- The town’s symbol is a bear. Bears are cool. ’Nuff said.
- This is what my husband’s commute to work looks like:
- Welsh Cakes. Half pancake, half scone: all delicious cakey, sultana-y goodness. If my consumption continues at current levels, I may soon be unable to get through the front door.
- Not only is the sea about five minutes’ walk from our front door, there is also a pier. This means you can drink tea and eat chips while dodging the seagulls and watching the waves. If growing up near Blackpool has taught me anything, it’s that the seaside isn’t complete without a pier somewhere around.*
- There are actual, proper hills nearby. After years of living in East Anglia, which is basically a bit like living on a giant ironing board, this is making me feel quite giddy. I’ve missed non-flat things.
- Penarth has not one but two butcher’s shops (one, I kid you not, is called Lush), and a fishmonger and game dealer. The latter has sawdust on the floor, and original tiled hunting scenes on the walls, all of which appeals to me on a very fundamental level. Also, they sell capons, as the picture proves. I didn’t think you could buy them anywhere outside of Shakespeare, but am now furiously googling capon recipes.
- There’s both a wool shop and a bead shop. Amazingly, it has taken me this long to put two and two together and realise I can make my own stitch markers. Cue (hopefully) much squeeing from fellow yarny types, and polite incomprehension from the non-knitters among us. If anyone is interested, there may be pictures.
- The opportunity to learn a whole new language. Why wouldn’t you want to do that? So far I can say “hello”, “goodbye”, “thank you” and “grapes”. Reading the Mabinogion can only be a few weeks away…
*Other things Blackpool has taught me include not hanging around Talbot Square at night, and running like blazes from the terrifying laughing clown at the Pleasure Beach.