The Leaving of Llangollen … & Middlewich

We reluctantly crawled away from the Llangollen after revisiting Ellesmere for further jollies: a trip (in a motor vehicle!) to the seaside, Ellesmere’s 2nd annual music festival, a rendezvous with boaty buddies and an indoor BBQ with lovely talented (real-life!) people from Wigan.

The opportunity to wiggle our toes in Barmouth Bay and let the dogs run  in big wheels  on the stretching sands was a delight in the July heat. We stopped on the way at Lake Vrynwy which covers 600 football pitches   and marveled at the twenty five arches of the dam  reaching over it completed in 1888,  then wound our way through the majesty of Snowdonia National Park on our way home. It was wonderful to drive through the dramatic Welsh scenery – a striking contrast to the gentle meandering canal.

Ellesmere’s Music Festival asserted itself on the town’s calendar for its second year against the backdrop of the market hall’s beautiful mural, opening with Ellesmere’s very own Ukey Monster Band (whom we had heard practicing in the pub on our previous visit). Such a troupe of talented, stylish and radiant performers playing their ‘jumping fleas’ (small Hawaiian four stringed guitars we call ‘ukeleles’ don’t you know).  A stellar performance to usher in the accomplished and effervescent Mary And The Mudlarks and the further following fabulous bands.

We moored the festival night at Blakemere overlooking the cool evening water and Mark tried out his new Ghillie Kettle purchased from the outdoors shop in Llangollen to boil water for a cup of tea (not using lake water though). Gripped by the spirit of the Great Outdoors we shall soon be independent of Russian gas in making hot beverages using local twigs and parched fir cones to create fire. I can see the envy glinting in your eyes.

Our thirst abated, we left the Llangollen and turned left back out onto the Shropshire Union and right onto the Middlewich Branch heading for another of our scheduled rendezvous in Middlewich itself. We found the town to be compact and pleasant and the canal wonderfully close to the convenient world of the supermarket (three supermarkets actually, so we were overwhelmed with choice and therefore incapable of decision. It’s all or nothing when you’re living the nomadic life).

We ate in the evening at a delicious Indian restaurant called Ayaan’s with our chums who had made the pilgrimage to our door from (near) Bristol and who accompanied us on a cruise further along the canal the following bright and balmy day cutting their teeth on five locks. We passed the British Salt Factory and stared in wonder at a great pile of it sitting like a remnant of snow in the thaw. Mark knowingly advises me that the ‘wich’ in Middlewich means ‘salt town’. I knowingly advise him of the availability to all of Wikipaedia…. Thanks to Donna and Mark and Inky for permission to publish their blog here, and for their fine company whilst in these parts!