An Oblique Angle: A walk from Pembroke to Angle or The Chalet School teachers go for a walk.

We finished the summer walking in Pembroke and, while we felt quite proud of ourselves and the distance we had covered, it left us with a gap. We had now walked from Aberystwyth to Pembroke and from Tenby to Burry Port but there was an annoying gap between the two and 'gaps' irritate. I was sufficiently irritated by it to suggest to Rhian that we filled in the gap over two weekends of walking prior to the longer summer walk which we planned to do in North Wales. She must have forgotten about Keygate because she gave in quite quickly and we booked a small chalet in Freshwater East for a few days in late February.

One of life's irritations is that I live in Lincoln. Don't misunderstand me, I love Lincoln. My Lincoln friends are marvellous and the city is delightful. It has much of the same history as York without the hordes of tourists. The irritation is because my favourite place to walk is in Wales, which the geographically aware of you will know is a long way from Lincoln. We were only planning on 2 days walking so I decided to make it a nice break by visiting family in the Rhondda and spending a night in Pembroke before meeting Rhian in the chalet.

I booked myself into the High Noon B and B. It was a great place to stay, the owner was very friendly. At the moment it is listed as permanently closed and I hope that It opens up again post Covid. In the evening I ate in the wonderful Watermans Arms pub which is situated right on the Mill Pond, opposite the castle where we had ended our previous summer's walk. The food was every bit as good as the view and a few glasses of wine meant that I walked back to the B and B in a fine mood. Watermans Arms, Pembroke | Pub and Restaurant located by the Mill Pond in Pembroke, Pembrokeshire

The next morning I woke up bright and early had an excellent breakfast and made the most of the sunny day exploring the Castle. The castle is Normal (I am assuming this is one of Helen's typing errors...) (Ha! Yes, let's leave this one in ) and is right on the river The castle never fell to the Welsh but swapped sides during the Civil War when the Parliamentarian commander John Poyer switched sides. Cromwell was understandably pissed off and besieged the castle, recaptured it and the two rebellion commanders were condemned to death. So Cromwell was really pissed off. Eventually they decided to spare one and the two men drew lots. Poyer drew the short straw. Bit of a bugger, eh? I had a happier time, returned to the cake shop we had visited in the previous summer and bought two pasties to have on our walk and drove off to Freshwater East.

This is in the central part of the castle and it has a huge map of Wales. I could cover the distance that we had walked over the years in a few minutes.

I let myself into the chalet, which was very well organised and I unpacked. Once that was done and I could delay it no longer, I wandered down to the beach because I had to go and do something stupid. This time I was going to do it on my own and didn't really want witnesses. Every time we walk we try to raise money for charity. This year I had decided to raise some money for Diabetes UK and was going to swim 22 miles in a month. I should point out that I'm not a brilliant swimmer. And this was the day that I was going to kick it all off, in the sea at Freshwater East on February the 22nd and it was 9 degrees. I took off my clothes and piled them up on the sand, Reginald Perrin like, and walked into the sea. (Fear not, readers, she was wearing a swimming costume - she hasn't become a naturist, thank goodness) The water was breathtakingly cold, astonishingly, eyewateringly cold. I could feel a strong undertow so I didn't do much swimming (yeah yeah, your excuse) but I did get a dunking and I felt that honour was served. and I squelched back up the beach I walked past a women who said, 'You must be mad!'

I told her that it was for charity and she said, 'That's excellent but you are still mad!' and I think she had a point.

I was very, very cold and I was glad to get back to the chalet, have a hot shower and a cup of tea. By the time Rhian arrived I was thawed out and had the wine chilled. She has her uses. (I'm a slave to this woman, honestly!)

The chalet itself was a little palace. It was well-equipped, small but perfectly formed. I had booked it via the internet and we were delighted with it. The site is very close to the beach and has a very welcoming club house serving food and drink, with a lounge, restaurant area, a pool table and a dart board plus outside seating area for good weather. Our landlady called in to see us and it turned out that she and her husband split their time between their chalet and home, and that her husband originally came from Bridgend.

"Oh fancy that! I exclaimed, and enquired as to where in Bridgend. She named my very street, and said that they often visited his parents there.

"What number?!" I asked.

"42", was her reply.

Well there's a there. We happen to live at 43! Not next door, however, as the house numbers in our street are odd on one side and even on the other, and number 42 is way down the far end of the street from us. Still, I love a good coincidence, me. Every time I walk past on my way to the shops I look hopefully to see if our landlord and lady are visiting, so that I can give them a jolly wave and thank them for their hospitality. It hasn't happened yet, but one day I am sure it will.

