Where Have We Bean?!

It's been a while, eh?!  Since our last post, we've been to many places.  Many, many places.  I think we've been to Pembrokeshire once or twice by mistake.  And Holyhead.  But we don't mention that.

Most places we travel to, we end up at by mistake.

*Arriving at junction*

COYOTE:  Left or right?

ROADRUNNER:  I chose last time

COYOTE: I know...but that was at the car wash.

Anyway...I'm here to introduce a brand new, interactive, ridiculous thing that we're doing.  Basically; we take photos of where we've been with a tin of, y'know, beans, in the photo.  Like this:

Coyote looking beany buff ;) 

And YOU - you lovely people - deduce from the beany photo where we've been!  Does that sound like fun?!  Yes.  Yes...it does.  But you won't win anything if you get it right.  Yet again, you might.  We may have something in the C&R cupboard that we'll award you for your knowledge.  Like an odd sock or a napkin from KFC.

If you're not lucky enough to win one of these coveted prizes, you can bask in the smugness of smarty-pantsness.  Which is probably more rewarding than receiving one of the afore-mentioned 'prizes' in the post.  Second class.

And that's about it!  We'll be posting our beany photos here and on Twitter...and we hope you join in!

Lots of love;

C&R xx

PS - Don't ask where the idea came from.  All I'll say is that a small tin of baked beans has been sitting on the back seat of the car for a long, long time. 

Sheep, Lambs, Iolo and Dewi

**Roadrunner pops tousled head out from under duvet**

 Is it 2014? When did that happen?! Oh well - HAPPY NEW YEAR! Better late than never, I guess...

Things have been rather quiet at Coyote and Roadrunner HQ since the end of last year; hence the lack of updates to this 'ere blog. That's not to say that we haven't been out and about doing stuff - just ask our solicitor - but we've developed a penchant for suddenly trotting off down b-roads while on our travels. We never know where we're going to end up, so most of our time is taken up with looking for 'No Through Road' signs that may have fallen over instead of shooting video and taking photos.

We are, however, getting back into the swing of things. Here's a little video that happened yesterday. Nothing epic, nothing moving, nothing clever...just a wee dose of the old Coyote and Roadrunner randomness :)

 (Extra volume is advised)

We'll be back soon!

*Meep Meep!*

On the Road Again!

Hello, folks!

It's been a while since we last posted a video, hasn't it?  See, my DSLR is in dire need of a good clean.  Poor Auntie Pentax has some nasty dust spots on her sensor.  While this is fine for photos (it's pretty easy to press a magic button or three and edit them out), it makes for very annoying video footage...so she's been having a well-earned rest from being stuck to Minty's dash.

That, however, left us in a bit of a quandary.  We had no means by which to bring you with us on our trips around Wales.  After quite a bit of deliberation, we decided to get our mitts on a Sony Bloggie Sport:

We gave Bloggie his first proper run on Sunday.  It was impromptu, unscripted and very, very wet...

...and we suggest that you don't watch it if you're sensitive to rather naughty words!  Samuel was there.  What more can we say.

Proper Road Names - The List!

Roads.  We've seen a lot of roads.  Some straight, some not so straight; some smooth and some so bumpy that we've lost fillings.  Lots and lots of roads.  Roads can get boring.

Which is why we started giving them proper names.  A letter and a few numbers don't give you any idea of the road's character - it doesn't tell you if the road is a nice drive, if it's busy, if it's full of roadworks...and neither do the names we've given them.  Sorry about that.

But still; it's fun!  When we're out and about, we like to bestow a little bit of personality on the roads we frequent...and even those we don't.  We even take great care when we name them.  It's not just a random name that we unceremoniously pluck out of the air - oh no - it's a name based on the attributes of that very road.  It could be based on its start and end points.  It could be a name generated from the places it passes through or it could be a landmark along the way.  For instance - the A477 is called Jeremy.  Why?  Because it passes through Sageston.  What's the connection?  Jeremy - Jeremy Paxman - Paxo - Stuffing - SAGEston and onion!  See?  Simple.  Kind of.

We've even been known to name roads directly after individuals.  The A4050 in Barry is called Derek in homage to Derek Brockway - famous son of Barry.  At least that one was pretty straight-forward.  Have you had a named road after you?  Peruse our list and find out...!

