I’ll level with you. It’s not July.
It’s not even 2021 – that’s the past and this blog was written in the past but for some reason didn’t make it to the website (most likely apathy, the posh way of saying laziness). But I like to believe it’s never too late and I’ve been doing a lot of holiday research lately (read: time wasting/day dreaming) so this feels relevant.
If you’re anything like me and struggle for regular inspiration, I hope this affords you some hope of summer sun whilst we endure the last of these gloomier (UK) months.
Now, come with me on a time travelling journey, all the way back to July 2021 when a heat wave baked the Welsh countryside. A small elevated decking area in a back garden, with a table and two chairs, overlooks a mountainous terrain. It’s peaceful and quiet but for bird song and the jingling of a stream. Actually, here’s a picture:
What an inspiring place to sit and write.
It’s 8pm on Sunday the 18th July and I’m finally on holiday again. In fact, I’m on holiday on my own, on a farm in the Lynn Peninsula, North Wales and I’m so glad I came.
When I left the house, and throughout the 2 ½ hour car journey, I felt down. This could have been because my car has been a lot of trouble lately and I spent the whole journey anxious that it would breakdown again. It could have been because it was 30 degrees Celsius in said car and I didn’t have air conditioning. It could have been because I’ve never been away on my own before, ever.
But I think, beyond these relatively petty concerns – I barely leave the house anymore – and I think that was probably the main cause of my odd malaise.
When I arrived, I felt lonely and I’m not used to sitting still, so after a short while familiarising myself with the small cottage, I headed out on-foot to find milk.
It turned out, the only local shop was a 30-minute walk, and that walk was over a MASSIVE hill. At the top of the hill were a row of houses and I ended up chatting to a couple of the locals who were in their front gardens enjoying the sun.
‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you,’ one of them said. ‘That hill is horrible and the shop is probably shut.’
‘Oh,’ I replied, ‘but it said on the internet it was open.’
‘Yeah, it says that but she pretty much closes whenever she wants to. You’re better off driving to Trefor anyway, it’s cheaper there. Where do you come from anyway?’
‘I live in Greater Manchester, but I come from Devon originally.’
‘Oh, I prefer Devon to here.’
‘Really? It’s incredible here!’
‘Yeah, but I liked Devon. It’s flat.’
‘Flat? Devon is definitely not flat.’
‘It is compared to here.’
Looking around at the towering mountains, I took their point, but unperturbed by the possibility of a pointless walk, I thanked them for their advice and continued on my way. They looked surprised I wasn’t giving up. Clearly, they weren’t aware of the lengths an Englishman would go to for a cup of tea.
The ridiculously steep hill gave spectacular views of the sea that seemed to stretch out an unfeasibly long way into the distance and I didn’t regret my decision one bit.
Even the shop, mercifully, was open! Realising I didn’t actually have much of a plan, I just bought the absolute necessities. Milk, butter, a cake and beer.
When I got to the counter, the owner told me the beer was local, which I’m guessing I clearly wasn’t.
I told her how happy I was she was open and that some of the locals had told me she might be closed. This clearly wasn’t the right thing to say as she looked mildly annoyed and informed me very matter-of-factly that she was the owner and she never closes before 6pm. It seemed I had stumbled into some sort of local politics, so I thanked her again and quickly stumbled back out again.
And oh my goodness, that hill! Easily handling the downward journey had filled me with boastful levels of confidence, but the way back up soaked my t-shirt and forced me to rue the fact the shop had only had 4-pint milk cartons left, as well as question some of my other necessary purchases. But the views made it all worthwhile. This time, I had a row of mountains waiting for me at the top that I hadn’t even noticed on the way down. It was incredible country and even after having done a 5km run that morning before I left, I felt more awake and alive than I ever do sat at my desk or on the sofa at home.
Now, finally, I realised how lucky I was. Weather like this doesn’t come around often in the UK, and when I got back to the farm, the rather charming elderly owners told me it would be hot and sunny like this all week.
Before sitting in the absolutely-silent lounge to write this, I spent an hour on the balcony, overlooking a valley with trees and a stream and mountains in the background, just sitting. Very little can inspire me to sit still for any time at all.
So, if I have any message to pass on this time it’s simply this: don’t let fear prevent you from living. I don’t earn a high income and pressing the button to “confirm your booking” filled me with fear. Leaving the house when the time finally came filled me with fear, as did the drive to get here. But I did it.
These are the moments we’re unlikely to regret.
A.J. Austin
theinnerlands.com 