La Dolce Vita Cymraeg

Here on the Island with my soul mate. We have had a wonderful week - pottering, doing some minor works on Plas Piggy and taking in the scenery on some mildly taxing walks. Yesterday brought to mind how Ynys Mon keeps favouring us with good times.

There are some excellent beaches on the Island but in high season it perhaps makes sense to head for the less immediately prepossessing. One of our favourite walks takes us from the decommissioned nuclear power station at Wylfa along the Anglesey Coast Path to the village of Cemaes Bay. Cemaes is a hidden gem. It has free parking just off the High Street; it has proper old shops (there is even a picture framer to whom we took some recent purchases on Monday); it has a presentable and uncrowded beach. But yesterday's great discovery was the cafe operating out of a utilitarian stone shed on the beach car park (£4 - so you're better off walking down from the free parking). Caffi Bach does wood-fired pizzas. Absolutely excellent. The Groupie and the Pig shared a margherita and a generous portion of chips. We ate these on a beach-front bench - delicious and not a scavenging seagull in sight. Life is good.   

A Long Way From Anywhere

Every time I go to Cornwall I wonder why I don't spend more time there. It is a magical county. And then I endure six or seven hours on the M5 and I remember why we bought in Anglesey instead. Cornwall is a long way from anywhere - nothing can be done about this, nor indeed should anything be done. The otherness and remoteness are part of the charm.

This time we went all the way down to Falmouth to attend the wedding of H and S. H is my nephew - he teaches down there and has gone fully native, an enviable state. What a great day the wedding itself proved to be - the sun shone and H's speech even brought  a tear to these cynical old eyes with an affectionate reference to my late father.

The Clan Roberts had descended en masse on Cornwall for the week. The Groupie and BFP were accompanied by Daughters Numbers 1 & 2 and their respective husband and partner. We had a whale of a time. Indeed whale was one of the few acquatic species not represented on the seafood platter I gorged myself on at the Muddy Beach Cafe in Penryn. No pretensions, just good service and top food. Now I style myself a good judge of a seafood platter and I have to say this was superb. If you have the chance to try it, eschew a starter and go for the platter with optional extra of a dressed crab. Squid, scallops, king prawns, shrimp-loaded skins, mussels, crab. Superb. I never usually bore you with photos of the Pig in action but I will make an exception so that you can see the plate (or rather board) before I tucked-in. And no I didn't have a pudding. Superb.

Advent 4

Volume 4 (Brain to Castin): Bread.

There is a silly game you can play with Britannica - you measure the cultural worth of a topic by the size of its entry in the encyclopaedia. By this measure today's entry is an important one - four and a half pages of dense text and two pages of photographs of the manufacturing process. Let's get the definition out of the way:

Bread is a baked product made of dough that has been raised by yeast or other gas-forming agent. Some of the gases are trapped in the dough, which is hardened by yeast.

But that's enough of the technical stuff. Let's talk about Big Fat Pig's favourite bread - I give you naan bread, specifically keema naan, a meat-paste filled Indian flat bread. I love a good curry, most particularly those late-night convivial curries with fellow rugby players at the Light of Bengal in Perry Common. I have long been of the persuasion that you don't need rice with a good curry, just a good keema naan. As to my favoured curry, well my tastes have varied over the years from the very hot to the mild but these days I would nominate the Paneer Peas, and just to prove that I am not a vegetarian I accompany that with, yes, a keema naan.  

In The Bleak Midwinter

Actually by the OG measure of seasonality, it is not yet even winter - by my reckoning that comes on 1 December. Nonetheless we awoke here at Casa Piggy to a blanket of snow. Thus the Pig is not playing golf today. Just as well because he is not friends with his driver at present. 'Twas ever thus.

The Lower Grounds at Casa Piggy

 So anyway, you have all no doubt been wondering why Big Fat Pig has been silent after a flurry of posts during Groupie and Pig's brief holday at Plas Piggy. Sorry about that. Just to fill you in, the last day of our stay was spent walking from Wylfa Head to Cemaes, the walk including a stop-off for a pint at the turning point. Lovely. We than had a very good pub meal back in Benllech at the Breeze Hill, under new management, marked by a particularly fine example of that prize side, onion rings.

We watched three films during our holiday, nothing to get overly excited about but decent holiday fare. In ascending order of merit, we first have The Mirror Crack'd, a workmanlike Christie adaptation laden with stars but lacking in pizzazz. I have to be in a certain relaxed frame of mind for Agatha Christie on either film or television. I have no interest in identifying/guessing the culprit, but rather want the text to wash over me. 55/100.  