A55 - Dominic

A487 - Simpson

A470 - Pablo

A548 - Boat

A477 - Jeremy

A478 - Roy

A547 - Alfie

A4087 - Abraham

A4139 - Chopper

A493 - Nigel

A4076 - Hitler

A4120 - Helga

A4159 - Sue

A44 - John

A481 - Brian

A485 - Owen

A482 - Simon

A40 - Jeff

A48 - Lido

A484 - Brandy

A483 - Otto

A496 - Samuel

A494 - Julie

A476 - Hanky

A458 - Krakatoa

A489 - Donna

A4221 - Wendy

A4242 - Geraint

A4118 - Sim

A499 - Declan

A4119 - Peggy

A4050 - Derek

A4232 - Mohammad

A4054 - Martina

A465 - Andy

B4518 - Elliott

B4332 - Rose

B4333 - Perry

B4567 - Mainwaring

B4337 - George

B4338 - Mac

B4569 - Chris

B4404 - Elton

B4405 - Obama

B4329 - Muffin

B4520 - Judas

B4353 - Ceri

B4413 - Tom

B4568 - Egbert

B4265 - Tim

M4 - Agnes

Now you've had a look - can you explain any of the road names?  There's a reason behind most of them - and if you know where the road goes, you stand a chance of figuring it out!  Plus...do you have any suggestions of roads we should visit and name?  All we need is a start point and an end point, and we might just take a trip along your road of choice to ceremoniously anthropomorphise it in our own, inimitably sectionable way.

If you fancy taking a punt at explaining any of the above, and if you're right, you could win a poo bag!  Seriously...we give poo bags out as prizes.  We send them 1st class with a personalised card.  Just ask @AnnParkes2. 

Get in touch via the usual channels if you want to have a go.  Use those methods to share your suggestions, too!  In fact, we're not fussy.  You can get in touch with us about anything - we like to chat about stuff.  Especially pineapples.  And buckets.

*Meep Meep!*

Goleudy's Lighthouses

If you know me on Twitter, you'll know my name's 'Goleudy'.  I often wonder how many people mispronounce it in their minds; completely unaware that it's the Welsh word for 'lighthouse'!  Yep - I love lighthouses.  I can even remember the very moment I fell in love with them.

It was a stormy night in 1999 and I was tucked up at home, full of flu and feeling generally miserable.  Flicking through the TV channels, I came across a film called 'Losing Chase'.  There was a woman in a blue dress going loopy atop a red brick lighthouse in the middle of a storm similar to the one that was raging outside my living room window.  I even remember the lines spoken:

"A slow, steady decline and then BAM! One triumphant stand at Gayhead Lighthouse in the middle of a spectacular nor'easter.  I sure picked one hell of a storm."

To be honest, the rest of the film was pretty crap and not worth recalling...but I remembered the lighthouse.

Ever since then, I've been fascinated by those tall buildings that warn ships of danger and guide them to safety.  There's just something beautifully enduring about them; something that endears me to them and makes my heart smile every time I see one.

With Coyote, I've been lucky enough to see and photograph lighthouses in Wales, England, Ireland and Scotland - and no matter how many I see, I never get bored with them.  Hell - I'm even a member of the Association of Lighthouse Keepers!  Yes, I'm a nerd...and I wear my enamel pin-badge with pride ;)

Being a lighthouse geek, I'm bound to have a few favourites.  Like petrolheads and their cars, some lighthouses hold special places in my heart and shine brighter than the rest.  All lighthouses are wonderful (apart from the Whiteford Point Lighthouse on Gower. That one scares me.) but there are six in particular that mean a lot to me.

So, without further twaddle, I'd like to introduce you to my top six!  Flashy flashy...

TRWYN DU LIGHTHOUSE, ANGLESEY

Built in 1838 at a cost of £11,589, Trwyn Du is a beautiful old lady who stands proudly between Dinmor Point and Puffin Island, Anglesey.  On a quiet day, you can hear the fog bell that hangs from the railing sounding every thirty seconds. 

