Tuesday, 10 July 2018

Foreign Lands

Yesterday we cruised from England into Wales. Then today we cruised from England into Wales. We missed the the bit in the middle where we went back into England.
Last night we were moored right beside a gorgeous lake called something Mere. Beautiful, tranquil in the fading sunlight. We drank wine on its banks and Mr Jones resisted the urge to jump in after a squadron of noisy ducks. In truth, we had no real idea where we were.
I think we are properly here in Wales now because walking up the steep hill into Chirk for dinner at The Hand Hotel, there it was! Welcome to Wales written in Welsh. That convinced us along with the fuss "Jones the dog" has enjoyed from locals who presume anyone called Jones is Welsh.
Chirk is a pretty and sleepy little place where the canal winds around the sides of the valley connected by an impressive aqueduct, but sadly this aqueduct has little claim to any fame with its big brother (the Pontcysylite) a few miles down the canal. There is a nice little Spar shop that had no salad leaves but the full range of Magnums. Well, what are you going to do?
This Mediterranean style weather has its downsides. We are both covered in insect bites of Sicilian proportions. We have long since ditched the shorts but our legs continue to attract horse flies making us look like we've been paint balled.

No comments: