Our flat had a blender stick thing so we decided to make leek and potato soup to mark our stay in The Principality. Oddly the gadget had a two-pin plug and our only two pin socket was for shavers, thus this unlikely picture:
Interesting beers proved difficult to find. The Queens Head, just a few hundred yards away, had a dull Brains beer called Buckleys Best and one guest ale whose name I have forgotten, glad I only had a half.
We drove out to Bishopston to sample Swansea Brewery beers at the Joiners Arms one lunchtime. But it was shut so we went into another bar and I had a pint of Reverend James (a dark beer from Brains) which was OK. Saw bottles of Cwrw Haf, from Thomas Watkins brewery in the municipal market, but forgot to go back and buy some. Its a fine beer, translates as Summer Ale, and is more interesting than the Speckled Hen I ended up buying from the corner grocer.
The No Sign Wine Bar had provided interesting beers on previous trips to Swansea, but this time struggled, offering a dark Hobgoblin beer, more Rev James and, my choice, ‘Win on the Dogs’ from the Cottage Whippet brewery. Malty and darkish, but OK.
The same bar became our dinner venue on Wednesday, when the 4 of us plus Head of the National Waterfront Museum, Steph Mastoris sat at a window table to watch the activity of a midweek clubbing night in Swansea. It was quiet when we entered at 8pm, but 4 police officers were stationed in the middle of the road by 9pm, and the young folk began to gather soon after. Groups of girls and boys separately, none of them apparently aware just how cold it was. Startlingly high heels and cobbled streets don’t go well together, though combined with tiny tight skirts they offer fascinating scenery. For variety a young man dropped his trousers to reveal a sign reading ‘Kiss me, its my birthday’. We smiled and waved, he gave us a thumbs up sign before hoisting trousers and moving on.
Steph told us that on Friday and Saturday nights the Council bring portable urinals onto the street to limit more open-range urination. Wind Street, for that is its name, also provided a photo opportunity. A grubby and battered alley named Salubrious Passage! Even less so on a Friday or Saturday night me-thinks.