Solstice Silliness

In which The Author has a random afternoon in Llantrisant

A couple of months ago, I signed up to become a platelet donor with the Welsh Blood Service. This has involved making a few trips to the Royal Glamorgan Hospital, just outside Talbot Green. By a happy coincidence, my Iraqi near miss Karin relocated to Talbot Green during the summer. As my first appointment was shortly after she moved, we decided to meet up near the shopping centre and walk up to old Llantrisant, high on the hill above Talbot Green. It's a medieval town in a stunning location overlooking the upper Vale of Glamorgan, with steep, winding cobbled streets lined with quaint cottages, a fine church, a guildhall (recently restored and now the town's museum), the former workhouse which is now a base for artists and craftspeople, some old-style shops, a lovely little cafe which Karin and I visited while we were there, a smattering of chapels and a handful of pubs. There's also what remains of the castle, the base of the Welsh longbowmen who became England's secret weapon at the Battle of Crécy.

Anyway, I signed up for the Llantrisant page on Facebook after our visit there. As it's only a short bus ride from Pontypridd, with regular services running into the night (for hospital visits), I started wondering about visiting the place more often. For various reasons (mainly work commitments), I haven't been able to find the time. But I put Mark Alder's new book away on Saturday lunchtime, having reached a convenient point to down tools, thus freeing up the rest of the weekend. And yesterday was a perfect excuse to visit Llantrisant again.

One of the music groups I'm connected with on social media is the Llantrisant Folk Club. They shared something a few weeks ago that caught my eye. They were planning to be out and about in the pubs with the Mari Lwyd on the weekend before Xmas. On the Sunday, in fact.

You're probably wondering what the Mari Lwyd is. Well, all will be revealed …

I checked Traveline Cymru and, lo and behold, there are buses on a Sunday. They don't exactly mesh with the trains from Aberdare, but it still made a nice afternoon a real possibility.

I set off from Aberdare on the 1053 train yesterday, with patches of blue sky and brief flashes of sunshine overhead. I arrived in Pontypridd half an hour later, leaving me time for breakfast in Thereisnospoon (opposite the station) before catching the bus. So far, so good … until I stepped onto the platform and the heel of my right boot came off. It didn't break completely, but managed to cling on by a narrow strip of material. I got as far as the pub without losing it altogether, ordered my breakfast, and managed to scrounge some duct tape from the back office. It was a running repair at least, and I knew it wouldn't last long. Then the waitress told me they'd run out of Quorn sausages, so we had to arrange a substitute breakfast. Fortunately, she was tall, slim, very pretty, with gingerish hair and a good personality, so I was quite happy to chat to her for a couple of minutes.

I left to catch the bus, just in time for the heavens to open. I didn't exactly hobble to the bus stop opposite St Catherine's Church, but the water didn't do a great deal for my temporary repair. I got on the bus, paid my £6.60 return fare to Llantrisant, and sat back to enjoy the journey which I'm starting to know now.

[A digression: £6.60 is the same price as the daily cap on Oyster card fares in Zones 1 and 2 of the Transport for London map. That buys you unlimited travel by bus, Tube, and train in a fair area of the capital. Here in Wales, it gets you a half-hour bus journey between two neighbouring towns and back again. Go figure …]

Anyway, I got off the bus at the Wheatsheaf, a pub which has recently closed down, and made my way into the centre of town. My first port of call was the local shop, where I was able to buy a roll of tape, and then I walked around to the castle and guildhall to take a few photos. But my heel was coming undone again, so I repaired (geddit?) to the nearest alehouse for a second attempt at a repair job.

I should mention that, for yesterday's expedition, I was wearing a white turtleneck sweater (a British turtleneck, not an American one), a black pleather skirt to mid thigh, black tights and my boots, which come to just below the knee. I also had on Karen's old purple velvet jacket, which she gave me when she outgrew it. I wore a skirt the day I was with Karin as well – in fact, today marks six months since I ditched the jeans and T-shirts and adopted female attire as my default option. But I didn't know how my change of image would go down in a pub in a strange town.

I strolled into the New Inn and ordered a glass of Pepsi without a murmur from any of the customers or staff. In fact, one young woman who came in with a group of friends just after I sat down told me she loved my boots. That was pretty cool, I thought.

