made it to a wonderful spot where, looking across the Straight in fading light, the view and colouring were great again.

Looking westward was lovely too. And in the corner of the Straight I spotted the first view of Caernarfon.

Another thirty minutes I was there. Watered. Fed. Bed. Yes it’s early but I’m an old lad.

But this old lad is marching landward into Snowdonia tomorrow to start a climbing trip. Can’t wait, can’t wait. I love walking on crisp snow and ice. Cheers dears.

Night night.

I left Llanfairfechan on the inland road, rather than down along the coast, and cut down later across the low lying land to Aber Falls distillery. I was interested why Wales thought it could rival Scotland, and more interested to see if it actually did. The visitor centre was impressive.

I had a pot of tea and a slice of Victoria Sponge, together with a taster of single malt.

The tea and cake were great. Cake!! I don’t think Scotland should be quaking in its boots at the threat of competition.

Down by the coast Puffin Island was quite distant now.

Looking westwards the shaded areas were frozen solid, but Anglesey was still languishing in the sun.

I’m just going to post a few shots of the coast, with its wonderful steely blue grey light.

The tide was still out a fair way and I’d had a good slog along tracks and exposed sand, but that came to an end at a small river estuary. The track cut inland and meandered through a forest towards Bangor. It was quiet and still, as the sun began to fall behind the western end of Snowdonia.

I didn’t see anybody in the forest for nearly an hour, apart from my friend Robin.

Then a few dog walkers began to emerge up the path and I knew I was near the town. As I left the forest there was a clearing by the sea to my right, for a last look up towards Puffin Island and Great Orme. I’ve given them a lot of coverage, mostly because they are good indicators of how far I’ve travelled. And they look good too.

I was starving and found a chipper serving fish, chips, curry and mushy peas. Kismet Hardy!

Full, as a fat boy should be, I climbed up to Bangor centre. For a seaside town it’s ridiculously high above the sea! I found a bus stop that serviced the 5c to Caernarfon where I was staying at the Travelodge. I’m becoming a bus number collector, train spotter and Travelodge frequenter. It’s that time of life. I ache in the places where I used to play. Thanks Len.

I don’t mind getting old. It’s ok and it’s normal. I’m different to who I was even three years ago. I’m not afraid of death. I wouldn’t court it but I don’t shit myself at the thought of it. However, I would like to die a young man’s death. Thanks Roger. With gangsters bursting in to the barber’s with Tommy guns, where I’m in the chair, and giving me a short back and insides. Bang, bang, bang. But I’m not likely to be in a barber’s chair.

Falling off Snowdonia would be a good one. But not this trip as I’m expecting to see a new and pre-existing grandson shortly. And I’m being careful.

Let’s have another lovely ten years with my darling Maggie and then think seriously about letting that bright red sports car mow me down on my way home after an all night party!

These boots have been perfect.

Right expensive Meindl Bhutans and the family bought them me for Christmas a few years ago, before we sensibly slipped into the Secret Santa scenario. The cost may have been a factor in drifting us towards the SS. Meindl Bhutans are handmade in Germany.

I phoned Maggie, watched the Blades lose and fell asleep.

Night night.

A good night’s sleep for this old bloke and I awoke during the most incredible hail storm this morning. It had been freezing all night and even with the heater on in my room I had to wear my shirt and jumper in bed.

Getting up was an effort but once I was out of my pit I got ready and packed quickly. And across the road I roamed to Wetherspoons for a full English with extra black pudding. Hooray!

I needed to return to Penmaenmawr, where I’d finished walking yesterday, but the trains were massively disrupted by ice. So I waited for a bus and one appeared, very slowly. It took me to Penwhatsits and I walked down the hill to the station where I caught the train yesterday. The failing daylight, the railway tunnel lights and the wonderful wall art combined beautifully yesterday evening.

And today the sky had cleared and the view across the sea to Anglesey was top banana.

Looking up the hills behind the beach the light covering of last night’s snow was lingering.

The mountains came straight down to the sea just beyond the station and the road was cut into the hillside. The only way the Coast Path could get through here was by running alongside the road, which was noisy and busy.

