Penbryn

Driver Jatt

I woke up late. No biggie though. Had a lovely breakfast. Scrolling through the jobs on the app, just another morning. Then I spotted it. A pickup just two miles from home, taking a package all the way to the coast of Wales. I knew it was mine. It almost called out to me. Wales is what I need. Mentally and spiritually. I need to deliver to Gods country (shut up JaTT!).

The job was the perfect excuse. A paid reason to point the van west and watch the city fade in the mirrors.

The Drop-Off: A Package of Ink
The package itself turned out to be ink. Special printer ink, or artist’s ink, I did not ask. Just a small, dense box handled with more care than usual. I dropped it off at a cottage very close to this place, Penbryn. The chap I handed it to had only moved here last year. He was properly settled in. We got talking for a minute, and he told me which local gems to visit now I was here. This beach was top of his list.

So, a “thank you” to him. A good tip from a stranger is worth its weight.

The National Trust and a Generous Stranger
This place is looked after by the National Trust. The car park is free for members, or a fiver for non-members. I am not a member. I pulled up to the payment machine ready to cough up, and of course, it only accepts coins. Seriously. Who carries a fistful of pound coins these days? I was digging through the van ash tray for shrapnel when an older bloke walked over. He had his own ticket, already paid for, with hours left on it. “Here you go,” he said, and just handed it to me. No fuss. Stranger old man to the rescue. A small, decent thing that made the whole trip start right.

A Grey, Misty Walk
Even though the day was grey and the weather misty, I got onto the beach. The kind of mist that hangs in the air and makes everything quiet. I had a mini exploration of the area, and the small, albeit deep-ish caves cut into the cliffs. You could hear the sea echoing inside them, a proper low rumble. It was empty. Just me, the gulls, and the thick Welsh air.

I will let the pics do the talking. They captured the mood better than I can describe it. That washed-out, peaceful grey.

But that is the magic of it. A late start, a random job delivering ink to a creative type by the sea, a tip from a client, a kindness from a stranger, and an hour to yourself on a vast, empty beach before the long drive back to Birmingham. The job gets you there. The rest is up to you.