I sat by the window, wondering what the mobile reception would be like. That solved one problem that's been preying on my mind since the start of the Vanishing Valleys photographic project (see Where Do We Draw the Line?). Llantrisant definitely isn't in the Valleys – there was excellent 4G coverage from EE. That seems to be as good a benchmark as anything else. Then I messaged Carys to let her know I'd arrived.

Carys, last seen in this blog some years ago (see Educating Nancy), is an Aberdare girl I met between finishing work and starting university. She moved with her young son to Tynant, near Beddau, a few years ago and I haven't seen her since. Like me, she also went back to university as an immature student, in her case to study Enviromental Conservation Management. She's always been passionate about green issues, so it was the perfect degree for her when she took up the reins again.

We're still in touch and, in fact, she tipped me off about last year's Mari Lwyd event. If I'd had a bit more notice (or a lift), I would have gone over. Tynant is a short drive from Llantrisant (it's even on the bus route), so it made sense for us to arrange to meet up for a pint this time. She replied, 'I love the New Inn', which was a good start. I found a corner table with two seats and watched groups of people coming in for lunch. It was really busy (unsurprisingly) and the staff were working flat out to try and cope with the orders at the bar.

Carys walked in just as I was about to get a pint. She nudged me from behind, and then we gave each other a big cwtch. She was with an older woman named Julie, whom I recognised from Carys's photos online, and a chap named Ray whom I didn't know. They are friends of Carys's from Tynant. Carys and Julie have been recognised by the local authority as Community Environmental Champions (which is how I recognised Julie). Julie bought us a round, and four people got up and left just in time for us to grab their table. I got my jacket and we sat down for a good chat.

It turned out that Julie and I have a mutual friend in the form of Rowland, the former editor of my local paper. He went on to be a press officer in the Wales Office, and then did the same role for an Assembly Member in Cardiff. Julie was a news editor with BBC Radio Wales. (It's a small world, isn't it?) She was very interested in my work, which is rather different from the sort of editing she used to do. Carys told me that Julie's involved with just about every committee you can imagine, and Carys is pretty much her protégée.

The conversation was rambling, the beer was going down a treat, the bar was full of people chatting and laughing, and then the door burst open and Carys shouted 'It's here!' That was the start of the weirdest ten minutes of the entire day.

I promised you an explanation of the Mari Lwyd. To save me the trouble, here, borrowed from Facebook, is a contemporary take on things, followed by the photos I took yesterday.

 

This silliness lasted for ten minutes or so, and was great fun to watch. I'm going to try and network in with the people from the club in the new year (because Carys is getting to know everyone around the area now) and see if we can tempt them into Jacs at some point.

Julie and Ray made their excuses and left after a second pint, so Carys and I made our way to the Bear, in the Bull Ring – the little square at the centre of the town, where the main road runs. There's a statue there of one of the town's famous Victorian inhabitants: Dr William Price. I won't try and sum up this remarkable man in a paragraph. Instead, I'll link to the official Llantrisant website, where you can read about him for yourself.
It's a great statue, and my good friend Alwyn Isaac (a very gifted artist, orginally from Tonyrefail but now living in Aberdare) did the slate carving on the information plaque. We asked a family who were coming up from the Bear if they'd take a photo of us with the good doctor. One of the daughters borrowed Carys's phone and here's the result:

Please note that I was standing on the ground and Carys was standing on the plinth. It's the first time she's ever been taller than me.

Sitting in a cosy armchair in the Bear with a pint of beer in front of her, Carys told me how her life has turned around since she moved to Tynant. When she was in Aberdare she was unemployed, taking a lot of drugs, getting into bad company, and generally losing track of her life. Since moving away (only a few miles as the crow flies), she's cleaned up her act, she's working in a local shop (for local people) and doing some bar work as well; her son Jac (now eight years old) is doing well in school; she's involved in all sorts of community activities and environmental groups. The more she told me, the more pleased for her and the more proud of her I felt. She's always been a great pleasure to spend time with, but the new positive, focused, forward-looking Carys is a true delight and an unsung Welsh success story.

I'll be spending more and more time in and around Llantrisant in 2020, with platelet donation being possible every month (not just every three months, as with whole blood donation). Depending on the clinic schedule, I might not be able to catch up with Carys every time, but we're sure to see a lot more of other now that I'm getting to know the area. It's the sort of place where you'd need a car in order to live (semi-rural, and with only Pontypridd as the nearest big town), but after yesterday I felt I could easily move there and not really miss Aberdare too much. And what's not to like about a place where a bunch of mad people take a horse's skull on a pub crawl?

