Water flows.
It has to or else it stagnates into a pond.
Conversation flows too.
It’s a form of liquid, in that it lubricates our mouths and our heads and occasionally our hearts.
Due to the maths of time versus weather verses light verses tasks, this journey upriver was not exactly one big chat with the locals.
Still, it delivered.
Thank you to everyone within a stone’s skim of the riverbank for all your wit, wisdom and wonder.
“Wait till the sun comes out, then you can get these blessed spiders.”
Mary, sweeps away the cobwebs over the entrance to Chapel Brondeifi at Lampeter
“How long to Teifi Pools? On a bike? An hour or two. 20 minutes to get back”
The silver-tongued, silver-haired boss at the Talbot Hotel, Tregaron.
“Granny cog’ll get you there nicely”
Old couple in Allegro, on descent from Teifi Pools.
At the summit, after my swim, I meet 2 Dutch bikers on a Honda Goldwing
“How many cc?” I ask
“1100” they say “and yours?”
“1150” I reply.
They laugh and take my picture.
On discussing the hard economics of farming in the pub.
“We farm 200 ewes for lambing on the banks above the village”
“Oh right. Makes you a living?”
“Did do until them Irish took over the slaughterhouse. Be lucky now if we £25.”
“And a leg of lamb is what now…£15?”
“At least. Bloody supermarkets.”
Peter Kirby