Next best is Blunt a television film from an age when the BBC could afford more ambitious projects.This retails (yet again) the Philby/Burgess/Maclean/Blunt spy scandal, concentrating in particular on the relationship between Burgess (played by an excellent Anthony Hopkins) and Blunt (the equally meritorious Ian Richardson). In particular Hopkins conveys a convincing picture of Burgess as hugely well-educated but prize shit. 61/100. 

Finally we have the 1974 film of Murder on the Orient Express. This is the one decorated by Albert Finney arrestingly hamming it up as Hercules Poirot, whilst surrounded by a cast of more restrained co-stars. Poirot is worthy of caricature so Finney just about gets away with it. The pace occasionally drops to the pedestrian but the period detail is consitently well-done. 68/100. 

And now the snow is melting. Back to November drabness. Soon be Christmas.

Yesterday I Have Mostly Been:

Worrying - about my stiff knee; about Trump's clear victory in the US election. Shame on the Democratic Party for finding no better candidate than Kamala Harris. But the sun is shining on the Great Orme as I write this and I will expend my energy on things I can control.

Walking - along the coast path at Trearddur Bay, probably the nicest village on Ynys Mon. I was, of course, with the Groupie, so life can hardly get better.

Eating - at the Sea Shanty in Trearddur Bay. Monster portions at bargain prices with swift, unobtrusive service. Washed down with a pint of Golden Gate IPA. Altogether most satisfactory.

Reading - The Mabinogion. Still.

Yesterday I Have Mostly Been:

Running slowly - before breakfast and ruing my stiff knee, the latest manifestation of my old age. To add to the knee, it's bloody hilly here at Plas Piggy.

Visiting Caernarfon - the castle may be a symbol of oppression but you have to say it's a rather magnificent symbol. Nice pint in the bar of The Black Boy and a bowl of chips shared with the Groupie.

Listening to - Gil Scott-Heron, Pieces of a Man. Nice.

Reading - The Mabinogion. In English translation, sorry about that.

The Rest Of The South-Western Odyssey

I abandoned you, I admit it. I was having such a good time in Cornwall last week that I could find neither time nor inclination to give my usual tiresome running commentary. Well, I'll just list a few more highlights in support of my conclusion - that Cornwall is bloody brilliant.

First up. Stein's Seafood Restaurant - the place where the benevolent capitalism of Padstein has its roots. Top draw. The Groupie was perhaps not bowled-over by her turbot but Big Fat Pig was a very happy camper with the Fruits de Mer. Picture of the actual portion below -and bear in mind that the Pig had eaten a load of it before this was taken.

A final word on the restaurant. It has no pretensions about Michelin stars - it obeys Stein's own mantra, fresh fish well cooked. It's good.

We weren't yet finished with the Stein empire. On Friday we attended (yes both of us) the Cookery School to learn how to prepare fish dishes. I was a tad worried that I wouldn't enjoy this but, pleased to say, that this was, I repeat myself, bloody brilliant. We filleted fish, we fried, grilled and cured any number of species. We got to eat what we prepared and were kept full to the gills with wine. Try it - most excellent. You could become, as BFP now is, a bore about the value of good kitchen knives.

However, the true beauty of Cornwall lies not in the culinary delights of Padstein but in its scenery. Camel Trail - excellent. Even better, Trevose Head. Breath-taking. Good for the soul.  

 

And, as if we had not already been blessed, the M5 was clear for our return journey.
  

Big Fat Pig Gets Bigger And Fatter But Only After Feeling Younger

BFP is late-middle-aged. At least. However he and the Groupie have been indulging in the activity best suited to making you feel young again - visiting National Trust properties. On Monday it was Trerice and yesterday Lanhydrock. Both are excellent, Trerice a smallish Elizabethan manor house, Lanhydrock a grand Victorian estate which manages to feel liveable. In case you have missed the point, one feels younger when visiting such sites because of the general decrepitude of the other visitors. Works for me.

Trerice

 

 

  

Lanhydrock

As for getting bigger and fatter, well last night we went to Padstow's oldest pub, The Golden Lion. Beer was top draw - Doom Bar. The food was excellent and gargantuan. See below my plate of gammon, egg, pineapple (a seared wedge not some tinned crap), mushrooms, tomatoes, and onion rings (best ever - and when it comes to onion rings I'm a professional) - you can't even see the chips which came in a side dish. Highly recommended.

Today we are going to do some walking on the Camel Trail before resuming the weight-gain programme at Rick Stein's Seafood Restaurant tonight.  

I'm Not One Of Those People ... But

I'm not one of those people who puts photos of what I'm eating on social media ... but here is an exception that proves a rule.