LOOP HEAD LIGHTHOUSE, COUNTY CLARE

The current tower was built in 1854 on the site of previous structures dating back to 1670. Loop Head Lighthouse stands at the tip of the Loop Head Peninsula where the Shannon River meets the Atlantic Ocean - and Coyote took me to see it on my 31st birthday.  I have very happy memories of standing on top of the cliffs on a stunningly gorgeous day, looking out to the horizon.  'Next stop, America!' he smiled. (We actually went back to Galway and got a McDonald's, but I'm not fussy ;)

STRUMBLE HEAD LIGHTHOUSE, PEMBROKESHIRE

Standing alone on Ynys Meicel (St. Michael's Island), Strumble Head Lighthouse is separated from the mainland by a very narrow gap through which the sea boils and froths in stormy weather.  Built in 1908, this lighthouse is the youngest of the six - but isn't lacking in charm.  She packs a punch, too:  Her 1,000,000 candela light can be seen 26 nautical miles away.

POINT OF AYR LIGHTHOUSE, FLINTSHIRE

Built in 1776 but inactive since 1883 when a lightship took over her duties, Point of Ayr lighthouse stands forlornly on Talacre Beach.  The lighthouse once displayed two lights: The main beam shone seaward to Llandudno and a secondary beam shone up the River Dee, towards the hamlet of Dawpool in Cheshire.  The lighthouse was put up for sale in November 2011 - and bought in April last year for the fair sum of £90,000. I hope the new owners can restore this sad-looking lighthouse to her original glory!

SOUTH STACK LIGHTHOUSE, ANGLESEY

Separated from Holyhead Island by 30 metres of swirling sea, South Stack Lighthouse was built in 1809 at a cost of £12,000.  She's a very elegant tower; but her beauty belies her dark story. On Tuesday the 25th October 1859, the most severe storm of the century occurred.  Assistant Keeper Jack Jones had been making his way across the iron footbridge to join Principal Keeper, Henry Bowen, who was already on duty.  A rock was swept from the cliffs by the strong wind, fell and struck Jones on the head.  Covered in blood and senseless with concussion, he dragged himself up the gale-lashed path and feebly cried out for help.  He lay, head in hands, unable to move any further.  Bowen found him the next morning, groaning; his hair matted with blood.  Jack Jones died three weeks later of a compound fracture of the skull.  

ARDNAMURCHAN LIGHTHOUSE, WEST HIGHLANDS

Situated on the most westerly point of the British mainland, Ardnamurchan Lighthouse was built in 1849 using granite from the Isle of Mull.  It was designed by Alan Stevenson - uncle of Robert Louis Stevenson - whose family designed most of Scotland's lighthouses over a period of 150 years.  On the morning of 22nd January 1852, there was severe storm and lightning struck the tower causing broken panes and plaster to come off the walls. Fifty feet of boundary wall was knocked down and 40 feet of road was washed away by the heavy seas. The keepers boat was broken up although they had secured it 15 feet above the last known high water mark.  It's rough out there!  Almost as rough as the seemingly never-ending road we had to travel to reach it.  And I won't even tell you what happened on the way back.  Just think full bladders + pot holes - public toilets and you'll get the general idea.  Worth it, though!  As every single one of them is.

Grit and Determination

As you may have noticed, it's been a bit chilly lately.  There's snow, there's ice...and there's the usual sense of panic that results in empty shelves at the supermarket and a marked increase in the sales of thermal knickers.

Naturally, that hasn't put Coyote and I off toddling around the country in search of fun and photos.  Only yesterday we headed north and found ourselves on a rather bleak Crimea Pass:

It really is beautiful up there.  If you don't see another car, it's easy to imagine that you're the only people left alive after some catastrophic event involving zombies.  It's like a post-apocalyptic movie set.  Like Anglesey, really...but pretty.  We noticed the snow starting to stick to the road, so when we passed the sign for Conwy County, we spun around and headed back through Blaenau Ffestiniog.  That was strange, actually...because it seems that they've changed the town a bit since we were last there.  Now, the train station boasts a slate monolith that wouldn't look out of place in a stage production of '2001: A Space Odyssey'; and there are some strange sculptures there that, apparently, are called the 'Fat Ladies'.  I'm saying nothing.

