Finire Fabulam...

Also in Cardiff I visited the Museum of Welsh Life, a 103 acre outdoor museum of transplanted traditional Welsh edifices, be they farmhouses, blacksmiths, churches, or barns. In one of the houses, dating from the 1700s and decorated accordingly, I met Geraint Bowyer, a bright-eyed Welshman who spoke in Received Pronunciation, as he had travelled widely about the UK, though in his cor cordium he was fiercely Welsh, advocating complete independence politically from the UK, however presumably not the Commonwealth and thus the just-terminated Commonwealth Games, though I did not press him on this point. Instead, we discussed the state of the Welsh language, culture, and politics for half and hour, then I left to continue exploration (incompletely by leptochrone necessity) of the Museum of Said Life.

My nights in Cardiff despite the previously professed knowledge of extant nocturnal revelry were calm, watching the movies played in the evening at the hostel such as About a Boy and Meaning of Life. On Tuesday, I took the train back to Bristol for a blessedly short stay of two hours before departing for Camilla's Duchy.