Any Questions?

This is the 99th post on our blog.  We toyed with the idea of writing something about red balloons or ice creams with Flakes in them...but we figured that would be far too cheesy and probably wouldn't make for a particularly interesting post.  Unless you're heavily into those things.  In which case, we're sure there are dedicated websites out there for your specialist interests - and probably some very good psychiatrists. 

So having had a bit of a think, we decided that we'd use this post to promote - and get your involvement in - our 100th.  And what are we doing for our 100th post?  An interview!  Yes; an actual interview with questions and answers and everything that's normally associated with interviews and this sentence has gone on far too long without punctuation!  Phew.

And who, pray tell, has stupidly kindly agreed to attend this exclusive interview?  *Drum roll...* The one...the only...the sprout-scoffing, kitsch music-loving, pasta-dropping, Mick Jagger-imitating Man of the Roads himself: MR MARK BUCKLEY!  You thought it was going to be Huw Edwards, didn't you?  Sorry.  Can't do that.  I'm still scared of him.

Now - dear reader - this is where you come in.  We need your questions.  You can ask him anything.  Yes - ANYTHING.  For instance; you could ask him about the intricacies of juggling travel broadcasts for BBC Radio Wales, BBC Radio Oxford, BBC Radio Leicester, The Wave, Swansea Sound and Real Radio Wales.  You could ask him what it's like to step into Chris Needs' shoes and present a show to thousands of listeners (yes - he's done that several times and survived!).  You could ask him what size shoes he takes.  You could ask him what his favourite type of underwear is.  You could even ask him for advice...but I wouldn't recommend it. Yes - you really can ask him ANYTHING!

If you have any burning questions you'd like to put to Mark, send them via the usual channels.  I'll be taking questions for up to a week - so get in touch!

This could prove to be a highly insightful, entertaining and embarrassing enjoyable interview.  It'll be what you make it...

SO GET ASKING!

x

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!*

Oil Be Damned

With well over 100,000 miles on the clock and every country of the United Kingdom under his drive belt, Monty is proving himself to be a fabulous car.

However, he's recently been a bit poorly.

On Friday morning, Coyote noticed a touch of oil on the tarmac of Traffic Towers.  He didn't think too much of it; after all, Monty had enjoyed a full service the day before.  It was probably just something settling in - or maybe they'd overfilled him a bit.

So he drove up to HQ as usual on Friday with nothing untoward happening.  No smoke, no clunking, no engine falling out onto the M4 spraying bits of gnarled metal across the carriageway...it looked like all was going to be just fine.  But no.

After being parked outside the cottage for a while, it was evident that there was a substantial oil leak.  Monty was bleeding!  While Coyote slept after a grinding early shift, I wriggled underneath to have a better look.  There wasn't anything obviously wrong with the underside; so I slipped a couple of trays underneath to see just how much oil he was losing.

It rained that night and we woke the following morning to see a beautiful rainbow.  Normally we would've been quite pleased to see such vibrant colours...but it's not quite the same when the rainbow is trickling out from under your car.

We decided to play it safe and stay local - so we drove to Machynlleth to pick up some bits and pieces.  Cheese Strings, mainly.  When we walked back to the car after exiting the supermarket, it was evident that Monty was in a bad way.  The oil was dripping out of him like snot drips out of a primary school kid's nose in a winter playground.  We needed to get some oil.

Off to Tuffin's we trundled - where we bought 2 litres of juice to try and top Monty up.  We were only in the shop a matter of minutes, but came out to see oily footprints all over the car park.  Uh oh.

There was only one thing for it.  We didn't know what was wrong...but we knew a man who would.  A very nice man.  Yes, a Very Nice Man. It was time to call the men in yellow.

While our knight in fluorescent jacket made his way from Shrewsbury (about 60 miles away) to rescue us, Coyote went and bought him a coffee and a Mars Bar - he's thoughtful like that - and I entertained myself by making oily flower pictures in the car park.  It was 4 degrees and chucking it down; but we didn't care.  We just wanted Monty to live!

Eventually, the Very Nice Man - thank you, Andrew! - arrived and shoved his head under the bonnet:

After a lot of tweaking, tinkering, glaring, revving and dabbing, it was concluded that the oil filter - which, remember, had only been fitted the previous day - was leaking profusely.  Apparently that's what can happen when a spurious part is fitted in place of the genuine, made-for-the-purpose part that you expect and pay for.

Thankfully, the Very Nice Man managed to twist the oil filter on much tighter than it should've needed and the leak appeared to stop.  

Coyote drove back to Cardiff this morning without incident, but he'll be calling the garage that 'serviced' Monty to have a select few words in their shell-likes.

Hopefully, they'll admit the error of their ways and put things right.  If not, I dread to think what's going to happen.  I'm not saying that he or I will do anything rash...but Limmy might.  Yes - our mascot Limmy the SheepHog.  You should've seen him when a Freeloader took Monty's wing mirror off.  He was chuntering in Gaelic, foaming at the mouth and everything!  I've advised Coyote to keep an eye on him if he has to return to the garage any time soon.  

SheepHog bites can be nasty.

With much gratitude to @AA_Members

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.

Below Her Free Sky

Soundlessly, the red kite swoops on the wind.  Feathers sleek and wings steady, she hovers for a moment - her burning yellow eyes following something scuttling through the long grass below her.  She brings her tail in and instantly veers off towards the hills, soaring high before dipping and spiralling elegantly; seeming to gambol on the breeze.  She doesn't want to feed just yet.

The gentle afternoon sunlight bounces off her back; a myriad of shimmering reds and browns as she lifts her head and catches a thermal - flying ever higher into the vast blueness until her shadowless body disappears into the clouds.

Far below her free sky, we sit and watch enviously.

100,000 and Counting!

He did it!  Our beloved Monty has reached the hallowed 100,000 miles!

The first time I met Coyote, I thought Monty was black.  Not only that, but I wasn't all that impressed if I'm going to be honest.  I'm a country girl, you see...I like things with diff locks that are covered in mud.  'This is a town car,' I thought.  'Something that's probably economical on fuel and easy to park...but will more than likely fall apart within a year.'

How wrong could I have been?

Monty's an absolute gem.  We named him when we were in Montgomeryshire (originality fail!) and we've explored thousands of miles with him and his guardian - Limmy the Sheephog - who sits on his dash, watching out for BOFmobiles and barking at Mansel Davies lorries. (Yes, he barks.  Clever for a sheep/hedgehog cross but then this is the sheephog that chased Terry Wogan out of Limerick.  We never doubt him.)

Wales, England, Eire, Northern Ireland and Scotland - we've seen them all thanks to Monty.  Who, incidentally  is also called Minty.  Because he's blue and always has a packet of Smints or three in a door pocket.

We may drool over shiny Land Rover Defenders.  We may swoon when we see a brand new County...but we're not parting with Monty just yet.  He's a member of the team and we love him to bits!

*Meep Meep!*