On our way back to HQ we got stuck behind a gritter (top photo).  Of course, it can be bloody frustrating crawling along behind one of those as it chucks salt in your face...but it's also very reassuring.  You would think, then, that anyone travelling behind one on potentially icy bends would be happy to wait a little while to pass.  It would seem not...

"Oh no!  I mustn't get salt on my chrome grille...!"

"I must pass this horrid thing before my BOFmobile gets tainted."

"Yes...a nice wide berth I think.  Splendid."

**Turns Rachmaninov CD up to 6...**

"Marvellous! Now home for a bacon sandwich."

It just had to be a BOFmobile, didn't it?  And, for the record, his registration was '58 KEN'.  No further words are required really, are they?

The Project

Greetings from a soggy Dulas Valley!

Just thought we'd keep you posted with what we're up to at the moment.

We've decided to lay our sprout guns down for a while and concentrate on something a little more artistic.  That's not to say, of course, that sprout guns aren't artistic (sprout purée shows up lovely on black paint and chrome), we just want to have a crack at something that involves longer attention spans.

This is where the problem may lie.  You see, we have the attention spans of goldf...ooh!  A MOTH!

...an hour later...

That was a very unusual moth.  He looked a bit like Michael Gambon.  Anyway...where were we?  Oh yeah. We want to create a video that features some of Wales' gorgeous scenery.  Be it lakes, cityscapes, forests, waves on the sand, busy shopping centres or sprawling mountain vistas, we want to capture a bit of Wales in pixels.  However, we don't want to do it the easy way.  Taking a few photos and bunging them together in a slideshow is a bit boring...as is setting up a camera on a tripod and letting it roll for a few seconds.  So - how to make it that little bit different?  Combine the two into something like this!

That's just a test batch we took in Aberdyfi yesterday.  39 photographs condensed into 9 seconds.  Ideally, we'd like around 30 different locations, all edited together in sections to present a funky tour around this unique country.  It'll be quite a big undertaking, but we hope to create something that reflects the beauty of Wales...with a little Coyote and Roadrunner edge.  The photos will be polished and the timing tightened up, so the finished result should be quite snappy and bright.

If you have any suggestions for places we should visit for this project, please let us know!  We've got a few in mind, but your input would be fabulous.  As regular readers will know; we've seen a fair old bit of Wales (656 places so far) but not all of it.  Your suggestions would be delicious...like a slice of hot, melted cheese on toast.  Mmm...melted cheese on toast...you want that now.  You know you do.

So yes - please get in touch!  Many of you have already got my email address - so use it!  Or you can tweet us: @Goleudy or @MarkTheTravel.

Tarra for now.  We hope to hear from some of you soon! xx

PS: We saw a fully-grown man skipping down the road past HQ last night.  Just thought we'd mention that.

Please Bring Her Home

What Lies Beneath

It was a beautiful evening in Aberdyfi.  A delicate breeze whispered through the rushes in the warm dunes as Coyote and I made our way down to the deserted shore; the quiet incoming waves washing over our toes as we slowly walked along the tide line.

When I was growing up, my dad, brother and I saw the Dyfi Estuary and local beaches as our playgrounds.  We swam, we body-surfed, we kayaked and we canoed...and no weekend was complete without getting salt in our hair and sand in our shoes!  Coyote was brought up in a city, so I thought it was time to introduce him to the Mid Wales ocean.

We waded out into the water; the initial shock of the chill fading fast...even when it finally froze my boobs through my wetsuit.  (Trust me - that's the moment when you know you're properly soaked!)  We held hands and let the increasing waves buffer us, laughing and smiling as the sun gradually dipped lower in the sky.  It was so tranquil, so relaxing...and then it happened.

The pain shot through my foot like a red-hot poker.  The words that spewed forth from my lips were bluer than the sky.  I'd trodden on some unidentified object that was lurking on the sea bed; something sharp...something evil.  It certainly wasn't a shell - the pain was far too great for that.  I limped to the shore not knowing what I was going to find when I examined my foot...which was by now throbbing relentlessly.  I flopped down on my bodyboard (it's a Gul.  It has a slick bottom.  Mmm...slick bottom...) and lifted my injured extremity, for a moment terrified by what I would see...