If you ever wondered how there come to be shortages of cod stocks, well take a look at the size of the portion that the Groupie enjoyed at The Anglesey Arms in Menai Bridge on Saturday. Bloody brilliant. There was even enough for Big Fat Pig here to have to polish of the remnants.

 

And in the background you can catch a glimpse of the Pig's tower burger. Also bloody brilliant but just in case you are not convinced here is a close-up of that meal as well.

All part and parcel of a short but enjoyable visit to Ynys Mon. We had worked up an appetite for these gargantuan portions on a long walk around Trearddur Bay. Stunning. The only cause for complaint is the level of parking charges that Mon Council see fit to levy - bang out of order and yet another example of political small-mindedness. Don't start me on punitive Council Tax.
 

A Day In The Life Of A Kultcha Vultcha

Opera - I've tried hard but I'm afraid I can take it or leave it. But ballet, that's a different kettle of cultural fish. I Find myself left in envious admiration of the sheer athleticism.

So, with the Groupie and OG's aged mother to see the Birmingham Royal Ballet Nutcracker. The taxi journey into Birmingham was trouble-free (I'm a great one for worrying that something will go wrong with any plan I make) and left time aplenty for a pre-performance glass of overpriced, but passable, malbec. As things transpired the journey home was mildly blighted by the traffic in Birmingham's unruly city centre, but it was far too late in the day to cause any upset - it perhaps even added a frisson of local authenticity.

Birmingham Royal Ballet make their home at the Hippodrome, a quite fabulously classic proscenium arch with (as all such theatres should have) an upstairs and a downstairs. We were upstairs (Lower Circle Right) in not inexpensive seats. Still one definitely shouldn't carp at the price when you consider the magnificence of the staging, the size and ability of the orchestra, and the size and precision of the corps de ballet. And, of course, with Nutcracker, you get a sequence of Tchaikovsky's greatest hits. That plus proper dancing, not that clever modern stuff with spiky music. OG loved it. He's listening to the music now. I suspect this makes him a bit of a philistine. Oh well.

But wait, the day gets better before that character-forming, bladder-testing, return journey. Pig's party went for a late afternoon curry after the matinee performance. Now this was another part of the itinerary for the Pig to agitate over, for he had chosen the restaurant based on internet reviews and its proximity to the theatre. The Pig was triumphant and enthusiastically recommends Ark. In particular give the chicken chettinaadu a try.

So all in all a success and, I'll say this as well for The Nutcracker - it doesn't half put you in the mood for Christmas. As if my advent calendar wasn't enough to do that anyway.

A Wee Bit O' Culture And A Fine Piece Of Fish

The weather looks drab as I write this, armed with my morning coffee made in the stylish new stove-top pot I bought in Berwick. We have been lucky with the weather here in Northumberland and it is supposedly going to clear up today. Destination - Bamburgh Castle.

We went to Edinburgh on Monday. Great city. We drove to the excellent and refreshingly cheap park and ride at Newcraighall, then onwards by train into Waverley Station. We went for the cultural option and visited two fine museums, the National Gallery of Scotland, and the National Museum of Scotland. A wee bit o' culture does you good. Particularly impressive is the galleried hub of the National Museum, shown in the second picture below. We were unadventurous at lunchtime but Pizza Express was a handy and satisfactory option. I recommend the American Hot with jalapenos.

We were back in our walking boots yesterday, following the public footpath across Bamburgh Golf Course before descending to Budle Bay and returning to Bamburgh via the beach. The golf course is one of my favourites and always brings to mind my late friend Rod Meere - he and I enjoyed some great golf there . It is proposed by some as the the most scenic course in Britain (the world?) - they have a point. As for Bamburgh beach, well, all one can say is that it rivals the sand belt in Oregon - and in Oregon you don't get a castle.

We ate yesterday at the Craster Arms, next door to our apartment. The Groupie, after her slight disappointment at Lewis's on Saturday was delighted with a gargantuan piece of cod and excellent chunky chips. The Pig had an excellent burger, chips and a side of onion rings that were world-class. In my lifetime one of the greatest improvements has been the quality of pub food. Two pints of Beadnell Blonde helped the cause.

Another Fish Finger Sarnie And Chips

This time to Sinners Cafe in Berwick-upon-Tweed as a prelude to a meander around the town. This was cafe food at its basic and tastiest best with no pretensions or frills. This magical part of the world has not disappointed on the culinary front and we always knew that it would be scenically brilliant. I love it here.

