I Hate it When a Plan Falls Apart

In which The Author is at home

This afternoon, I should have been on the way to Victoria Coach Station in London, in time for the 1830 departure to Cardiff. Instead, I'm in Aberdare. It's a long story, so let's start at the beginning.

In November 2012, I had the great pleasure and privilege of recording a heat of Brain of Britain, the long-running general knowledge quiz, for BBC Radio 4. (I told you the whole story of my trip to Manchester – and its disappointing epilogue – in It's Grand Oop North.) I didn't progress any further in the 2012–3 series, and there's a five-year embargo before one can enter again. Thus it was that I logged on to the BBC website in the summer of 2018 and requested an application form once the new series went into pre-production.

As before, the audition took the form of a phone call, on the afternoon of 29 November 2018. I'll admit that I wasn't exactly prepared for it. In fact, I was in the Glosters after an old friend's funeral, nursing a pint and enjoying some memories of our time together. But I took the phone into the lounge, chatted to the production assistant for a while, and managed to pull out some answers and make a few guesses. I must have done all right, because a few weeks later I had an email confirming my place in the next series. The recording was scheduled for the end of January 2019. They booked my hotel for me, and I'd sorted out my coach ticket as soon as the dates were pinned down. The game, it seemed, was afoot.

A few days before I was due to travel, I was struck by the flu virus that had taken most of Aberdare out during the preceding couple of weeks. I emailed the BBC from my bed, apologising that I probably wouldn't be well enough to make the journey. Even if I had made a miraculous recovery over the weekend, I wouldn't have given my best performance on the evening. It seemed I wasn't alone, because a number of contestants and a few of the production team had also been off sick. Unfortunately, my heat was one of the last to be scheduled, so I couldn't even swap with someone else and go up later. Instead, they offered to keep my place open for the following season.

By the time Xmas 2019 rolled around, I was starting to wonder if they'd forgotten about me. A good few of my friends had asked whether I'd heard anything from the BBC. It crossed my mind to drop them a line, to be on the safe side. But I didn't need to bother. As soon as everyone went back to work in January, I had an email asking if I was still interested in taking part. I told Lizzie, the production assistant, that I definitely was interested, and a few days later she confirmed my recording date: 2 March, in London. Soon after that she confirmed my hotel booking. It was right around the corner from the British Museum – perfect, because I wanted to check out the exhibition on the Trojan War on the Tuesday. I booked the coach the same morning and started making plans for the rest of the Tuesday. Today, in other words …

On 15–16 February, Storm Dennis came along and wrecked much of South Wales, including Pontypridd town centre and a fair section of the Valleys. Needless to say, public transport was particularly badly affected, with railway lines flooded and bus services cancelled. In fact, it took until last Wednesday (26 February) for the trains to start running from Aberdare to Pontypridd again. A half-hearted and chaotic Replacement Bus Service had tried to plug the gap in the meantime. My friends didn't have anything positive to report about the emergency provision, so I was already dubious about the idea of travelling any great distance. Can you imagine getting off the bus in Pontypridd and running up the steps just in time to see the Cardiff train pulling away from the platform? It happened to a few people I know. Then you'd have to get off the train at Cathays and force a path through the crowd on the footbridge to Park Place, undoubtedly in time to see the London coach pulling away from the stop about 50 m away. I wasn't optimistic.

Last Thursday lunchtime, the weather forecast gave a yellow warning in advance of Storm Jorge, which was – apparently – due to hit Wales on Saturday morning. Call me pessimistic if you like, but I emailed Lizzie and said I might not be able to travel up on Monday after all. I explained about the fuck-ups with the Replacement Bus Service over the previous fortnight and outlined the possible situation in Cardiff. Lizzie replied shortly afterwards; she'd seen the forecast herself and thought I might be right. She said she'd try and contact the other contestants to see if anyone could swap with me, and offered me an alternative date in April as a Plan B.

In the end, Storm Jorge arrived early. By Friday afternoon the roads around Aberdare were in chaos and the newly reintroduced train service was at a standstill. Again.

A gang of us from the National Tap were meant to be travelling to Chepstow on the Friday evening, for a 'tap takeover' at the Queen's Head. I phoned the bus company and we agreed that we were doing the right thing by pulling the plug on the trip. (Incidentally, our trip to the Brecon Tap in January fell apart as well. Everyone thought someone else was organising the bus. In the event, no one did. That's 0 from 2.)

