Babbling

Tenby With Rhys Jones

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This post has been somewhat delayed…

Last week, hubby and I abandoned our children with my mother and gallivanted off to Tenby for the night, to celebrate the fact that at the end of the month, our friend Rhys Jones is turning thirty (the last of us to do so).

When I go anywhere, I take lots of photos. It’s a combination of things; something my father always did when I was a child, but also something I enjoy doing as I like being able to look back at them and relive the memories.
However, there was much teasing from a Mr Jones, along the lines of
“Oh God, are you blogging about this?!”
“Well I am now!”
But that was only in retaliation to his jibes, I had no intention of blogging about our trip to Tenby

And yet here I am, blogging about my trip to Tenby. Why? Because on Thursday Rhys lamented that despite it being a week since our escapades, I still hadn’t blogged about Tenby.

So here you go Jones.

 

 

My excitement levels were at a dangerous capacity. I hadn’t had a night away from my children in over two years, and I have never had the opportunity to enjoy the nightlife of Tenby before. But perhaps more than either of those, I was looking forward to going to Cofion.
Cofion is a second hand bookshop, tucked away in Tenby. It’s a tiny shop where the books are stacked on top of each other; it has it’s own one way system as it is so narrow. I hadn’t been here since before I had children; it’s not the kind of shop you can fit a pram through. Or a child for that matter.
After what I judged was a safe enough time following meeting up with our friends and demolishing a hot chocolate, Becky and I sneaked off to Cofion while the boys went to Tenby’s microbrewery.
Cofion was closed.
Closed.

The door was plastered with adverts and notices, one reading “open at 11.30″, another reading “Back at 3pm“. It being 12.30, we were confused but consoled that we’d return after 3.
When we returned at 3.30pm, it was mystifyingly still closed; so we decided to drown our sorrows in cocktails instead (a Long Caldey Island that packed quite the punch)

 

Tenby is a beautiful town; the original town positively reeks of character. It has embraced tourism as its natural calling in life, so it would be an absolute nightmare to live here permanently; but the medieval town walls still surround it, you can walk around the ruins of the castle, and you can visit the  Napoleonic fort (picture ringing a bell? Sherlock was filmed there, it’s where his sister was imprisoned). It also has a pub (The Lifeboat) whose bar is a boat. An actual boat. With a lovely barman who will reenact The Titanic for blogging purposes.

The night was a great success; cocktails were joyfully consumed, we remortgaged our house to fund one of the most delicious meals I’d ever eaten, and games were even played (we’re a resourceful bunch of boardgamers).
But it was all tinged slightly for me with the disappointment that Cofion had been shut, and the promising sounding “Tenby Bookshop” was in fact a gift shop with a side of books (not even a fantasy section?!)

The next day, Tenby redeemed itself as, oh glorious wonders! Cofion was open! The whims of secondhand bookshop owners are not mine to question, I gratefully sidestepped into the shop and froze in horror.
It had grown.
The books had bred, they’d overflowed their shelves and constraints and pressed up against you and towered over your head. They leaned against each other, seeking comfort and support in their ramshackle abandonment.
I squeezed myself into the shop, fear of becoming assimilated with the books guiding my caution as I tried to make room for Becky. I despaired for these books, my heart breaking more for the ones behind that had been left to the dark and the damp. I rescued a Bernard Cromwell and Le Morte D’Arthur (what a find!) and escaped to the fresh air.

Hubby and I wandered a little more before confronting the looming presence following us; responsibility. We said our goodbyes (Rhys Jones was staying another night in Tenby, his sorrow at turning thirty not sufficiently drowned in one night) and headed back east to reality and hangovers.

If you would like to know more about Tenby, places to stay and visit in the area, please visit this excellent resource.

 

3 thoughts on “Tenby With Rhys Jones

    1. Tenby was I young was always the same thing, we’d wonder around some of the shops, go to the chip shop, maybe look at the harbour, then go home.
      Whereas Rhys and his family would “do” Tenby quite differently, he had favourite places to eat and everything (I’d only ever eaten at the one place) so it was fantastic to spend the day there in someone else’s perspective?

      Like

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