Orphan arch

It was back to grey today with barely a glimmer of sunlight. To counteract the tedium of Saturday in Fishguard, when the town empties as people go to shop elsewhere, I spent a few hours walking in the limbo that exists between it and the adjacent community of Goodwick. It's a tangled, marshy valley which once was a smuggler's escape route from the beach to the high road but is now a patchwork of copses, pony paddocks, chicken runs, tumbledown sheds and a few scattered houses of diverse ages, The sort of area where thieves dump their unwanted spoil and truanting teenagers experiment with sex and drugs in the undergrowth, Badgers, foxes and rabbits breed undisturbed until flushed out by ill-disciplned dogs. Abandoned cars and caravans surrender to brambles and ivy.
This old bridge was one of my favourite discoveries. I blipped it once before, describing how it came to be here, barely visible and spanning nothing more than a stream. The planned railway track that should have passed underneath never came into being after work  stopped at the outbreak of the Great War and the labourers trooped off to be mown down in the trenches. The bridge still stands a century later, solid and immense but carrying just a lane above and sheltering a ramshackle collection of firewood and rural junk below.
I walked on down the old embankment of the never-completed line and came out eventually at the sea. On the way I spotted a Caturday cat hunting in the grass, see extra pic.