However, I was bouncing, and I caught the spirit of the Incredible String Band as I strode down the footpath. They were a Scottish folk duo from the sixties, supplemented by different musicians on occasions, and their brilliant music was driven 50% spiritually and 50% pharmaceutically. You had to be there to appreciate it and if you could remember being there then you weren’t really there at all.

Then the sun came out again and I was driven higher by ISB.

The Great Orme was shifting slightly in the sun back towards the horizon as I came back to sea level.

Round the corner in the village of Llanfairfechan was this honestly named bathroom supplier. I didn’t leave a deposit.

And out, over the sea, Puffin Island rested in the same sun as the Great Orme. In the same sun as all of us here in this solar system. May the long time sun shine upon you.

See you later.

Well, I left the rucksack in the Travelodge as I was returning by train tonight. So it was without additional weight. And I wandered across sands, exposed by the tide. So weightless wanderings is reasonably accurate.

But to begin I wandered across the road from the hotel to a Wetherspoons, who do good quality full English breakfasts with unlimited tea and coffee at a reasonable price. Long may they continue to thrive. But not at the expense of traditional independent pubs.

Sated I started my trek, heading towards the pier. What a pleasant, chilly, but not freezing, morning. With great views.

It’s a nice resort. Not one that I’d choose over Seville but certainly better than Rhyl or Scarborough.

I’ve used four ‘buts’. It’s excessive so but is hereby banned for the duration of this post.

The Little Orme headland was languishing out east.

Whilst the Great Orme, forming a formidable headland west of Llandudno, was my target for this morning. There is a four mile coastal walk around Great Orme, which forms part of the Wales Coastal Path, bringing me from North Llandudno to West Llandudno. And it’s beset by wild goats. This one was ready to have a go but I bravely ran away. Sorry about the but, but running away was better than getting a butt in the butt.

The road looped round the cliffs, with great views over the sea. And no cars were using it.

An inaccessible beach proved to be a great hideaway for camouflaged seals.

The western side of the headland provided more great views of

Anglesey

Snowdonia

The Conwy estuary

As I reached the estuary the tide was fully out and just on the turn. I couldn’t remember, from previous visits to North Wales, if the river was shallow enough to ford at low tide. So I set off across the sands.

And eventually I found my answer. It might be hidden but it’s big and deep. So I legged it back to the shore as the tide tends to come in quite quickly here.

Up the river towards Conwy it was even bigger and deeper, looking towards the road bridge and the castle.

A seagull was dancing joyously.

The castle is quite spectacular, and lends a sombre presence to a cold winter’s day.

Sometimes I blow up photos of old buildings to see if there are any spooky presences at the windows. At one ancient, locked and abandoned chapel in France, miles from the nearest road, I thought I was being watched. And I was! A manic and sinister smile.

Conwy is a lovely little town. With the smallest house in the UK!

It’s wonderfully picturesque.

Although it’s still a traffic hotspot despite the A55 tunnel by-pass.

The far side of Conwy I desperately needed to go to the toilet. Then, thank the Lord, round the next corner was a posh golf club. And here was I in my shorts and sand covered walking boots.

I wasn’t in a mood to ask. I needed the khazi, so I strode past the receptionist with a confident air, and followed the signs.

I didn’t have time to find the Gents, so I went into the disabled toilet and locked the door quickly to avoid eviction. The relief was greater than Mafeking.

I thanked the previous captains of the club on the way out.

The remaining six miles down the coast were all roadside and noisy. Although the views across the bay back towards Great Orme were lovely.

As the light faded I made it to Penmaenmawr and took a last shot of the coast before taking the train back to Llandudno. Anglesey and Puffin Island disappearing into the dark.

I’m tired now. I need some sleep. The bags under my eyes are heavy. It’s cold outside, and physically demanding as a consequence. My room’s quite cold too.

My knees were creaky today from yesterday’s walk and I pushed them hard this afternoon. A cyclist riding past me said that I was making a fast pace. None of his business, the lardy lump in lycra.

Why am I not nicer? It doesn’t cost anything and it makes you feel decent and worthwhile.

It’s 21.21. I can get a really good night’s kip, wake up feeling like an Olympian and catch the train to Penmaenmawr early tomorrow. The Blades are on BBC1 Wales tomorrow night playing Cardiff in the FA Cup, and before that I’m ringing my darling Maggie so I need to get down to Caernarfon quick like. That’s what’s occurring.

Night night.