Alan D‘Rover arrived around 7:15 with Nip, Gill, James, Laura and Polly, by 7:30 we were waving a fond farewell to Kirsty and Neil, when Matthew stuck his head out of his bedroom window and added his voice to the general cacophony of farewells. Although we are going for two weeks Kirsty, and possibly Matthew, are to join us for the final week, to this end Kirsty had been practising driving the Granada and had spent the previous evening pouring over maps ready for the long drive, if only she could find her way out of Derby, she told us, the rest of the journey should be a piece of cake.  

The trip to Wales was most enjoyable, the sun beat down relentlessley but, for once, the Land Rovers did not turn into ovens, the traffic levels were acceptable and the scenery exceptional. We decided not to take the north route by Conway, due to the Eisteddfod on Anglesey, but to take the old route through Bala. To add to the visual stimulation two Land Rovers, one red and one green, swung to the left, off the A5, and drove right through the heart of the mountains to Bala, via Knockin.  

Sunday saw the sun beating down on the North West corner of Wales, we spent the day battling for supremacy on the boule fields of Aberdaron beach and sun bathing, a good start to the holiday and a good omen, one in the eye for Spinny and Timothy we thought. In the evening we dined on bacon and eggs, on the new picnic table in the garden, while regarding the calves racing from one end of the field to other, their little hooves drumming on the ground as they stampeded along, re-enacting scenes from their favourite TV program, "The Repeats of Raw Hide". Later we joined Nip, Gill, Polly Laura and Jim for a stroll up Gwyddel. We had not reached the half way point when we spied Mick, Hellen and Emma on their way to visit us, but apparently we were not in as, after a minute or two, we observed their progress back along the track.

The trio halted when they heard us hailing them from on high, and heartily returned our greeting, it echoed across the fields, along with greetings from a myriad of folks scattered around the landscape. On reaching the summit we all sat on top of Gwyddel, in a neat line, and stared out to sea. During our contemplations on life, the universe and how long it would take Nip's whistle to cross the sea to Bardsey and bounce back as a fully fledged echo, Gill informed us that she was no longer sure as to whether or not she still liked Spinny Norman, Rosie was quick to second the motion. Poor old Spinney Norman was never a very popular figure. For those of you who like to know these facts, his shell is to be found on the south facing window sill in their front room.

On our way back to the cottage the figure of Will, the farmer, and the son in law of Kitty, our land lord for two weeks, loomed up through the darkness. He explained to us that he was hoping to go to the Eisteddfod on Monday provided the cow in the byre had given birth, he added he would return around mid-night then every few hours after that. If by the morning he had an extra calf he would venture forth for a day of culture.

Monday brought a temporary deterioration to the weather and a visit to Pwllheli. Nip was most taken by one or two speed boats on a forecourt near the marina. We casually dropped the subject of arcs into our conversation but the proprietor seemed totally unaware of such a vessel and assured us he had no arcs, not even little ones hidden round the back, complete with integral doors for the loading of Land Rovers.  

Will got to the Eisteddfod, the calf was born around 4am, both calf and mother are doing well.