A Sunny Mess (The Wait)

'Shall we draw a little lighthouse in the middle of the poster to give it an artistic look?' Asked Gwyn inbetween mouthfuls of a cheese and pickle sandwich.
We were again sitting around the table trying to decide on a design for the posters. Gwyn had already sketched a small lighthouse on scrap paper, which looked more like a dalek from Dr Who than anything else.
I gave it a quizzical look. 'Erm, no best keep it simple eh Gwyn?' I said hiding my amusement in a suggestion.
He looked down at his drawing. 'Its not that bad. Im not that Money chap you know.'
I turned to him suddenly. 'Who?'
'The French bloke mun! The one with a big beard who painted smudgy pictures.'
His comic descriptions always had a childlike innocence which never failed to raise a chuckle. I coughed a laugh into my hand. 'You mean Monet?'
Gwyn clicked his bony finger and thumb. 'Thats the chap! Im not Moonie you know.'
'Nevertheless,' I went on not wishing to confuse him further. 'I still think we ought keep it simple. Just print the name of the walk in big letters with the starting point of the tour and my telephone number underneath.'
My friend looked disappointed. 'What time should we begin the walk?' He asked. I was forever decision maker.
'Oh about ten o' clock say. We'll be back by tea then.'
'Long walk,' he said as he began stenciling the words on paper.
We had made twenty posters between us during the afternoon. Four too many I thought as I counted the shops in my head. By the time tea time had come around Gwyn and I had put posters in the windows of every shop and pub, with the exception of 'Modern' Megan, so called because of her dislike of 'new fangled technics' as she'd put it.
Megan had run the bakery since before the invention of sellotape, and was proud of the fact that she didn't sell pizza in her shop. Neither it seemed did she approve of tourists because when Id asked if I could put a poster in her window, her reply was 'no bach, im sorry but I don't want people in sunglasses ordering strange food in funny accents and confusing me.' I left the shop with a slight taste of insanity on my lips.
In the evening Gwyn and I called in our local pub, The Needle and Haystack, which some wag had once said was so called because finding a sober man within its portals was a similar task.
It was an old fashioned Inn with low oak beams on the ceiling and walls, to which photographs of Tref Y Ceiliog in olden times were nailed. Along with brass spoons, tassled trumpets and a gleaming Welsh dragon in pride of place above the bar.
Caradog the landlord, was the proudest of Welshmen and every morning before opening time he would polish the dragon while singing 'Calon Lan' in his booming tenor.
'Two pints of the usual please Caradog.' I asked, looking around the pub. It was quiet but it always was in the Haystack. It seemed time stood still within the confines of its stone walls, where here and there empty bottles had been cemented in but were too dark to reflect on anything but memories of long ago.
'Ive got one of your posters behind the bar!' Caradog informed me as he poured the pints. 'Good idea, a bit more custom for us publicans and shopkeepers if it draws visitors. Mind you I do enjoy the peace and quiet.' He added as if a second thought had changed his mind.
'Yes, although Megan in the bakery doesn't agree.' I said adding, 'she isn't too keen on funny accents as she put it.'
'She's one to talk,' Caradog chuckled as he handed me the delicious looking drinks. 'Her father was from Birmingham!'

