iH! eBeck Hrer. Please be warned that I am currently smashed.

Ok. So Wales is beautifual. Those of us who have been all agree. But I think I might have forgotten a bit.

I might also have forgotten about how amusing my childhood friend Julie is, who has brought her amusing Spaniard, Abraham, along for the journey into the long and dark distant past.

We have just spent the last the last few days in the Brecon Beacons having the most fantastic time with Roy and Judith at the Three Cocks (which is also the name of the town on the A430 (or something) between Hay-On-Wye and Brecon. Despite a night of weirdness on the last night, the Three Cocks is an inn you must go to. Nestled within a valley of the Brecons it is a wonderful, foody, home away from home run by an ex-advertising man and his wife. Who, by the way, could cook nearly anyone we know in the cheffing trade under the table.

Jules and Abraham were absolutely delightful and it was like no time had passed since Jules and I last saw each other (which I have calculated as some 17 years). That's the test of how good friends you are, I tell you.

Now I must caveat this blog with the explanation that the 65 year old woman that mans the internet station at the Lancaster (which is where we're staying until we leaves) is regaling me with an over the top story of a Phillipino woman who got picked up by, and married to, an ex-guest of the hotel who looks like Pierce Brosnan. Now she's telling me about some bird who married Carrie Grant. She gets one date and bag of chips and can of coke - I just informed her that by the time her prince comes she will be on a zimmer frame. No point lying - she is 65.

So Damo has been to Pont-y-Pool now - the birth home of his father. I thought Dapto might be a step up - so Norm has done well. I have a few amusing photos of Damo standing astride Nicholas Street.

Update on old lady manning internet station - I am an unusual guest because she wouldn't normally speak to me this way (i.e. giving me solid updates on which guest asked for what and why and wondering why the fuck they would've asked in the first place, and then in the same breath praying that I'm not from the Tourist Board (probably full of bastard Torys)).

Pont-y-Pool is a place in SE Wales which has clearly suffered from a fast Thatcher-ian closure of the coal mines. Perhaps Norm left at just the right time. I'll be honest and say that I didn't feel entirely at ease there, but that's perhaps just that I was a foreigner in their town.... Jules fealt the same. But anyhoo it was indeed very interesting from heredity point of view and Damo would like to spend more time there so it can't have been all bad.

The Beacons on the other hand are utterly beautiful and full of lovely quaint little towns ready to serve you inappropriately large pints of home brewed ale. Which we drank (or in some cases, pinky skulled) quite a few of. Damo, Abraham and Jules weren't shy in showing their skulling prowess. I would've to but for the bastard Spanish Flu I caught that has impeded my drinking fitness in a way embarrassing to my reunion stadards.

Jules of course was very forgiving and pinky skulled her way through a few pints on my behalf. Thank god because otherwise someone wouldn't have been able to tackle Damo on the finer points of idealistic politicism. And other words Jules used because she is a philisophical writer.

It's only because I am currently maggotted after visiting our hotel's bar (where they had half price drinks) and then a little jaunt to OXO Tower (and every bar on the way there from Lancaster) that I haven't mentioned how awesome it was to see Jules and Abraham. Jules was my childhood bestest of friends and it really was a fantastic 'as it was' reunion. And Abraham - despite being Spanish ;) - is a dead-set legend, and cono. It warmed my heart greatly to firstly see a very old friend whom I loved and see that it was like we saw each other yesterday, and that her wonderful partner was the same. And I could practice my bad Spanish on him. Bonus (poor bastard).

Ok I think I have rambled on in a paraletic way enough. We fly out on Thursday night just in time for an arrival at Davey Mac's 40th. Better start hunting for a shocking latex wound tomorrow.

Did I mention that I am blind drunk? Yeah. I just reread my blog and can't remember writing any of it. Happy Davey Mac?

Ciao, Auf Wiedersehn, Good Nacht!
xxx