Comment

Press master class

The London School of Economics and Political Science have today proved to be experts in the art of a press release.

Announcing next year's fees, they naturally steered clear of "Fees almost triple" and "Fees up £5,000pa". Astonishingly, by proposing fees just £500 less of the theoretical maximum they had the gall to talk of "a fee waiver to all students". Genius. Completely inappropriate, but still genius.

Capital Ring

Wimbledon Park → Hanwell

Distance: 12.4 miles
Ascent: 101 metres
Duration: 4 hours 6 minutes

West-southwest
« Not walked | Not walked »

The Capital Ring is a very liberating walk. London is so well served with public transport that little planning is required; there's no need to decide in advance how far to walk since the route is never very far from a bus route or railway.

Today though, we did plan. I made a list of suitable railway stations to stop at with Hanwell being the most likely candidate, giving us a reasonable walk across Wimbledon Common and Richmond Park then down the River Thames and up the River Brent.

Here's today's lesson then: even though London's transport network is the best in the country, there are still some railway stations which don't have a Sunday service. At least an alternative bus was only a couple of hundred metres away.

Books

From Aber to Ystwyth

Welsh place names have always fascinated me. As a child I used to delight in the apparently vowel-free Ysbyty Ystwyth which I found when scouring a road map one day (it also resulted in me learning that proper nouns aren't fair game in hangman).

While I've picked up some meanings over time (Aber-, Llan-, Ynys), I'd hungered to learn more. So just before our most recent visit to the Province I got hold of the Dictionary of the Place-Names of Wales by Hywel Wyn Owen and Richard Morgan. Rather than simply translate the Welsh into English, the Dictionary illuminates the back-story of a place, for example teaching us about Trefor and Yr Eifl.

As with any dictionary it has its limits. Largely it only lists the names of settlements of a certain size, so we remain ignorant of Aneolg, Llidiardau and Pengelli. Still, it's a must for anyone meandering through God's own country.

And fittingly - since Aberystwyth is where I first met Emma - the first name in the dictionary is Aber while the last is Ystwyth.

Coastwalk , Llŷn Coastal Path

Abersoch → Pwllheli

Distance: 8.43 miles
Ascent: 479 metres
Duration: 3 hours 27 minutes

The end of the bay
« Aberdaron | Porthmadog »

About three weeks ago — when we'd decided to come back to Wales — I'd sent Em an email pointing out that if we walked every day we'd be able to make it all the way from Holyhead to Pwllheli. It was a passing idea at the time, but Emma took it seriously. So today before driving back home we finished this grand walk of one hundred and fifty miles and I found myself standing once again at Pwllheli station having connected two great sections of the coastwalk.

It was a short walk today on beaches interrupted by two headlands. The first headland, Mynydd Tir-y-cwmwd, had to be climbed by steep paths to the north and south. We scrambled round the rocks where the second, Carreg y Defaid, met the sea.

Then finally at Pwllheli we reached the railway but not before first picking up the largest ice-cream of the week from a classical bucket-and-spade shop on the seafront.

I've now walked the whole vast sweep of Cardigan Bay, from the saintly island of Bardsey to the great cathedral city of St David's. It's been a great week to finish the bay.

Coastwalk , Llŷn Coastal Path

Aberdaron → Abersoch

Distance: 17.1 miles
Ascent: 1020 metres
Duration: 6 hours 10 minutes

R.S. Thomas country
« Tudweiliog | Pwllheli »

R.S. Thomas was the vicar of St Hywyn's church, Aberdaron, from 1967 until his retirement in 1978. His poem The Other captures the isolation and sense of remoteness that it is maybe harder to feel on a warm, spring day.

There are nights that are so still
that I can hear the small owl calling
far off and a fox barking
miles away. It is than that I lie
in the lean hours awake listening
to the swell born somewhere in the Atlantic
rising and falling, rising and falling
wave on wave on the long shore
by the village, that is without light
and companionless. And the thought comes
of that other being who is awake, too,
letting our prayers break on him
not like this for a few hours,
but for days, years, for eternity.

After passing through the village of Rhiw (whose cliffs RS walked regularly on retirement) we carefully clambered down the crumbling cliffs to the long, exposed beach of Porth Neigwl, known in English as Hell's Mouth. This deceptively dangerous area of coast is famous for its wrecks and strong tidal currents.

One headland later we reached Abersoch, which had transformed from a deserted sleepy village this morning into a bustling hub of surfer chic as the day wore on.