Berwick bears the marks of the relative poverty that has settled on English townships in the face of those twin impostors - the internet and Covid. It is no earthly good the fortunate amongst us snobbishly bemoaning the surfeit of charity shops and empty properties if we do all our shopping online. I don't have an answer to this although I did buy myself a new stove-top coffee maker in Berwick today. One fish finger sarnie and a coffee maker and the Pig somehow convinces himself that he's done his bit.

Anyhow, Berwick is a distinguished town what with its town walls and three bridges. It seems still to have a good conceit of itself. Quite bloody right - we all should. Ruination lies the other way.

Goodness but I slept well last night after all that running amd walking. No run today and relatively little walking. There's aways tomorrow.

An Excess Of Exercise. A Greater Excess Of Eating

As the Moody Blues put it, it's a question of balance. And Big Fat Pig is on the wrong side of the equation. We have been on holiday for four days now and I have been a good boy and been out running twice - including a tortuous 5K this morning. So far, so good. The problem is that the Pig cannot help himself when faced with a pub menu. I have already told you about the excellent fare at the Joiners Arms, and now we have to add the Market Tavern in Alnwick to the list of recommendations. Not so haute cuisine as the Joiners but none the worse for that. A truly gargantuan portion of ham, egg and chips and two pints of Alnwick Amber Ale. Stuffed.

That was yesterday and today we have been good. Not only did I go for that run but the Groupie and I also walked from Newton-on-the-Sea past Emebleton and out towards the daunting ruin that is Dunstanburgh Castle. We went along the beach for the outward portion of the walk and then trudged up and down the coastal path through the dunes for our return. We were walking alongside Dunstanburgh Castle Golf Links, one of my favourite courses. As an added bonus I even found a golf ball (Callaway, so no cheapo) that must have been hit heroically off-line on the eighth. We took a picnic lunch (bought locally of course - support your local sheriff) and have actually managed to go a whole day without diverting into a pub. My poor old legs feel as stiff as the proverbial. I feel more than vaguely virtuous. Mind you there's an impudent Gavi chilling in the fridge here at Piggy Hall.

Where Did The Apostrophe Go?

The Joiners Arms, Newton-on-the-Sea, Northumberland. No apostrophe. This describes itself as a 'gastro pub', a self-delineation that I sometimes think can be a hostage to fortune. No such worries here. The food is superb. Chicken in a mushroom sauce for the Groupie, and a hearty fishfinger stotty with chips and a bowl of five bean soup for BFP. The Pig washed this down with a pint of Black Sheep Bitter.

You may gather from this information that Groupie and the Pig are on tour, staying in a suitably luxurious apartment in Beadnell. We were supposed to be in this glorious corner of England to celebrate the Pig's sixtieth two years ago, but Covid put paid to that. Now we are here and the Groupie had her own significant birthday yesterday. I won't get all soppy on you but it has to be said that it is the highest of honours that she passes her life with me. Many Happy Returns Gorgeous.

Before our lunch we had walked along Bamburgh's magnificent beach and in the evening we had a further celebratory drink in Beadnell's Craster Inn, a walk of fully fifty yards from the apartment. They were serving some gargantuan looking portions of fish and chips but we will save that treat for another day. The Pig confined himself to a pint of Beadnell Blonde. Life's been good to me so far. 

Are Brilliant ... Mark XXVII

I've been awol from the blog for a few weeks. Sorry about that. Things happen - but I will tell you more once I am authorised to do so. That sounds a little portentous. Nothing to worry about but even the Big Fat Pig has to observe the rules from time to time.

I've been awol from the 'Are Brilliant' thread for even longer, so here we go. Older readers may detect some duplication (or even triplication) but, hell, I'm not a machine.

So here goes. The precious bike. I was out for a few hill-climbs yesterday. Enjoyed it. And along with the golf, this is the only exercise I am getting because my sore Achilles heel is into its fourth month of discomfort. There is no better explanation than that I am getting old (already there?) and that I have subjected this body to more battering than is good for it. That said, there is not a day goes by that I don't miss playing rugby. The ruck remains the father of the maul. 

Talking of battering, the Groupie and I had really disappointing fish and chips from the hitherto reliable Mere Green Takeaway. You must know how it is - you are really looking forward to something, you have a raging hunger, and then the food is all flabby. The disappointment is heightened because of the intensity of the anticipation. Well found the antidote only a few days later, which brings me to the second brilliant item - haddock and chips in the conservatory (one eighty degree sea views) at The Trecastell Hotel in Bull Bay. Washed down with a couple of pints of pale ale. Fish and chips redeemed.

Waitin' Around to Die, by the tragic figure of Townes Van Zandt. Search his stuff out.