A tiny puncture on one of my toes.  I wiped the blood and seawater away as a concerned Coyote looked on, ready to carry me back to the car.  It didn't make sense!  How could such a small injury cause so much pain?  The first thing that came to mind was glass.  Just in case I had some in there, I sucked the wound as hard as I could in an attempt to dislodge anything that might be embedded in my flesh.  Still the pain persisted.  A syringe, perhaps?  I began to make plans to call my GP to have my bloods checked.

Coyote carried all our kit as we walked - well, he walked and I limped - over the golf links to the car park.  

We got back to HQ shortly before the daylight disappeared.  By now, my toe was beginning to swell and grow hard to the touch; the skin paling as blood struggled to flow through.  I picked up my phone...

(Well...it is 2012.  A crisis isn't a crisis if you don't tweet about it...!)

Soon enough I started to get replies.  Suggestions ranged from a shark (I still had my leg so I doubted that was likely) to a shopping trolley - as propounded by Derek Brockway.  I assured him it wasn't a trolley. As it was Aberdyfi, it was more likely to have been a discarded chandelier.  They have champagne on their chips in Aberdyfi. 

Then a reply from Tracey in Pembrokeshire caught my eye.  They know about the sea in Pembrokeshire...

Oh.  Hadn't thought about that.  I've been splashing about in the water for years and never been on the receiving end of a weaver/weever fish spine.  It's something that you always expect to happen to others.  I tweeted her back, asking if they left a small puncture wound and she promptly replied...

I'd only just been for a wee (TMI, sorry!), so Coyote rustled up a bowl of hot water which I promptly immersed my foot in.  The pain immediately started to fade.

The following morning, my toe was still hard to the touch and having circulation problems, but that was just the poison working through.  The main thing was that I could now put weight on my foot...so I could enjoy the impending weekend in Scotland with Coyote!

Thank you, Tracey.  You're a star! xxx

WEEVER FISH - THE BREAKDOWN

Look at it.  Look at it lying there; hiding in the sand, waiting to stick you with its venomous spines so it can laugh at you as you limp away, crying.

Ok, that's not actually what it does...but that's what it feels like when you're unfortunate enough to wind one up!

The lesser weever fish has an enormous gob.  Think Julia Roberts...only bigger and with less lipstick.  It lies in wait for smaller fish to unwittingly swim into range; then it snaps them up and enjoys a sushi feast.  It's not the teeth you have to worry about though.  Oh no.  It's the dorsal fin that sticks up above the sand.

Three black spines protrude from the body, waiting to defend the little fish from bigger, bully fish...and, unfortunately for us, innocent seaside-goers.  

As you've probably gathered, if you've been stung by one, you know about it.  As Tracey said, the best course of treatment is to immerse the wounded limb in hot water - as hot as you can bear without scalding - and leave it there for around 15 minutes.  The more time that passes before treatment, the longer the immersion should be.  The venom is heat-liable, so water over 40°C should do the trick.

Occasionally, the spine may break off and be left in the flesh.  If this is the case, you need to remove it as soon as you can.  Treat it like a splinter...make sure you wince a lot and make hissing noises as you - or someone with good eyesight, a steady hand and some tweezers - removes it for you.  Then clean the wound thoroughly.  I would recommend TCP...but I spilt a tiny drop of it on my study sofa a fortnight ago and the room still smells like a hospital...so I'd go with Dettol if I were you. 

If the pain doesn't ease within a few hours, or if you think there's another cause for concern (headache, shortness of breath, vomiting, dizzyness, a desire to bury yourself in the sand and attack surfers or an insatiable craving for raw shrimp), get to A&E.  You won't suffer any long-term effects, but they'll be able to ease the symptoms quickly for you.

Heed my tale, folks.  Next time you go to the beach, wear something sensible on your feet.  I suggest thick-soled aqua shoes, trainers...or moon boots. 

Happy splashing!

Royal Welsh Show 2012

It had been decades since Coyote and I had been to the Royal Welsh Agricultural Show in Llanelwedd.  Always up for a bit of fun and some new sights, we decided that we'd head over there this year and see what was on offer!