The Seven Waterfalls Walk

In which The Author goes exploring again

It's only the first week of April, but I'm already planning this September's Walking Together event in aid of Anthony Nolan. After the success of the 2018 walk (see Seventeen Miles Later), in which the team from Jacs Music Venue (Paul, Rhian, Liam, Kate, Betty Boop the mini whippet – who sensibly baled out halfway through – and I) raised a staggering £660.61, I thought we'd try and keep the momentum going.

With this in mind I set out on the mid-morning bus to Penderyn on Wednesday. It's the furthest north you can get from Aberdare by bus, just inside the southern boundary of the Brecon Beacons National Park. The Lamb Hotel in the village was the starting point for last year's walk along the Cynon Trail. It's also a good location to set out for Waterfall Country.

I've blogged a few times about the spectacular and sometimes challenging scenery of the upper Vale of Neath, and in particular the river system that converges a little way east of Glynneath. (For instance, see Further Up the River.)

I say 'river system' because, hydrologically speaking, it's a complicated little area. The river Nedd (or 'Neath', for English speakers) rises in the foothills of the Brecon Beacons, about five kilometres north-west of Ystradfellte, and flows pretty much southwards to the pretty tourist village of Pontneddfechan. A couple of kilometres north of the village, it's augmented by the river Pyrddin, which flows in from the north-west. Meanwhile, the rivers Llia and Mellte flow more or less parallel to the Nedd before converging a short distance north of Ystradfellte. (Ignore the screaming in the background – it's just the Firefox spell checker begging for mercy.) Further east again, the river Hepste flows south-west to meet the enlarged Mellte a few kilometres south of Ystradfellte. The ever-growing Mellte hits the river Nedd at Pontneddfechan, as does the river Sychryd, which flows in from the south. From here the Nedd flows south-west towards the town of Neath (or Castell Nedd). You can trace many of these rivers on the satellite image, and it gives you an idea of the topography.

What the satellite image doesn't show you is the plethora of waterfalls in the area. Probably the most famous of these is Sgwd yr Eira, a couple of kilometres north-west of Penderyn and a fairly easy walk from the Lamb Hotel. Follow the side roads through the village, go through a metal gate and follow the gravel path around to the right until you see two wooden posts pointing you towards the waterfalls. The path leads uphill across farmland, then over open moors before dropping to the gorge of the Hepste. There's a flight of steps built into the side of the gorge, so follow them down to a rocky path just above the river.

Sgwd yr Eira is famous because the only way to get from one bank of the river to the other (unless you wade across) is to walk behind the curtain of water. I've done this numerous times, including once with a mad Labrador in tow, and I managed to kill a camera by trying to photograph the fall from within the spray. But I took a chance on Wednesday and got a couple of decent photos.

Sgwd yr Eira from the southern approach

Sgwd yr Eira

This wasn't my first visit to the waterfall this year. I was there on Saturday morning as well, along with about twenty or thirty people taking advantage of blue skies and warm weather. But on Wednesday I had the place to myself for once. I always feel as if I've joined Faramir and the Rangers of Gondor when I'm behind the waterfall, as I was on Saturday morning.

The view from behind Sgwd yr Eira

The Hepste joins the Mellte about half a kilometre west of the waterfall, but there's no riverbank or footpath to take you to the confluence. Instead, there's another flight of steps which zig-zags up the slope to more open moorland. From here, I went west on well-made paths until I reached a downhill slope to Swgd y Pannwr, on the Mellte. I missed this out on Saturday as there were simply too many people enjoying the weather and the path was very crowded. But on Wednesday I had the place more or less to myself.

Sgwd y Pannwr

From here I followed the river upstream to Sgwd Clun Gwyn Isaf. (Or Sgwd Isaf Clun Gwyn, depending on which source you're looking at.) It's not easy to get to, and I didn't venture right up to the fall as the rocks were quite slippery. But it's an impressive multi-layered fall, as you can see.

Sgwd Clun Gwyn Isaf

Unfortunately, there isn't a direct route uphill from here, so I had to retrace my steps and climb back to the main path. It's a fairly convoluted trek along the course of the river to the final noteworthy waterfall on the Mellte, Sgwd Clun Gwyn.

