Some days ago we travelled to South Wales to say goodbye to my very favourite of uncles. An uncle that had showed me the ways of the countryside from a very early age and along with my lovely auntie had shared their life on many a Sunday afternoon surrounded by German Shepherds, bunny rabbits (some for the pot, some not), vegetable patches, days old lambs, calves, sheep and cows, fields of wheat taller than us, tractors, shotguns, pidgeon breast alternated with rabbit stews, blackberry picking, paddling pools, home grown tomatoes and wonderful pavlovas (I used to pray for the pavlova) cooked slowly overnight in the cooling log fired aga. They were indeed good times, times I will treasure always.
The next day we said our sad farewells and decided to head out to explore, to spend a little time together, hubby and I, first stop Barry Island, which was gloriously empty and after stoking up on some freshly fried sugary ring doughnuts, their scent directing us to where they were being cooked, we headed off for a walk, which got much faster as the promise of a heavy downpour came rolling in from the sea. It was just what we needed, a brisk walk to blow the cobwebs away. We spent the next two days exploring the area, more to tell another day.