Pen Mar Guest House
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TripAdvisor Reviews Pen Mar Guest House Tenby
Travel Blogs from Tenby
... pump wearing pyjamas, slippers and dressing gown. Very entertaining stuff, unscripted and all delivered in a cultured Welsh lilt. Fittingly, the walk n talk ended at Dylan's grave where we cut through the back lane to "our little cabin on the hill over the estuary". What an excellent way to learn about the poet, his life and times in Laugharne, and a great way to ignore the inclement weather.
And now for a senior moment ........... or ...
... S hitched a ride to the Park n Ride and were abandoned to the elements and various shops? The athletes found the Mumbles and the GC and a links course, bright sun, no wind and a hilly course beckoned.
The golf was indescribable - stunning views, glorious weather, championship play - poetic licence required - the pasties were a highlight and Barry hit a bell from a very ...
... Internet in the grandly named clubhouse came up with nothing, except for the usual spam and summer-orientated tourism.
So .......Haverfordwest, west true to its name, beckoned. Off we went, bristling with enthusiasm and a modicum of optimism. Sadly, the weather worsened as we went westwards and the multi-storey carpark offered short-spell relief from the tumbling wet stuff. Haverfordwest became a limitedly successful escape - torrential, ...
... to make sure it wasn't healthy. Steph, fresh from her morning exercise - I swear she has Japanese ancestry - stuck resolutely to the more healthy option, while B and I chomped on regardless.
I was convinced we were close to the same beach as a previous escapade in the land of sheep and Taffy. Wrong, as it transpired. My vision of Pendine Beach, home of an early Donald Campbell land speed attempt (B is alert on this prospect), was ...
... in the sing-along. Roy, an Anglicised Welshman, declared them brilliant and proceeded to tell us various sheep jokes while engaging various middle-aged women in a cuddle and friendly banter. If this is Wales on a wet Sunday afternoon.......?
My lasagne was beckoning and we stalked off uphill under rain-heavy skies to our little shack on the hill. Almost poetic? Need another glass of red! Wine, not Red Bull