The fun started when we got on the shuttle bus.  In a previous life, Coyote was a PSV/PCV driver...so it was quite amusing to see him glaring down the gangway, shooting daggers into the back of the driver's head. "Someone doesn't know his gears..."  I think I did a pretty good job of not sniggering.  Much.

After a short, sweaty hop to the show-ground, we got off the bus and followed the signs to the ticket booths.  £42 lighter we stepped into the throngs making their way from stall to stall in the scorching sunlight.  We had no idea where to start.

"Map?" Coyote suggested.

"Bloody good idea," I agreed.  Off we set on a hunt for a map of the ground...so at least we could figure out where the loos were.

     Eventually we found a stall that had programmes and maps.  For £3 a piece.  We guffawed and toddled off.  There wasn't anything in particular that we wanted to see, so we figured that we might as well just amble around in various directions to see what we would stumble across.

There were sheep.  Lots of sheep...

And Roy Nobles...

And horses...

And Jason Mohammads.

There were also tractors, cows, goats, more tractors, sunburnt people, more cows, drunk people, more tractors and a man who looked suspiciously like Billy Connolly.  It wasn't him though...his beard wasn't purple and he wasn't singing about his wellies. 

After a lot of wandering and wondering, we found ourselves in the shade of some trees at the back of a building elevated above the main show ring.  I trained my lens on the horses and then something at the corner of my eye caught my attention.  A man and a woman were sat above a building directly opposite us.  She was chain-smoking and he was eating something.  She looked like Ivor the Engine and he looked like a newsreader...but I couldn't be sure.  If he was a newsreader, then where did he find the time to train? He must've trained...because never in my life have I seen someone put away so many olives in such a short space of time.  It was deeply impressive. 

By now we were thirsty and starting to turn crispy in the sunshine.  Being Welsh, you see, we're simply not used to such weather.  We're more used to going everywhere in full waterproofs, carrying roll-up kayaks in case of emergency.  After a brief confab ("Home?"  "There's beer there."  "Home it is.") we left the show-ground and caught the shuttle bus back to the car park.  N18, if you're interested...which we know you aren't...but it's the only actual fact you're going to get from this post so I thought I'd share it in the name of blogging integrity.

Coyote then shone.  The car park was full to the brim.  If I'd been on my own, I would still have been trying to find my car as the sun dipped behind the hills...but he made a beeline for Monty.  I was impressed.  More impressed than I was by the day's earlier display of jaw-dropping olive-scoffing prowess.  I was so impressed, in fact, that I made a mental note not to poke his sunburnt bits.

We left Llanelwedd feeling tired but happy.  It had been an experience...but not one we'll repeat.  It could've done with more local produce for sale, more interactive displays, a cinema, a jacuzzi, a squash court...just kidding!  Cheaper bottled water and a free map would've been a start, mind.  

*Meep Sheep!*

BOF Bay

Last Sunday, Coyote and I took a jaunt along the Llyn Peninsula.  It was a glorious day; the sun shone gently on the verdant hills and floated lazily on the clear waters of the various bays and harbours dotted along the timeless coastline.

Somehow - call it an error of judgement - we ended up at Morfa Nefyn golf club.  We padded about a bit, marvelling at the allotted car parking spaces for the golf club bigwigs:  President, Vice President, Vice Vice President, Vice Vice President's Secretary, Vice Vice President's Secretary's Dog...and so on.  Just as we were running out of things to snigger at, I noticed a mound of earth jutting out from the hedge at the back of the car park.  Before Coyote could compare me to a mountain goat, I bounced up and looked down upon a stunning site:

"That's beautiful," Coyote commented as we gazed at the pretty harbour.  "Let's get down there!"

On the third unmarked, loose chipping-riddled road, we turned back from another dead end and drove for a mile with the wing mirrors tucked in.  We wouldn't give up, though.  Oh no.  Somewhere down there was a beach that was crying out for Coyote and Roadrunner's footprints!

Long story - involving abandoned cars, surfers, scary farmers and the slowly-dawning realisation that there was probably a road through the golf club that would've got us there in three minutes - short, we parked up on a narrow road by the beach.  Coyote made use of a BOFmobile (yes!  It's possible!) by parking behind it so that any car barrelling down the road would smash into its ugly bumper instead of injuring Monty.  Clever Coyote.