As with all the falls in this area, what you'll see will depend on how much rain there's been in the previous couple of days. It's been a fairly dry March, so on Saturday the lip of the fall wasn't as wide as I've seen it on other occasions. But there were some people on the top of the drop, so you'll get an idea of the scale of the place.

Sgwd Clun Gwyn from the west

If you continue along the river path for another kilometre or so, you'll arrive at the 'Blue Pool' and the celebrated cave at Porth yr Ogof. But if you cross the Mellte at the footbridge, you can follow it downstream on the other bank and arrive at the other side of Sgwd Clun Gwyn.

Sgwd Clun Gwyn from the east

The path curves to the right and climbs to a gate near a farm lane. It's a short walk from here to the road from Ystradfellte to Pontneddfechan. I've walked this stretch of road several times (most recently on Saturday), but on Wednesday I tried something new. My friend Jonathan E. spends a lot of time in this area, and the last time I blogged about it he asked me if I'd ever been to Pont Melin-fach. I'd seen it signposted from various points in the Waterfall Country, but I don't think I'd ever been there before. So on Wednesday I decided to take the road less travelled. Or hardly travelled, to be more exact.

In fact, the only vehicles I saw while walking along the narrow road from Comin y Rhos were a quad bike driven by a farmer, and a Post Office van presumably delivering to the isolated farms scattered across this part of the national park. I didn't meet any other walkers either, which was a change from Saturday's hordes of visitors. After five minutes or so I passed the entrance to a farm. A short while later the winding lane crosses the bridge which gives Pont Melin-fach its name. (Pont is 'bridge' in Welsh.)

I'd arrived at the river Nedd, from where I had a rough idea where to go next. I can't be sure, but I think Mother and I have probably walked some of this stretch before. (We've explored Pontneddfechan and its surrounding area pretty thoroughly over the years.) Even so, I couldn't remember much of what I came across as I followed the Eilidr Trail downstream.

There are numerous small waterfalls on the Nedd, but the first impressive 'named' fall you come to is Swgd Ddwli Uchaf. I wasn't able to get very close to the falls on this stretch as the ground was quite treacherous in places, so I had to make the camera do the donkey work for once.

Sgwd Ddwli Isaf

I continued to follow the river until I came to Sgwd Ddwli Isaf, a short distance downstream.

Sgwd Ddwli Isaf

There were a few people about by now (it was early afternoon), and the Welsh weather had lived up to the old Crowded House song: Four Seasons in One Day. You might remember that we were forced to postpone last year's sponsored walk because we'd been hit by a named storm a couple of days earlier. Well, that's par for the course in this country. When I'd set off from Penderyn it was drizzling steadily. By the time I'd reached Sgwd y Pannwr we'd had a flurry of sleet; by Swgd Clun Gwyn the sun was out; when I was on the minor road the sky had definitely looked ominous, and now it was starting to rain again.

Just an average Welsh day in April

I had no alternative but to push on to the village, but luckily it was just a heavy shower. Naturally enough, within a couple of minutes the sun was out again. I continued downstream to Sgwd y Bedol, which is in fact a rather dramatic series of waterfalls in quick succession. I'm fairly sure Mother and I had been this far, at least, as it did look very familiar.

Sgwd y Bedol

The Nedd meets the Pyrddin soon after you pass Sgwd y Bedol (or shortly before it, depending on which direction you're walking). I crossed the Pyrddin using the footbridge and turned right, heading north-west to the final waterfall of the day: Sgwd Gwladus.

I have seen the curtain of water extending almost the full width of the shelf. But it's been oddly dry for a Welsh spring, so it was a bit of an anticlimax.

Sgwd Gwladus

From here, you just follow the river downstream on well-made paths to arrive at Pontneddfechan. On most of my previous visits to the village I've had lunch in the Angel Inn, adjacent to the gate leading to the waterfalls. But on Saturday the place was packed, and I know their last orders for food are at 2.30. I had a couple of minutes to spare, and a board inside the door announced an hour and a half wait for meals. Instead I headed to the Old White Horse Inn, just across the river. I must say that it's going to be my regular port of call from now on. I found the staff friendlier and more welcoming than the other pub's, and the menu was about on a par. I had lunch there on Saturday, and again on Wednesday. If our sponsored walk does take us to Pontneddfechan, I'm going to suggest to the others that we make the Old White Horse our penultimate destination.

