Jul. 29th, 2008


Jul. 29th, 2008 11:43 am
peterbirks: (Default)
I was having dinner on Sunday night on the seafront in Penarth, South Wales, at Mediterraneo, by the yacht club. As I pondered why "seasonal vegetables" always seemed to be cauliflower, carrot and potato, I gazed across the Bristol Channel in glorious weather to the north coast of Devon. Had I been doing so 12 hours later I guess that I would have seen the pier of Weston-Super-Mare ablaze.

We made quite a tour of South Wales, given that it was just a day out. Ogmore Beach, followed by Nash Point, and then Llantwit Major, before a slightly unwise tour to Penarth Marina (a lot of expensive new-builds as the place attempts to become Brighton-by-Cardiff, as far as I can see), then ending up at Penarth SeaFront proper, with a nice old-fashioned pier (and one that is still standing).

Nash Point Lighthouse was interesting, having been built in 1832 as one of a pair (these were before the days of the rotating lights) and lasting as a manned establishment until 1998. There was a really classy foghorn. I will try to post up some pictures tonight when I get home. (Updated. Pictures now up. More comments afterwards.

Pictures and more stuff )

Llantwit Major was a fascinating little town, with a church that could be dated back to about 500AD, which is good going. You don't get many inhabited towns that can trace their history back 1,500 years. I also noticed that it was at least 10 degrees F hotter than the surroundingings, and probably 15 degrees hotter than the beach. Those stone close-built villages build up a lot of retained heat.


Back at work this morning, I managed to get on the wrong train. The 6.34 arrived at Lewisham at 6.34, and I got on it, although I did observe that it was a couple of carriages longer than usual. But, that happens. In this case, though, what I had done was get on the 6.25, which arrived at 6.34. Despite it being one of those modern trains where an irritiating voice tells you every two minutes what the ultimate destination is (in this case, the immensely undesired "Charing Cross") I heard none of this. Further evidence, if evidence be needed, that the brain can simply block out noise pollution. I hear some kind of announcement of a train's ultimate destination maybe five times a day. Since this merely confirms that the train is going where I want to go, I have ceased to "hear" it. There would have been at least six announcements on that train that it was not going to Cannon Street, and I didn't hear a single one of them. It was only when it pulled into Waterloo East that I realized something was amiss.


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