The next morning we drove to Angle, parked Rhian's car and then took mine back to Pembroke and started the walk. We headed out of the town, round the side of the castle, looking out to he other side of the river where we had walked the preceding summer. We passed the interestingly named Wogan's Cavern, which is a natural limestone cave. The first part of the walk took us through the smaller town of Monkton. We got lost, briefly, before finding the correct turning down a side street. The path took us towards the river and then twisted back in land. At our feet, spring was springing.

'You realise that we are on a tight time line to finish this walk?' said Rhian.

'Yup, I'm ahead of you and I have checked that the pub I visited last night will be showing the match'.

'Public spirited of you to visit the pub last night, Hel'

'I know. You know me, always prepared to go that extra mile. And it is a nice pub, we could have supper there as well'.

'So you tested the food too?'

'Might have done!'

'Is it any wonder we never lose any weight on these trips.'

'Quite.'

We walked on. enjoying the scenery while we could before we started the next section.

The view down to the river, shortly before the Pwllcrochan Power station. Which is well named. Pwll means pool and Crochan means boiler. There has been a power station on the site since 1968 and it is now a very efficient gas turbine site that generates electricity for 3.5 million homes. I thought that this was quite cool and offered to explain it to Rhian who refused, for some reason.

We walked past the power station and before we got to the oil refinery we walked past a disused church which is now a nature education site which seemed incongruous in amongst all the heavy industry. We rested for a bit and ate the pasties I had bought the previous day in the cake shop in Pembroke. They were excellent. Groaning a little and feeling a little stiff we got up and started to walk round the site. It was huge. Initially we walked next to the chain linked fence but the path took us down a sloping field and to the edge of the river.

Just like the other side of the river, jetties ran out into the river, to allow fuelling of the ships that moved up and down, This time we were above the pipe line and it seemed less threatening even though the day was darker and it looked as it it was going to rain.

We laughed as we walked at the idea that today we had passed a sewage works (just past Monkton), then a power station followed by an oil refinery, all in one morning- ah, the glories of the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path! As we have discovered, though, regardless of where you walk, you can always find things of interest of not always of great beauty, and we had certainly been spoiled on the beauty front since we started this venture several years before.

The oil refinery, stunning isn't it? And it was vast.

We seemed to take an age walking past it, us on one side of several fences, Mordor on the other. To give you some idea of how huge it is, there was an explosion on the site in 1994 which was so large it damaged houses in a 16 Km radius and sadly killed 26 people. It wasn't the nicest of places to walk but it was memorable and the site provides a lot of employment for the area.

At Popton Point we passed Popton Fort, a Palmerston fort constructed in 1864 and now owned by Texaco as part of their Angle Bay refinery. As we walked, the weather seemed to deteriorate. It was a grey, cold day, as you might expect in February half-term. We looked across the curve of Angle Bay to the village of Angle itself, still fairly distant. The walking was easy and in fact seemed to take us along the road that skirts the muddy bay. I had foolishly thought that Angle Bay would be stunning sight, and with the heavy industry behind us I hoped we might have a return to the more countryside aspect of the Path. But it was not to be. I'm sure that the bay might look good under a bright blue sky but the weather was getting worse and the worse. Areas of mud and sand reflecting a storm dark sky didn't make for the best of views.

We stopped for a moment, feeling the wind blowing harder from our right, and looking out to sea saw darker clouds and rain, a sheet of it, heading inland. Spots of rain began to hit us, quite hard. Our mood undaunted, we put our raincovers on our rucksacks, our hoods up zipped as far as possible, in my case to protect my glasses from the rain, and set off along the road. The wind blew harder, the rain hit us horizontally, it seemed, as we trudged in single file along the road, cursing the occasional driver who shot past, failing to offer us a lift.

It was fairly grim, and you couldn't see much of the view, obscured as it was by Welsh weather. I swear that at times we were being hit by driving rain from all directions at once. 'Tamping down' as we would say in the Rhondda. Welsh rain is in a class of its own.

After about half an hour of pretty heavy rain and a blustery wind, things began to improve. We were rounding the curve and were able, eventually, to take our hoods down. Passing Bangeston Wood we were heading towards The Hall and Home Farm and I began to feel as if I was living in an episode of The Archers. Helen, as an Archers fan, was delighted, and tried to explain to me the latest goings-on in Ambridge. I didn't listen, and was, in fact, suddenly distracted when I glanced down at my walking trousers, very wet, of course from the downpour, and noticed a very strange phenomenon. My left leg was foaming. from just above the knee. And not just a little bit. It was foaming a lot. The foam was slithering down my leg. I interrupted Helen and pointed it out. She laughed. I did too, but secretly hoped that it would stop, because it was mildly embarassing.

