Yesterday I got an education in the spelling of complex Welsh names.  There’s only one S in Anglesey.  And there’s no E in Snowdon.  A couple of long standing epic fails from a bloke who dislikes the misplaced apostrophe.

The journey from Yorkshire looked like being a tortuous one.  After loading up with 900 calories of Wetherspoons breakfast, emptying my locker at work and getting the all clear on my feet I entered the M62 smart motorway development zone.  An evil average speed limit of 50mph, narrow lanes and an actual average speed something close to the top end of that achieved by a jellyfish.

Things only got better when the M56 morphed into the A55, a dragon sign appeared at the roadside and the cruise control eased upwards to 70mph.  No faster because the Daily Mail once called the local chief constable a traffic enforcement Nazi.

A brief stop in Llandudno and I still don’t know what an Orme is before I went under some tunnels cut under the rocks that link Snowdonia to the sea.  This road is definitely new to me. Previous trips in this direction involved a tortuous winding highway that usually involved me giving up in Rhyl.  Today, I was over the Menai Strait in less than three hours driving time despite Greater Manchester.

My sister’s hut in a farmer’s field is a classy place.  Three bedrooms, surrounding , hot tub with nobody else overlooking and fully fitted kitchen.  The wifi is pretty decent too.  It’s the kind of place I might well return to for some me time when she’s not here!  There’s a key promised.

Rollng fields, skipping lambs, sea in the distance and Tesco delivery.  Naked hot tubbing if I’m so inclined too.  What more could a boy ask for?

Today I’m meeting up with yet another old boss who just happens to be on the island.  I’m still undecided on the Snowdon Mountain Railway this week as it’s busy at Easter and I get £3 off with a disabled railcard that I’ve failed to bring.  I might be better waiting for clearer weather too.

For now, relaxation.

Icelandic Rockers in the USA