Amlyss

Nowt to do with nowt but I was thinking on my way down to the nearby beach at lunchtime that Under The Skin may not only be the best film I’ve seen this year, but also the best book I’ve read and, and, and Mica Levi’s soundtrack for said film may well be the finest album I’ve heard as well. Certainly the scariest.

Anyway, after a morning of pancakes and Tour De France catch-up I made the trek down the hill to Traeth Bychan with a rucksack full of drawing stuff, camera gear, flask and bara brith only to arrive at precisely the time of high tide and there was barely a square inch of sand to walk on. No worries I thought, I’ll sit on one of the benches by the wall and look at the sea for a bit (like looking out of the window, time spent gazing out to sea is never time wasted after all) and as the tide goes out a little I’ll find somewhere suitable to mooch. And then a very heavy drizzle came in and made my planned activities nigh on impossible, so after ten minutes of might-only-be-a-shower-optimism it was a trudge back up the hill to dry out and refocus for the afternoon…

Well, if there’s any afternoon where the general inclemency makes staying indoors and taking advantage of live Tour De France coverage virtually compulsory it may as well be on Bastille Day. A great stage to catch as it happened – Contador’s abandonment, Nibali’s sprint off the front, the sterling efforts of Martin and Rodriguez, ahhh, fanastic stuff. Went out for a wee trip down to Red Wharf Bay afterwards. The sea was out a mile, the wind was blowing a gale but the centuries-old Ship Inn served good food and, unsurprisingly, beer as well.

Music, on today of all days, summat French.