A Sunny Mess (The Idea)

A Sunny Mess

The Idea

'Roundabout Walkabout' short walks seemed a good but scruffy idea. I knew the town well but an idea surrounded by bright lights, well sometimes the lights can dazzle the idea.
'You're mad.' Gwyn had told me. 'Its not a bad idea as it stands, Tref Y Ceiliog has some wonderful little spots for tourists but they won't look too wonderful if we are going to be their guides.'
Gwyn and I had been friends for years, longer than I could recall. We shared shared a detention in school together, he did my hundred lines and I did his. He was a trusted friend but not a great boost in the confidence department, and a born again worrier.
'Look, we both know the town well.' I assured him. 'We've lived here all our lives.'
'Spent most of it in the pub.' He muttered.
It was true enough, the only knowledge I had of the town was through listening to drunk old men spitting into the local brew of times when chocolate was aluxury and bad things never done.
Tref Y Ceiliog was a small fishing town with a population of too many. The heart of the place was the main street lined with shops and pubs, the road began from nowhere and led to everywhere. Every day people would bubble along, yapping away and bumping into one another. It was quietly busy, honest yet rogueish.
Gwyn and I were sitting around a table in my living room discussing the idea of a walking tour for visitors, to keep our empty pockets full.
There was an echo always in this room, and when Gwyn spoke in his loud, rich Welsh voice, he sounded like a preacher in full swing at his pulpit.
'Look and have some sense.' He told me, turning the pages of a local guide to points of no interest. 'The harbour is our main attraction, the shops we have might as well be empty. And what do we know of the harbour? Duw its cold in here!' He said suddenly changing the subject and rubbing his hands.
How he could have been cold in the middle of July I shall never know, but that was him all over.
'We can read up on it,' I told him turning on a small gas fire. 'Tourists won't want to know every little detail, its the sights they want. Food for their cameras.'
Gwyn looked uncertain. 'We have to tell them something mun! We can't just march them down the harbour, show them the lighthouse and expect money. Which is another point,' he went on. 'How much are we going to charge for this stroll?'
'Five pounds each.' I replied.
Gwyn looked at me and then at a photo of the harbour in the guide. 'Five pounds!' He nearly exploded. 'You're joking surely? You can't expect grockles to pay five quid for a bit of useless information and a look at some boats.'
Grockles was his word for tourists which he'd picked up from another sea side village.
I thought it over for a second. 'Okay maybe fives a bit steep, how about three pounds?' I asked, 'If we make it any less it won't be worth doing at all.' I searched his eyes for approval.
'Aye alright, im with you. Although I don't think anyone will come mind.'
'So its settled then?' I said brushing his doubts aside. 'We'll put adverts in shop windows announcing to people "Roundabout Walkabout" short walks.'
'Aye.' Gwyn looked at the gas fire on maximum heat. 'Duw its warm in here.'