** **

The following morning saw Gwyn and myself reading various papers, waiting for the telephone to bring our first customers.
'The town council is thinking of renovating the harbour it says here.' My partner in crime announced from behind the local paper. 'Lets hope they don't start straight away or it won't be boats our grockles will see, but a load of bulldozers and men asleep on shovels!' He chortled to himself.
He had little respect for any council matters and I knew what was coming next.
'Did you know they left my granny without warm water for two weeks?'
'Aye' I replied quietly to his near legendary gripe with officialdom.
'Two weeks!' He repeated. 'Her bloody kettle was worn out from being used so often, idle buggers.'
I put my paper down. 'Well if it took them that long to sort out that little problem I shouldn't think we need to worry about them starting on a new harbour for at least five years.' I reasoned.
Gwyn looked out from his paper. 'Oh the bigwigs look after themselves,' he warned. 'Its us, the little people who suffer.'
I was just about to explain that a new harbour would benefit the entire community when the telephone rang.
'Ah that'll be our first Marco Polos!' He trumpeted.
I hesitated for a second or two, wondering how I should answer. Should I adopt a different tone or keep my usual West Walian one? I opted for the former and picked up the phone.
'Hello, Roundabout Walkabout short walks. How may I help you?' My heart went out to secretaries the world over.
'Ah hello,' said the caller. 'I do have the correct number I hear. I see you are doing guided tours of the area, and since my wife and I are holidaying here I was wondering how one should book places on the walk?'
The voice was clearly cultured, posh as Gwyn would say, and its enquiry about booking places took me by suprise.
I looked into the phone cradle. 'Booking isn't necessary sir, just turn up at the starting point stated on the poster and we go on from there.' I was beginning to feel uneasy.
'I see,' continued the voice. 'And the starting point is at a monument opposite a garden of rememberance?'
'Yes thats right, if you have any trouble finding it just ask someone, you'll find the locals are very helpful around here.'
I looked at Gwyn who was standing beside me wearing a broad smile.
'I think I know the place,' said the man. 'If im not mistaken we are staying in a bed and breakfast just down the road from it. Its a monument dedicated to Amelia Earhart isn't it?'
Sudden relief washed over me. 'Thats it. We commence our walk from there at ten o' clock this friday.' I felt as if I were speaking to the invisible man. 'If I could have your names I'll note them in my book so that we don't have any mix ups.'
'Its Crenshaw', stated the voice. 'Brian and Doreen Crenshaw. And thers Grayson of course.'
A dog coming along would not be a problem I thought as I jotted the names on a memo pad on the table.
'I think the country air will do him good. Its not healthy for a twelve year old to be stuck in front of a computer screen all day.'
The penny dropped like a brick.
'Oh you're brining your son along too?'
'Yes yes. That won't be a problem will it?' He asked as if detecting something in my voice.
'No not at all, children are quite welcome!' I said quickly.
'Very well then, we'll see you on friday.'
I was about to put the reciever down when the voice piped up again.
'Oh one last thing..'
All kinds of'last things' ran through my mind.
'Is it three pounds each or...'
'Yes thats right,' I cut him off swiftly. Gwyn had already knocked two pounds off the original five.
'Right you are then, my family and I shall see you on friday. Goodbye.'
'Goodbye.' I said it more to myself than anyone else.
As soon as I had put the phone down Gwyn pounced. 'Annwyl Duw! What was all that chatter about? You sounded like Enoch Powell mun!'
I fell back into my chair. 'You can answer the next one.'
'No fear, I can't talk like that! Anyway what did the person sound like?'
I gave him what little information I had.
'They sound like part of the green wellington brigade to me. Ych Y fi.' He spat.
'I don't care what they are as long as they're paying.'
'Why did you say children were welcome?' It was as if he'd been put on death duty.
'Look at it as an extra three quid.' I urged.
'Yes but we're not babysitters mun!'
'Its hardly babysitting, the child is twelve for Heavens sake. And anyway his parents will be the ones looking after him.' I pointed out.
That seemed to reassure him and I glanced at my watch which had just reached afternoon..
'Do you fancy a beer?' I asked getting up from my chair.
'Aye, think I need one.' Came the reply.
I fetched two cans of Felinfoel Ale from the fridge.
'Ah! Chilled to perfection!' Gwyn smiled, clasping the tin with two eager paws. 'This will be like an angel dancing on my tongue!'
We opened our cans and drank to our first customers.
'This is the finest beer you can get.' Remarked Gwyn inbetween swigs. 'If there's two things that us Welsh have mastered, its song and ale!' He loudly claimed.
We sat in silence for a while. I kept wondering about Brian and Doreen, and about how many more people would call.
'Friday!' Shouted my friend suddenly as if he'd been sharp shocked. 'You told that bloke the walk was on friday!'
'So?' I asked calmly.
'Why didn't you say it was next tuesday or something?'
I was beginning to think a madness had washed over him.
'What difference does it make Gwyn?'
'This!' He waved his dribbling can in the air. 'Friday is our drinking day, always has been mun!.'
'Every day is our drinking day.' It didn't put him off.
'Yes but not like friday. We go over the top and round the bend on friday. So why did you have to say friday?' He repeated.
I understood his concern; our friday nights in the Haystack had become special, when even the shine on bottles guided us home but the walk was during the day.
'We'll be back by a decent enough time to have a drinking session.' I reassured him. 'And we can take a four pack with us on the walk.'
'Drinking on the job you mean?'
'We'll hardly be drunk on four.' I finished my can.
The suggestion of bringing ale along seemed to settle him.
Friday would prove to be an interesting day.