CAPEL GARMON, 1974

Our stop-off in Betws-y-Coed was the result of a wrong turn.
Mike had given us directions the previous Friday. We'd been
looking for Capel Garmon, but had ended up going round in circles -
well, I am a notoriously hopeless map reader!
I was just anxious for the journey to be over, and to be settled
comfortably in our beautiful, newly acquired stone cottage.

However, it was the open fire in the pub that lured us inside.
The wine, though, when we were finally served was warm and acidic,
and it was slammed down on the table so hard
that at least half of it spilled over
and it was a miracle that the glasses remained intact.
Excuse ME!
Whose parliament oversees this entire land mass?
And whose hefty contributions fund your NHS prescriptions?
The two painted dragons behind the bar continued to scowl at us
while gabbling something obviously derogatory
in what I took to be Welsh (but could just as easily have been Double Dutch).
We could feel the poison daggers in our backs - and tossed a few back -
until it became too uncomfortable to stay any longer.
The Roman Inquisition must have been a picnic compared to this!

So we drove around in more circles, until finally stumbling upon the tiny road sign.
On it was daubed, "English OUT!" in red paint.
With mounting unease, we drove slowly on in the gathering dusk
until...
the outline of our beautiful holiday home came into view.
Only as we drew closer did we see to our utter dismay
that it had been reduced to a burnt-out shell.
The acrid fumes from smoldering thatch
seriously irritated sinuses and throats,
making us cough and our eyes run.
On every remaining patch of whitewashed wall
were scrawled the words, "Welsh homes are for the Welsh -
NOT English holidaymakers!"

We were gutted.

But I guess they did have a point.