Aberaeron Beach. A Grey Day & Hot Chips!

Driver Jatt

Aberaeron Beach. A Grey Day & Hot Chips!

Well, it was wet. Grey. Miserable but not cold. It wasn’t warm either. Just non-sunny, t-shirt weather. The kind of day where the sky and the sea decide to have a competition in shades of sludge.

This, as any right-thinking person knows, is perfect fish and chips by the sea weather. The grey just makes the vinegar taste sharper.

I ended up here because I was dropping off a cannister of industrial gearbox oil to a workshop nearby. The kind of job that leaves a faint, greasy smell in the van. After handing it over, the sea was right there. So I went.

A Snapshot by the Sea
Here I was at Aberaeron Beach. And I saw a scene that summed it all up. An old couple in their very expensive-looking campervan. The side door was ajar, and they were just sitting there, sipping their tea, staring out at the endless grey sea. No fanfare. Just tea and a view. Wholesome moment or what.

Behind their campervan, almost camouflaged in the palette of misery, was a guy sitting with his fishing gear. Rod out, patient as a statue, waiting for a catch the sea probably forgot about. He was part of the scenery.

I didn’t explore this place. It was too grey, too still for exploring. So I did the other thing. I sat by the sea, on a damp bench, and enjoyed my piping hot fish and chips. Mushy peas on one side, curry sauce on the other. The perfect, steaming contrast to the world.

The Most Important Rule
The most important thing about being a courier is to enjoy yourself.

People think it’s about speed, or routes, or logistics. And it is, for most of the hours. But it’s also about this. It’s about the ten minutes you carve out between dropping off gearbox oil in a workshop and starting the long drive back to Birmingham. It’s about sitting on a damp bench with a paper parcel of hot food, watching other people have their quiet moments. The job puts you in these places the greasy workshops and the pretty coves and if you don’t stop to have the chips, you’re just a satellite navigation system with legs.

The motorway will always be there. The M5 isn’t going anywhere. But a grey day by the Welsh coast with decent chips? That’s a timed event. The old couple in the campervan knew it. The fisherman knew it. And for ten minutes, with salt and vinegar in the air, I knew it too.

Then I balled up the paper, got back in the van that still smelled faintly of gear oil, and got on with the miles. But I was better for the stop.