There are sheep in Wales. Lots and lots of sheep. What’s a girl to do with all these sheep? Short of skinning them and making myself a cute little jumper, I’m lost for thought.
Usually my idea of a vacation involves sex on the beach (the drink not the act) and a tan, not fields and a growing addiction to Daim bars. But my family had booked a cottage for eight, and I’d be damned if I was staying at home to eat McDonalds-for-one on Easter Sunday.
I changed my mind when I saw the sign “Welcome to Wales”, or as it read: “ Chroesawa at Cymru”. Yes they have their own Language. Yes I’d forgotten about it. Yes it looks a lot like those late night indecipherable messages you get from your drunk friends.
Not that I needed a sign to tell me we’d left London anyway. The air smells different you know. I felt as though my nostrals were taking a wander through a fresh garden salad. Appealing to some I’m sure, but as a born and bred London girl, I prefer my air with a hint of pollution.
Not that I can’t appreciate a bit of greenary, and Pembroke was certainly that. Sitting in the garden of our cottage, making my way through my third bag of chicken crisps (because you can’t enjoy a beautiful view without snacks) I decided, this country-side malarkey wasn’t half bad. Plus, I’m convinced I’d live about 20 years longer if I lived out there; chances of getting eaten by wild goat aside, it all seems pretty safe to me. Not to mention stress free. At the time I was bewildered by the lack of elderly people over there, but looking back I must consider the possibility that life in Wales is probably just wrinkle free.
And there was a beach. That combined with my weight gain of 4 pounds pretty much gives my trip to Wales all the makings of a real holiday. Though be warned, if you do choose to forgo Malia and make your way over to sheep-ville instead, leave your stilettos at home. Take it from me, the only site they’ll be seeing is the inside of your suitcase. It turns out these heels were not made for walking. Well, not country hills anyway.
As for the sheep. They wern’t half bad, but three hours of slow barbecuing… made them a lot better.