Mystery tour day 1

The greatest mystery of all: how could it take us nine hours on a couch to get somewhere less than 100 miles from home?

A minibus picked me up from home at 7am. D was already on it, having been picked up at 6.25 am. Ouch. From there we drove down the M5 to Patchway, near Bristol for another pickup, then to Gordano services, near Avonmouth gorge, where we stopped for a greasy fry up and to transfer to the gold coach, meet the passengers from Weston-Super-Mare. We drove back up the M5 again, joined the M4 and I wondered if we'd go to Cirencester. Then at some point we joined the M5 again and stopped at Gloucester services (the posh ones) where I nearly exploded with excitement at all the lovely, expensive things in the farm shop. It's owned by Westmorland, the company behind Tebay services in the Lake District.

Then, like a scene from a bad dream, we found ourselves driving slowly right through Gloucester centre. It was hot, there was heavy traffic, and it was midday. We'd been on the road since 7. Gloucester is about eleven miles from Stroud, where I live Once out of Gloucester, however, we took country roads, which were nicer. I thought we were going to stop for lunch in Ledbury, but we turned off at the last minute and eventually found ourselves in Hereford. There we stopped for lunch.

D was not happy. He has been on four trips with this company this year alone, and three have stopped for lunch in Hereford! I calmed him somewhat by saying we could explore a different area, so we went to Cafe no.
1, nosed around the market (see the flower stall, above), Marks and Spencers food hall, and so on. We'd already seen the Cathedral last month.

Then we drove on via Abergavenny, sidestepped the town, ound ourselves in the Rhondda valleys, and eventually rejoined the M4. I started getting annoyed with the driver for making jokes about Irishmen and remarks about 'our colonial friends'. I didn't pay to go on a  holiday with a right-wing bigot or a racist. (actually, I didn't pay at all, but...) Decided to complain about the driver's jokes when I got home, on the feedback form. I don't tolerate racism. I called out GG  on our last holiday for her casual racism.

Anyway, we carried on via Swansea and the end of the M4 and finally got to Carmarthen, where the driver drove us round via the castle, and finally announced that the we'd be staying there, in Carmarthen. Fortunately the hotel is comfortable, and we were welcomed with tea and Welsh cakes.

I collapsed on the bed and bingewatched several episodes of Michael Portillo's train journeys. Roused myself for dinner. This was good, and we had the company of several people from the coach, who has also found the journey tiring. We had a drink afterwards, and then I went off for a much needed soak in the bath, and some insane music on the radio. Virtual nightclubbing for fifty-eight year olds?

Oh, and D started feeling funny when he stood up from our drinks. I saw him to his room. He was feeling ok by then, so I left him, hoping that it's 'only' postural hypertension.