Visit Hay(-on-Wye) while the sun shines

A badly timed rave was happening several fields away from our tent. It reverberated incongruously during the night and into Sunday afternoon. How does a rave come to an end? Does a raver spot his or her reflection, and get jolted into reality at looking haggard after dancing and not eating for 48 hours straight?

We went to sleep chilly but woke up toasty. Camp chef grilled some delicious bacon and scrambled some beautiful eggs and we uttered our best hopes for the changeable weather, which the English-Welsh border has a lot of. I hadn't realised we were camping at the edge of the Black Mountains area of the Brecon Beacons. The weather was passable for the morning and it only tipped it down as we finished the loop. The views across the countryside of yellowing fields, fat hedgerows, isolated cottages and wild (semi-wild?) ponies were stunning. We did some clichéd yoga moves on rocks along the delightful Cat's Back. I'm out of practice and feared falling into the valleys on either side.

We parted ways in Hereford after a refreshment at a very hipster cafe on the river, and a stroll around town. Hereford has a lot of large churches, but aside from that I imagine it is highly prized by pollsters as the perfect embodiment of Middle England. For the second day running a train I was booked on was cancelled so I doglegged through South Wales and had to wait around at Newport. The rain was teeming and the city looked entirely decrepit as Welsh blasted out over the tannoy and I couldn't figure out which sodding platform I needed. I really feel like today has been perfect fodder for a Bill Bryson book.

During the return train journey through London I heard Khmer being spoken on the tube. Loved it.