We went west, this weekend, in a chain of red tail-lights that diminished in length as each pair peeled off to its weekend destination. We were headed to Cardigan to see Paul and Shevaughn, in order that my wife could enjoy a ‘boozy birthday lunch’ on the Saturday while James and I would sample whatever other delights Cardigan had to offer.
Saturday, it turned out, was a fine day and, once the celebrating ladies had taken their leave, Paul suggested we head to Poppit Sands, a short drive away. The children of the party – made up of James, Elsie and Penny – did not show much enthusiasm for the outing and, with my flute playing not to the standard of the Pied Piper, a ‘sugar buzz’ had to be promised to maintain discipline. It was a lovely clear day and, with our heads bowed into the biting wind, we chased the retreating sea.
A game of wildebeest and jackals followed, in which David Attenborough’s voice could be imagined describing how a larger group of 7 year olds might have brought down the bigger animal by sheer weight of their numbers. Intervention was only felt necessary when clubs were obtained from drift wood in order to beat the unfortunate prey. It was proper fresh air and exercise of a kind that would cure many an ailing soul.
We returned home to await the return of the lunchers. Time passed as Wales succumbed to Ireland; followed by Scotland to England; and the reading of the football results. It can be concluded from this that a fashionably long lunch is not just the prerogative of thespians, BBC executives or the French but a tradition also in West Wales. In the eighth hour since departure, the party returned and, being far too much of a gentleman to go into forensic detail, I will only say that a good time had clearly been had by all.
The following day the tired revelers were in good spirits and we made preparations to head home. It was only later that the last information James imparted before departure about the Romans’ use of the Vomitorium became significant. We sped through the winding roads for 45 minutes when a voice from the back seat announced “I feel sick”. There was barely time to wind down a window before a full re-enactment of that old Roman tradition began to take place in the back of my barely 3 month old shiny new car.
To be fair to James, he did get most of it out of the window; I suspect to the huge enjoyment of those following us. We stopped to clear up the worst of the mess and proceeded on to a service area to wash up. James, having lost his breakfast, was feeling a little peckish and suggested a burger might help fill the void…..oh. how we laughed!
Images from Poppet below taken with Fuji X Pro1 with 18mm. Tweaked in Lightroom.