Amlwch. I have a fondness for landscapes where the industrial melds with the natural. Amlwch is an old working port but if you head westwards from the port carpark you are soon met by cliffs and clear seas and, best of all, even on a beautiful Spring day, you are largely on your own. What you do after you have walked is to go to the Trecastell Hotel for fish and chips (op. cit.).

The National Trust. I put up with some of its woke inanities because of the cracking job it does in preserving places of interest. We called in at Bodnant Garden on our way home from Ynys Mon. Been there countless times before but there's always something new to observe. I do love a well-stocked garden. I'm attaching pictures of the fallen redwood and the helpful expanatory notice. In case you can't read the script (isn't age a pain) - it stood over 50m tall and was brought down in the Winter storms. 

 

Finally - the concluding episode of the awesome Derry Girls that aired last week. Even by the standards of this great show, the hour-long finale was funny, serious and, most importantly, moving. In amongst the dross of reality television, it is reassuring that such genuinely important work is still being done on television.

Quebec.4

The Pig has lost his magic touch: no more whale sightings to report although the Groupie did spy a beluga from the viewpoint at the Tadoussac Dunes.

We've taken to the open road for our last two days here in Tadoussac. Saturday saw us heading north alongside the Saint Lawrence, stopping at intervals to take in the scenery. This is a magical part of the world. Today we headed inland to the Saguenay Valley, being particularly taken with the fjord at Sainte Rose du Nord.

Sainte Rose du Nord

More fine dining to report, this time at Le Cafe Boheme here in Tadoussac. Ambitious cooking carried off with aplomb in a cheerful bistro setting. The ambition can be seen from the Pig's choices - home-made black pudding as a starter and halibut cheek served with seaweed risotto and caper croutons, for the main. It all worked beautifully. They even serve decent local craft beers. Recommended, as is Tadoussac in general. Lonely Planet may be sniffy about it but to my mind it does tourism rather acceptably. I could imagine living here, particularly now I've found an English language sports channel. Only joking, if the Pig did settle here he would naturellement learn la langue, even better than he deja speaks it

Still Pretty Shocking At Golf

A funny thing happened at Alnmouth Foxton Golf Club on Wednesday. The Pig was hitting the ball quite passably off the tee and almost as well when approaching the greens. But could he putt? Could he bollocks. No feel whatsoever, to the detriment of his score. In the ferocious winds at the magnificent Goswick links on Thursday, this inability continued unabated. So it was left to Big Willy to hold off Mikey B in the battle for the inaugural Dunmore Shield. All great fun in that beautiful North East of England. Non-golfing highlights included fish and chips from Lewis's in Seahouses and a very good early curry on the Wednesday.

Goswick

It doen't half take it out of you all this golfing, eating and drinking an so the Pig has spent an inordinate time sleeping since his return to the family fold. He did however keep awake long enough to watch The Theory of Everything and rather enjoyed it. It's quite an old-fashioned biopic about the remarkable Stephen Hawking but none the worse for that and carried along by Eddie Redmayne's stellar leading performance. 7.5/10.

Advent 22

It has a castle. It has a fabulous golf course. It has good beer. It has good food. It has a flawless beach. It is Bamburgh.

Advent 16

The food is exquisite and cheap. The wine likewise. The scenery is arresting. Admittedly the walking is tough (it's bloody hilly) but that is the only thing to be said against Porto and the hills, of course, add to the interest. Best meal I had was the salt cod in a kind of glorified fish pie, washed down with something from the Douro Valley.

What's Not to Like? No 2

There is beautiful and there is bloody beautiful. Take the A4080 to Pen-lon and park at the end of the road. Walk from there through dune and forest to the beach at Llanddwyn. Stop and take it all in. Bloody beautiful. Thereafter take in some good English fizz (Leckford Estate 2013) and eat the Groupie's home made chili con carne. Bloody beautiful - or Sunday as we call it.

Next, proof of the miracles of modern technology - have a look at the photograph below as taken by the Groupie on her iPhone. Compare it to the stock picture of the same aspect which I used in my last blog. The Groupie's is better, don't you think?

    
Yesterday we mooched round Beaumaris, one of those towns that put the 'Ee' in genteel, and a reassuring experience compared to the urban decay that is Bangor lying across the Menai Strait. A pint of Hartley's Cumbrian Ale in the George and Dragon before home to more of said chili. Bloody beautiful.

Today the Coastal Path from Lligwy to Dulas and then a pint of Unicorn to wash down sausage, egg, chips and beans at the Pilot Boat. The Groupie has baked some scones while I tackled the thesis. Did the Romans sanction human scrifice or was Shakespeare (or more probably George Peele - it's a long story - only ask me if you're bored) just make it up to spark the atrocities in Titus Andronicus? Another blody beautiful day.