Then Transport for Wales announced that there'd been a landslide on the railway line between Mountain Ash and Abercynon. Apparently it took ages to sort out a Replacement Bus Service – to the extent that my pal Martyn E. bit the bullet and slept in the pub where he works as a chef.

I emailed Lizzie just before close of play on Friday to update her. She got back to me straight away. Unfortunately, they hadn't found anyone who was able to swap recording dates with me. Instead, they're holding my place open for next year. Sound familiar?

Who knows what fun the Goddess of Chaos will have in the run-up to the next recording date? Watch this space …

The Doctor Won't See You Now

In which The Author has a surprise tour

If you've read Trains and Boats and Planes, you'll remember my last excursion in search of the Last of the Time Lords. That impromptu day trip to Barry came about because a friend gave me a tip-off ('on very good authority') that the BBC would be filming Doctor Who that morning. In the event, I failed to find Peter Capaldi or Jenna Coleman, but I made the most of a sunny day and went exploring instead.

This morning I had an email from Geoff E. – oddly enough, the father of my previous 'snout'. He'd heard on the grapevine that the BBC had set up a temporary base at Penderyn, and that the little car park and lay-by were full of location crew. Unfortunately I only picked the email about thirty seconds before the (hourly) bus to the village left Aberdare. I emailed him back, wondering if it was worth making a special trip for what might conceivably be nothing.

He emailed me back, suggesting that they might be filming at St Cynog's Church. After all, they filmed a story ('The Hungry Earth' / 'Cold Blood') at St Gwynno's Church in Llanwynno a few years ago (see Frustrations of a Solitary Walker). The medieval limestone church at Penderyn, high on a hillside above the village and with superb views across the dramatic Brecon Beacons, would indeed be an exciting location. If nothing else, there's a memorial in the graveyard that you definitely don't want to blink near.

I did some work on yet another project to kill time, and jumped on the 1330 bus. I got to Penderyn just after 2.00, jumped off outside the Lamb Hotel, and made a beeline for the church. On the way through the village, I'd seen a host of trucks and vans near the community centre. Since Church Road is quite narrow (single track, pretty much) and there's nowhere else to park up, it seemed likely that they'd had to haul their gear up from there.

It didn't take me long to walk up the hill from the pub. I was expecting to see the entire area taped off, and security people patrolling the perimeter. (Maybe even my old pal Jimmy N., who does some security contracts for BBC Wales.) Instead, the whole place looked like the buffet at the Dippy Bint's wedding reception: not a sausage. I can't say I was particularly surprised, but I was a bit disappointed.

I was, however, pleasantly surprised to find the door of the Red Lion wide open. It's one of those country pubs that keeps odd hours; I can't remember the last time they coincided with a visit to the village. I went in and was greeted by a very pleasant young barbint. I told her I was quite surprised to find the place open, and she told me that they closed at 3.00. I also told why I was there. It was news to her, so I guessed then that the BBC hadn't been anywhere near the top of the hill. I had time for a can of Pepsi, so I warmed myself by the wood-burning stove and admired the work that's been done on the interior.

As well as retaining its traditional layout and cosy atmospheres, the extension to the side and back now contains sizeable dining areas. I didn't look at the menu, but I'm sure that the prospect of a good meal will make the pub even more of a magnet for tourists exploring the southern edge of the national park. If it wasn't so far off the beaten track – and totally inaccessible by public transport in the Twilight Zone – I'd suggest it to friends for a pre-Xmas treat. Never mind, that's South Wales in 2016 for you.

It had started to drizzle when I left the pub, so I headed down Church Road and emerged just above the community centre. There were more trucks in the packed car park, one of which bore the logo of a location catering company. Further along were at least three from a film & tv rigging company, two from a special effects company, and one specialist scaffolding rigging firm. Say what you like about the BBC, but they certainly don't travel light.

