The motorways here are fantastic and in a few hours we were in Wales, Old North Wales, as apposed to the newer variety down under. The tourist information centre in Porthmadog booked a B & B for us in Criccieth, a few miles down the road on the beach. What a great spot! On the Lyth Peninsula with the sun shining on the sandy, pebbly, boulder strewn beach, the sun going down – yes, the sun, – a yarn with Emlyn, the barman with the big belly and loads of stories to tell in the local over a couple of drinks. He showed me his photos of the fish he caught in Canada, tried to convince me to join his World Cup tipping competition, talked about the eels he spears on the beach at low tide, about his uncle who runs a pub in Galway who won’t allow women to drink there (Do you have a wine? No! But they do next door) He asked me, did you hear the one about the Texan who walked into a bar in Dublin and said, “I’ll give a $1000 to anyone who can drink 50 pints of Guinness in an hour. No-one answered. Paddy, who was sitting in the corner of the bar, got up and walked outside returning a half an hour later. “Ease de bet steel on?” he asked the Texan, and proceeded to drink the 50 pints within the allotted time. “Why did you go outside when I first offered the money”, the Texan said. Paddy replied, ”I wanted ta be sure it could be done.”
He left us on our own for ten minutes saying, I’ve just got to go out for a while to check the lifeboats. We were the only ones in the bar then. Sharon took a photo of me in charge.