This was an unexpected moment of hilarity and a much welcome distraction form how cold , wet and tired I was feeling. I was walking with a woman with a foaming leg. Just the one. For some reason having one rabidly foaming leg was a lot funnier than having two. Plus the foam was arrestingly white against the dark of her walking trousers. Hard to miss, in fact, and an irresistible temptation to comment.

'You are foaming a bit, Rhi.'

'Yes'

'Why?'

I was treated to a stern bit of side eye. No answer. I couldn't resist, I just hard to carry on.

'But only one leg, Rhi. Why is only your left leg foaming?'

More side eye.

'Did you only wash one leg?' I was chancing my arm now. I was walking on the outer edge of the path and while we were not on windswept cliffs, a swift shove in the back would get me a closer dalliance with the mud and sand of Angle Bay than I really wanted, I was wet enough already.

As we walked on, the foaming stopped, and we walked up the road and into the village of Angle. I was mighty relieved that my leg had stopped as there were people around and I

didn't want to cause alarm or, more likely be a subject of ridicule for the locals out walking their dogs.

Angle is a pleasant place, and flat, which was good because I was feeling tired and a bit chilly, with those damp walking trousers making me a tad grumpy. The buildings along the main road are interesting, some surviving from Medieval times and it was a good end to the day's walk. The car was parked at West Angle Bay and we were glad to get in and make our way back to the chalet.

We were too wet and tired to go looking for the remains of the castle that had been built as a defence against the Welsh, or the medieval field systems. Even the delights of a listed Sailors Chapel in the graveyard and the graves of Japanese sailors who died offshore when their ship, the Hiranu Maru, was torpedoed during WW1 weren't enough to tempt us. I was knackered and I wanted to sit down as soon as possible. Plus we had to get to a pub to watch the rugby match. History is one thing but the Wales/England rugby match is quite another. We jumped into Rhian's new car and I was looking forward to her turning on the heating as I was really feeling the cold. She turned the engine on and with that the sounds of George Hamilton IV singing Abilene filled the car. I looked at her, stunned. I knew that she had a strange and inexcusable liking for U2 but this was quite a departure. I looked at the dash board of the car and back to her.

'What?' I started.

She cut in, waving her hand. 'Don't ask. This happens every time I start playing music on the car. It's not my choice'

'Nick's?' I asked.

''Nope. Neither of us.'

I was stunned. 'So why are we listening to it?'

'No idea. We cant find it on any of the play lists. It just comes on every time I try and play music'

'Shit. You bought a haunted car!'

'Yup'

' Bought a car haunted by George Hamilton the Fourth?'

'So it would seem.'

'Wow.'

We sat in the car, not speaking, pondering on the oddities of life that seem to infect our walking trips as the windows steamed up and we travelled back to Pembroke.

George Hamilton IV - Abilene - Bing video

We had discussed possibly going into Pembroke to eat that evening. Arriving back at the chalet, wet and weary, we were still debating the best plan. Our landlady reappeared with an unexpected present for us at this point: a brand new electric boot-dryer! What a wonderful woman! She set it up for us, and we gazed at it in wonder. Our landlady was wearing her Wales rugby shirt, because very shortly it would be kick-off, Wales V England at the Principality Stadium. She and her husband, she told us, would be down at the clubhouse watching it, and suggested that we might do the same thing. "The food's good as well," she said. It was a no-brainer - Wales V England, a pint of lager, and a burger and chips, without having to get in the car and drive anywhere! So, having showered, moaned and groaned about our aching legs and feet, and put some dry jeans and shoes on, off we went.

What a great end to the day. We found a couple of stools to perch on and enjoyed the spectacle of Wales comprehensively beating England, with a crowd of pretty partisan Welsh folk, interspersed with some rueful Englishmen and women, and partook of the lager and the calorifically comforting burger and chips. We might even have had dessert but I can't quite remember. I do know that we staggered back to the chalet and I certainly slept very soundly. I can't remember a better end to a day's walking. I didn't even mind that we had spent the day walking past power stations and oil refineries, that we had got soaking wet, that my feet were killing me or that we had to get up the next day and do it all over again. It had been an outstanding day, I had gone walking with a woman who owned rabid trousers and a haunted car, we had watched Wales triumph in the rugby and enjoyed several pints. I slept the sleep of the Just.