A plague of pheasants and unappealling bells

The journey from Cardigan to Eastnor took us through parts of Wales that we had never visited before. That being said, the first section up to Carmarthen was familiar enough, though even here we hit upon the unusual. By the time we reached Carmarthen we were ready for a lunch stop. As we approached a roundabout Gill noticed a picnic area sign, that's how we ended up outside the Carmarthen County Museum. It's situated in the former Archbishop of St David's palace. It's hardly palatial, rather a ramshackle, rambling mansion. But it was free, so we went inside.

We were greeted by two very helpful people at the front desk who explained the layout based on a time line that stretches from the stone-age (flint axes by the dozen) through to the 1980's (artefacts and newspapers recalling the miner's strike) In between was a cornucopia of items, all neatly labelled and displayed in traditional glass cases - none of this new-fangled, touchy feely stuff here - very much 'a museum that should be in a museum', as Dylan Thomas said of Swansea museum. Yet the place's old fashioned atmosphere was part of its charm. I particularly liked the explanation about local riots in the 1840's in protest at the cost of turnpike tolls. Under the leadership of a local yeoman who called 'herself' Rachel, groups of farmers dressed-up in women's clothing, blacked-up their faces, then armed with staves and pitchforks ran amok causing general mayhem. One problem with museums is that they can remind you that you are close to being an artefact yourself. The museum school room had cast iron fold-up desks and text books that Gill and I could remember from infant school! All in all we had a great time, then returned to Maisy for lunch and tootled-off down the road. The joys of motorhoming!

The road towards the Herefordshire border follows the river Usk, and very pleasant it is too, running along the ede of the Brecon Beacons national park. Brecon, Abergevenny and Raglan, they all looked like interesting towns. Another area to put on our 'must come back' list. Gill had already figured out from the web that the main camping field at Eastnor Castle had been closed because of events in the park and we needed to head towards somewhere called Gold Hill Farm. In the end  it was easy enough to find as the owners had placed small direction signs by the roadside. The temporary site was in a field next to the abandoned farm. The farm was a substantial place with a red, rustic brick house at the centre surrounded by beautiful old barns, all in ruins. It appeared to be used as a breeding centre for pheasants, scores of them crowded around the van as I gingerly negotiated the pot-holed track. The field itself was huge, with perhaps half a dozen other campers dotted about. It would have been idyllic, but for a biting wind that made it  chilly to sit outside.

The pheasants are in here somewhere......

Driven miles...can't be arsed to get out the van to take a photo....

Gill braves the chill  (re-defining 'chilled-out')

So much space...

Next day we headed off across the Malverns, through Upton upon Severn and stopped at Pershore. I wanted to visit a nearby National Trust property called Croome Park but we needed to find a local campsite first, which was a bit of a challenge since we'd left the UK campsite book at home. After failing to find a tourist information (closed Sundays) we decided to consult the web using our snazzy Moto mobile bought specially for moments like this.

Let the comedy begin.... The only handy wifi hotspot was in an Asda store. This required us to sign up, after which a log-in code would be sent to our mobile number by SMS. This we duly did, sitting in the Asda foyer with the abandoned dogs and a few bewildered octogenarians. Problem, I had put my iPhone number into the registration form, so the code to access the web was sent to my mobile, not the Moto. Of course there was no mobile signal in the store, so off we trotted outside to find a signal.. except first we needed to go inside the store to buy a pen and notepad as we'd left ours in the van parked half a mile away. Excellent! We now can go outside, retrieve the access code, return to the store, sit down again amongst the abandoned dogs and bewildered octogenarians, log onto the Asda website, enter our access code (hooray! it works...) click on google, click on UK camping website, click on Worcestshire - bingo! a list of nearby campsites. write down some numbers, phone-up a few (some not answering) ...finally, book into Hopyard Farm...we're just down the road the owner helpfully advised us...Oh life is so convenient and simple these days, how did we manage without the internet?

A word concerning Pershore. It is beautiful, an old market place next to an ancient abbey church, pleasant wide Georgian streets, old coaching inns - but (you just knew there was going to be a but!) when we returned to find a bank machine later in the day the place appeared to have been taken over by central casting for a new period drama. It will be an interesting production - judging from the costumes it would appear to be a subtle amalgam of The Vicar of Dibley, Keeping Up Appearances, Bertie Wooster and Morse. Persore - nice to visit, hell to live in....the sort of place that might round-up all the socialists in early November and use them as kindling for their Guy Fawkes celebrations.

Then there's the bells...We are plagued at home by the local campanologists enthusiasm for practising their ancient skills for hours on end. Gill has become very sensitive about this commenting that the odd 'bing-bong' might be acceptable, but actual peals are just a step too far. So when the abbey church's extra large and extensive set burst forth in joyous cacophony at the end of evensong, it was time to remove her from the vicinity before she went rabid, and bit the vicar.