A quick change of footwear later and we were strolling hand-in-hand along the shore.  The cool breeze played around us as soft waves licked at the sand; it truly was a gorgeous day.  Just then, Coyote stopped in his tracks.  He sniffed the air and I watched as his eyes widened.  Before I could ask him if he'd caught the whiff of a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, a FOBOFmobile cruised past us.  Wordlessly, I swapped lenses on my camera and waited for the evidence to present itself.  We weren't disappointed.

Churning up the sand, the gleaming monstrosity came to a halt...in bay 1, of course.  The BOF emerged, his Wellington boots crunching the shale as he purposefully gathered items from his vehicle.  While he busied himself with this task, his BOFWAG paid as much attention to him as she would a woodlouse.  The BOFdogs trotted around, lingering over scents on the ground.  Probably trained to hunt down bacon sandwiches.

A few moments later and the BOF strode ahead with a set of oars on his shoulders.  As you can see from the photo below, his BOFWAG was the last thing on his mind:

Following at a safe distance, we tracked them to the harbour around the corner.  There, the BOFWAG disappeared into the hills with her trio of BOFdogs - leaving the grinning BOF to take to the water in his dinghy. We're pretty sure he was humming Rachmaninov as he rowed across the harbour:

We surveyed the vessels moored just off the shore.  Which one was his?  Not the fishing boat, that's for sure.  Nor the dredger.  How about the elegant Drascombe?  No...that would require a sparse knowledge of  actual sailing.  BOFs don't have time for that.

With a few more strokes of his oars, our question was answered.  Of course, it had to be the pretentious Cobra RIB with the smelly Mariner outboard. 

Slowly, the BOF rose to his feet and attempted to board his nautical steed...

...then he stumbled (probably weighed down by the size of his own ego) and tried again...

"Blast!"  One more go...

Quite how I managed to take these photos I'll never know.  I was doubled-up with hilarity and my legs were plaited...but we triumphed!

With a lot of grunting and an extraordinary amount of needless effort, the BOF finally managed to clamber aboard.  He spent an inordinate amount of time faffing around (probably setting his webcam up and trying to remember how to start the damned thing) and eventually steered out of the harbour:

Did he tear the sea up in his souped-up inflatable dinghy?  We'll never know.  We'd seen quite enough and decided to cross back over the beach before the tide cut us off.

To this day, we hope there's a FOBOFmobile bobbing about somewhere in the Irish sea.

*MEEP MEEP!*

The Olympic Torch Relay: Day 10

On the morning of May the 28th 2012, Roadrunner's hand shot out from under the duvet and grabbed her mobile phone from the bedside table.  "Hello?"  Silence.  "HELLO?!"

"It's your alarm."  Coyote sniggered.  Roadrunner isn't a morning person.

Two coffees and a gallon of Berocca later, and they were on the road.  The Olympic Torch Relay was arriving in their neck of the woods and - although not particularly stirred by the event - they figured that they might be able to make a few pennies from it with the help of Uncle Monty and Auntie Pentax.

Using a bit of local knowledge they found a parking spot in the historical town of Machynlleth.  Actually, that makes it sound a bit easy, doesn't it?  It took them a while to get to the sneaky little parking spot due to a stream of school children crossing the road with all the speed of a granny with a Zimmer frame wading through treacle.  In that time, they were captured on camera...

Once they'd looped back towards the end of town, they popped into a local shop for vital supplies: a huge bottle of water and a chocolate bar.  Then they waited.  And waited.  In the meantime, Coyote calmed Roadrunner when she spotted a rival photographer with a Nikon and a baseball cap, and somehow managed to keep her from severely maiming a member of the crowd who decided to perch on the fence ahead of her, thus completely ruining her view.  Luckily for said onlooker, he decided to step down just before Roadrunner did something painful involving a window box.

Eventually, a fanfare of sirens and a blanket of blue lights appeared.  Metropolitan Police bikers slowly trundled down the street, heralding the arrival of the Olympic Torch convoy and Roadrunner lifted her camera, capturing...

...a police officer doing an impression of a teapot.  Or Graham Norton.  One or the other. 

