Looked like I was in for a very wet day at the start but things stayed mostly dry until I took a detour to avoid a walking group and ended up forcing my way through wet grass, brambles and nettles up to my hoohoo. The wet feet for the next four hours was my punishment for that rookie mistake.
The start at the Three Cliffs CaféTomorrows final headline as I’ll be coming back to Pennard Cliffs.Devon and Cornwall across the Bristol Channel.The next cliffs at Pwlldu Head. Do love the Welsh.Oh look. Esme’s new fav meat and fresh too.In the far distance the Mumbles and smoke rising from the Talbot Steel works. Perhaps shutting for good shortly.The little bridge over the Pwll du. I am very wet and stung about by nettles.Now, who makes a donation in that slot and who comes to empty it full of expectation each month, only to have her dashed hopes yet again flavoured with used condom?The Exmoor big cat comes to Gower for a break from the paparazzi. This is her play string and ball and thankfully, for me, she doesn’t like to get her fur wet and is staying in out of the rain.Leaving Pwll Du (Pooth Dee).Leaving Caswell Bay after a nice cappuccino. Why are all the children (top right) wearing hi-vis vests?Langland Bay and I was going to stop for lunch but I think I’ll give it another hour. On the path down to the beach I was approached and passed by a good woman, jogging up to the cliffs who had her very large bosoms untethered under her thin white Tee-shirt. I succumbed and I’m not to be judged. She could do with one of those breast feeding supporters that Esme wants to market.Bye bye bosoms. Today’s conquered headlands.I thought first, a fish? Then noted the big nostril and decided Dragon. In the background is the appalling looking Mumble visitor centre. Who decided it was OK to perch that monstrosity up there?I don’t get it. A round sort of fruit or veg – a bald water melon perhaps – selling ice cream. Note the singular, gaily painted Rook hiding away behind it.I now have only to go all the way around Swansea bay to the foot of that tall building in the distance.You can join in if you like. ‘… Big wheel keep on turning, Padre’s feet still a burning, Strollin! Strollin! Strollin down to Swansea.’A ha! Some Archaeologists at play in the bay.The other Rook’s mate. Sad and missing him despite appearances to the contrary.Swansea’s long beach. Who’d a thunk it.The fossilised skin of the giant sea-serpent that terrorised the good mariners of Swansea in the 1700’s before it died from the effluent pouring into the bay from the growth of the city during the industrial revolution. There is a lesson in there somewhere.The old phallic bell and clock tower.The civic centre looking for all the world like the coastal fortifications of WWII German occupied Jersey. Christ but that architect must have been laughing his chuffs off on the beach in the Bahamas. ’10 thousand tons of Concrete?’ ‘Yes, it’s a new thing I’ve invented called brutalism. Now give me my 500 thousand pound fee.’ I just don’t know. Did a river once flow through that has since changed its course? Or did they raise the footpath up like that for the hell of it?I’ve reached the end. Some stretch of sand.The hotel and very much needed it is too.
Very surprised at how pleasant today was even with the soaking. And well surprised by Swansea beach – massive and empty in July. Onwards.
