I’m on the way to Aberystwyth. I’ve made this rail journey quite a number of times, without ever quite getting used to the feeling of isolation that comes over you when phone/computer signal die shortly after the Welsh borders, and stay dead for some time. With my flashy iPhone it might be a more ‘connected’ journey than usual, but I wouldn’t bet on it. So I’m not betting on it. I’m putting this online now in case I disappear into a blog black hole.
There’s nowhere quite like Aberystwyth. Every time I’ve been there, the wind has been blowing so hard it’s difficult to walk in a straight line. Boats moored in the harbour (if that’s the correct word, I don’t know, jetty or something, I’m not a seafaring man) creak and shudder like skeletons come to life. On the seafront there are classically dowdy B and Bs, and isolated beach huts which it’s hard to imagine are ever inhabited. Looking at them at night, trying to imagine the people who’ve come and gone in tiny moments in summers gone by, would give anyone the creeps.
Luckily, despite being the sort of place you can quite easily fantasise that you’re the only person alive – last time out, I stayed in the quietest, most obviously haunted hotel I’ve ever been – Aberystwyth also has a lively comedy audience, thanks mostly to its university. At least, I hope it has. If I get there this time and nobody’s there, I will be a bit cross. (One Watsonian, on Twitter, claims to be coming from Portsmouth specially for this – he left at 7 this morning – but I’m unsure whether it’s a wind-up or not. And even if not, it could just be me and him. Which would almost be worse than no show, I think, for both of us.)
Fingers crossed. See you when I’m back in England.