Then she snapped two random men jumping about on top of a bus:

The rapscallions.  Shortly after they passed by, the convoy came to a halt.  Coyote thought for a moment before providing a logical reason for the hold-up.  It was quite possible that they forgot to stop waving when they came to the railway bridge, the oversight resulting in the loss of a few limbs.  Roadrunner looked towards the railway bridge, wondering if she had time to capture a few blood-spattered shots...but decided against it.  It was too hot to walk that far; and besides, severed limb photos are two-a-penny in Machynlleth.  Especially on a Friday night.

It was a wise decision.  The crowds began to cheer further up the high street as Machynlleth's own Stephen Doyle proudly sauntered through the town, holding his glimmering torch aloft:

*Click...click...*  Done!

With a cunning diversion through the railway station, they jumped back into Monty and headed north.  What they were going to find there, they didn't know.  Apart from slate.  There's lots of slate in North Wales.

***

Clear blue skies spread over the hills of Blaenau Ffestiniog as Coyote and Roadrunner parked on the outskirts of town.  Braving the greyhounds in Burberry sun visors and the very strange accents, they gallantly strode into the thick of the action once more; Auntie Pentax glinting in the hot sunshine.  Down the steps to the railway station they headed...then decided they both desperately needed a pee.

The Queens Hotel was their target.  In they went and relieved they were!  Back outside, they scouted around to see what was happening.  Just then, Coyote tapped Roadrunner's back and looked down at the fencing below their vantage point by the back door of the hotel.  Roadrunner followed his gaze and her face paled.  She staggered backwards, bracing herself against the plaster; almost as if she wanted to disappear into the wall.  "It's okay," Coyote reassured her as he looked down at the lady he'd spotted.  "I don't think she's armed.  I can't see any citrus fruit anywhere.  Go on; take a shot!"

"I don't know..." Roadrunner said, her back still flat against the wall.  She peered at the lady who was holding a microphone not four feet away from them.  Panic flashed through her mind as she remembered her brief foray into the paparazzi world earlier this month.  

"Come on, Roadrunner," Coyote urged.  "There's a fence between us.  Even if she has got satsumas, you won't be hurt!"

Roadrunner swallowed hard.  "Okay.  I'll do it."  She took a deep breath, stepped forward one pace, clicked her shutter and immediately retreated to the shadowy safety of the wall.  Once again, she'd papped Louise Elliott:

Beads of sweat appeared on Roadrunner's forehead.  "C-c-can we go now, please?" she stuttered, tightly gripping Coyote's arm.

"Of course we can.  You bloody wuss."

They descended the steps and crossed back over the railway station.  Just as they were about to beat a hasty retreat, however, people began to trickle into their previously void car park and a shining torch could be seen above the heads of the crowd.

A quick pause and...

Torchbearer Elin Owen was committed to memory card, just before she escorted the flame to Porthmadog on the Blaenau Ffestiniog Railway.

Satisfied with their pixel haul, Coyote and Roadrunner smiled at each other and nodded.  In cloud of slate dust, they vanished.

*Meep Meep!*

Log Cabin with Brian and Belinda Boffington-Bly

It seems that the BOFs haven't quite grasped the fact that we don't particularly like them.

We received the following email on Sunday;

Dear Sir and Madam;

It has come to our attention that you are full of admiration for people of our class.  We are delighted with this; because in this day and age our standards are often frowned upon.  It's not our fault that we have bags of cash, 4 houses, a villa in Venice and seventeen horses in the back garden - we're just blessed.


It is thoroughly refreshing when we learn of people like you.  Though you will never have a chandelier in your downstairs guest bathroom, though the thought of a heated pool in your kitchen will only ever be a dream, we think you're wonderful for showing a deep and honest admiration for folks who are much better than you.


To show our appreciation, please find attached a video for your delectation.  We thought you would simply adore to see our little log cabin in Wales!


With all best wishes;

Brian and Belinda Boffington-Bly
This email was sent from my GooseBerry. 


Needless to say, we were gobsmacked.  Not by their palpable temerity and complete lack of understanding...but by the utter hilarity.  Once we'd stopped laughing, we uploaded it to YouTube for your enjoyment.

TALLY HO!

Photos: Landscapes

Sunsets, clouds, seascapes, cliffs...nature's finest :)