I wondered if by any chance they were filming on the old mineral line, so I crossed the road and had a little peek down there. Nothing. I made my way back to the community centre, and spotted my friends Gwyn and Joyce converging on the line of vehicles. It turned out that we had the same idea. They'd decided to go in search of the action, in the hope of including something in Clochdar, our local Welsh language newsletter. We spotted a crew member leaving one of the vehicles, so Joyce buttonholed him and explained why were we lurking around with a camera (in my case) and a tablet (in Gwyn's). He was very cagey about the exact site where they were working, understandably. If word had got out, the valley's schools would have been empty within minutes and the next bus to Penderyn would have looked like an Indian railway carriage. All he said was that were 'on the mountain up on the right' – which didn't give us a lot to go on. Apparently, they'd had use 4 × 4s to get their gear up. That didn't sound very promising.

Gwyn and Joyce decided to stroll back down the mineral line. I offered to send them some photos if I did come across the film crew, and headed towards Cwm Cadlan. I think I've only ever been across Cwm Cadlan at night (see Night Terrors), but I knew it was a bloody long way from the upper Cynon Valley to the reservoir on the Taff. I decided to walk for a mile or so, and if I didn't spot any sign of activity I'd turn back and grab a pint in the Lamb. I set off along the single track road between the fields, aware that I was heading towards grey clouds. A few minutes later it started to rain. I was debating whether or not to press on when I heard a car approaching from behind. I stepped onto the narrow verge to let it pass, and then heard a familiar voice.

'Where are you off, then?'

I looked in through the open window and laughed. It was none other than Huw F.

We'd had a similar idea, to make the most of the weather before winter really sets in. Like me, Huw has exhausted pretty much all the local walks, but he's started exploring further afield. He was just out for a drive; he knew nothing of the BBC presence in the village. When I told him why I was there, he offered to drive around so we could search for the elusive Time Lord. It seemed like a half-decent plan, so I jumped in and we carried on eastwards.

Cwm Cadlan winds through farmland and then climbs towards open moorland, where pylons, flocks of sheep and thick stands of pine trees provide the only signs of contemporary human activity. In spite of this, Huw told me that he'd recently found the remains of some prehistoric roundhouses. I knew they were marked on the OS map, but I'd never been far enough along the road to search for them. You need a car to go exploring off the beaten track, unfortunately, or else you're in for the long haul.

We drove the length of Cwm Cadlan without spotting any sign of extraterrestrial activity, though. Huw suggested that they might be filming on the dam on the reservoir, so we decided to check it out. There was no sign of life there either, so we headed north on to the A470 and then took the A4059 back towards Penderyn. It was still fairly cloudy and grey, but the sun was breaking through to the west and the south. I'd forgotten just what spectacular views you get when you're on that road, so it was a very pleasant change to go across the top for once.

Huw suggested that the BBC might have packed up early because of the weather, which seemed quite plausible. However, when we reached the minor road leading to Ystradfellte, there were a number of vehicles in the lay-by and parked up on the verge. Huw decided to explore that option, in case they were around the village. It was just possible that the heavy presence in Penderyn was just a red herring, after all. He swung the car around in the entrance to a farm, and we hit the minor road.

We hadn't gone far when a car coming uphill blocked our progress along the single track. Huw had to reverse for a couple of hundred metres to a small passing place; meanwhile, another car had come along, so we had to sit tight while they both passed us. A few minutes later, we had to pull in to allow a tractor to pass us. It's actually no wonder Ystradfellte doesn't have a bus service, when you consider what the access roads are like. (See Further Up the River.)

We swung past the church and the New Inn (which took about ten seconds) and took the road towards Pontneddfechan. On the way, I told Huw about Helen from Servini's, and her attempt to set up a dating agency a couple of weeks ago (see A Quick Single). He could fully understand why I never go to the New Inn; if you don't have a car, it makes the Red Lion look like it's in the middle of Piccadilly Circus.

From there we drove to Pontneddfechan. It's only now I've done that journey in a car that I can appreciate the distance I walked on my previous couple of explorations. If nothing else, our outdoor hiking trips keep us fit. We drove through Glynneath to get some petrol, and looped back to Aberdare.

I may have drawn another blank on my quest to find the TARDIS and its crew, but I had some welcome fresh air before the weather breaks, caught up with some old friends, found some possible walks for the spring, and established a new watering hole for a future date. It was much more fun than sitting in the library and listening to the Debating Society, that's for sure.