Only myself to blame. Who in their right mind would want to go to Aberystwyth? Certainly not me, but (as is often the case) it was a matter of principle. The day before – when I was busy, I was asked several times if I wanted to go – and I felt I was only being asked because I was busy – I couldn’t say ‘yes’. Then for whatever reason (assuming there would be a reason) he (he = the husband) decided NOT to go, but to go looking at trains instead. So, the next day when I was as free as a (partially caged) bird with no plans to go to the cinema, suddenly the Aberystwyth trip was back on. But am I asked to go? No – I am left sleeping, ignored. He was clearly trying to sneak off for his day out at the seaside. He waited until about 10 minutes before leaving the house to tell me he was going – he probably didn’t realise that 10 minutes is plenty for me to wash and dry my hair, generally get ready, feed the Guinea pigs etc. and have my bag packed, ready to go!
I knew deep down it would be hell, but, like the pain of childbirth, you forget what days out are like, especially when you have managed to avoid them for some time. The journey wasn’t too bad – got seats on the train with a table (essential!) and read half a book on the way despite hundreds of interruptions (mindless ones) including one about the price of “I can’t believe it’s not butter”. I should really have learnt by now that if I don’t want him to speak then all I have to do is sit doing nothing. If I want constant mindless comments about nothing, then all I have to do is pick up a book!
Arriving in Aberystwyth I expected the usual trek past all the shops, down every street, him out in front, just far enough away to make sure that I can’t actually go inside a shop in case I get lost. However, he stood and pointed out all the shops that were the same everywhere. Boots, Smiths, New Look, Millets, etc. etc. But I didn’t want shops – I wanted sea air, I wanted boats, rocks, stones, lobster pots – things I could take photos of. I can go to Superdrug any day of the week – I don’t need to travel to the end of the world to do that!
It wasn’t the best day for photos – the sky was as dull as the town, what I would have liked was to look at some nice little gift shops. Now my idea of a gift shop is clearly very different from his. Mine is one that sells ‘gifts’. His is one that sells tea towels, fudge, small flags, postcards and plastic sheep. To me, that is a ‘souvenir’ shop. He told me there were no ‘gift shops’, but every time we found one he walked past really fast so I couldn’t go inside. The only time he stopped was when he found a souvenir shop and said ‘Here’s a gift shop’, he also loitered by charity shops, looking for ornamental pugs. Luckily there were none!
Another ‘gift shop’ would come into view, big rustic looking vases of twisted willow in the window with all sorts of nice little objects hanging from the gnarled twigs, wooden and metal hearts, next to them spotty coffee mugs, birdcages, pretty cards, doorstops shaped like houses – I just got whisked past them all, so it became one multi-coloured blur – dragged to the next plastic bucket, crab-line and lilo shop.
After deciding against climbing what looked like a particularly steep hill, we battled the tide-turning wind to go and look at the sea. We walked till lunchtime – and then the inevitable ‘what do you want for lunch?’, ‘oh I don’t know – you’ve been before, what is there?’ – then he lists all the places I really don’t want to eat and I suggest somewhere a bit ‘nicer’ – so he lets me choose and I like the look of the first place we come to a “Greek” taverna. He laughs at my suggestion like I have made a very funny joke – and this happens at every place that looks half decent and eventually we have been walking for at least an hour just looking for something acceptable to us both. We end up having a giant all day breakfast at a ‘caff’ and he asks me if I want to make a day of it and stay till 5. I ask what there is left to see and he says ‘nothing, we’ve seen it all – but there is still the big hill’. I decide the early train might be best! We end up arriving at the station an hour before our train departs, because he wants to see if the little steam train is in. It isn’t. There’s a pub on the station and he asks if I want a drink – and boy do I want a drink. He doesn’t want a drink though so I have to sit drinking on my own, on a sticky chair by a sticky table, on a sticky floor while he looks wistfully over at the signal hoping it will suddenly drop so we can go and look at the train. It doesn’t.
On the way home I read the rest of the book. I never want to see Aberystwyth again.
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