I say penultimate, because I still had to walk the kilometre or so to Pont Walby, at the bottom of the Glynneath Bank, to catch the bus back to Aberdare. But that's a small price to pay for a fourteen-kilometre walk through stunning scenery. If we can raise some cash for Anthony Nolan by retracing my journey in September, then it's definitely worth making the effort. It's an excellent walk through interesting, varied and challenging terrain and with photo opportunities galore. As John Major used to say, I commend it to the house!

A Quick Sitrep

In which The Author does some calculations

At long last we've sorted out the money from the sponsored walk in aid of Anthony Nolan, which five of us did at the end of September.

You won't be surprised to learn that there was a slight miscalculation. What will surprise you is that we actually miscounted the number of people who took part. (I'm not counting Betty Boop, the mini whippet, who very sensibly baled out before the assault on Cefnpennar Road.)

How can that have happened? I hear you ask. After all, I've got the photographic evidence. There were definitely five of us at the start of the walk (Penderyn, at just after 9.00), at roughly the halfway point (the Ynyscynon Inn, Cwmbach, just after midday), and at the end (the Navigation Hotel, Abercynon, just after 5.00 p.m.). In case you missed them the first time, here they are again:

At the starting point: me, Rhian, Paul, Liam, Kate and the mini whippet

Lunchtime at the Ynyscynon Inn

At the finish line

The miscalculation only came to light about six weeks ago, when Kate realised that she'd fallen pregnant just before the walk took place. Technically speaking, there were six of us (plus a mini whippet) on the day. Naturally she and Gavin are over the moon, but it means Kate's unlikely to be taking part in next year's event. If you'd like to take her place, we'd be glad to have you on board.

Anyway, nearly all the money is in, so I thought I'd give you a quick update. The total we raised the old-school way, using pen and paper, came to an impressive £433. The total via our Just Giving page was £229.61. The odd figures are down to the exchange rate between sterling and the Canadian dollar, which came from an 'anonymous' donor. (But I know who he is.) That makes our grand total £662.61. Not bad going, is it?

That was the most exhausting part of over four years of fundraising for Anthony Nolan.

The most stressful part, undoubtedly, was organising the gig in Jacs. I was starting to tear my hair out when Cripplecreek announced that half the band were double-booked with outside projects. I need to thank my good friend Mitch for saving the day. He was able to call in some favours from his wide network of musical contacts to make the line-up varied and interesting. Meanwhile, I was able to call in a favour from a couple of well-known authors I virtually while I was working on their manuscript this time last year. Rob Grant and Andrew Marshall very generously donated a signed copy of their crazy SF romp The Quanderhorn Xperimentations as a raffle prize. The total we raised from the raffle and donations on the night came to £142. Mitch and I are going to sit down in January and start putting a line-up together for the 2019 gig. Will my nerves hold up? Watch this space …

That leaves the collection boxes, which are ticking over nicely for the most part. I had to retrieve the one from the Brunel Arms in Pontyclun a few weeks ago. The new landlady has decided she'd rather concentrate on a local charity, so she isn't doing bar collections any more. Still, in the time it's been there it's managed to reap an impressive £210.35. Paul and Gavin kindly let me relocate it to the function room in Jacs, which is increasingly busy with private parties. There's a rave party there on New Year's Day, so that might give it a boost as well. The rest are doing nicely, but the runaway leader is still in the Glosters. In fairness, it's been in place longer than any of the others, but even so it seems to be much more productive than the others. (It's also responsible for a fair number of the foreign coins in my collection.) I paid it in last Friday, as it probably wouldn't have lasted through the Xmas and New Year shutdown without filling to bursting point. After finally getting rid of the odd pennies on the spreadsheet (and the certificate) which had been annoying me for months, I can announce that the regular customers and casual drinkers have raised a fantastic £565 for the charity.

I've just been updating my spreadsheet to take account of these three separate strands of fundraising activity. I've checked the totals twice, and I need to share the grand total with you.

£2,056.56.

I can't quite believe it myself. It means that the good people of South Wales (and a few from further afield) who've got behind our efforts have raised enough money to put a further fifty-one people on the UK Tissue Register. That's fifty-one potential lifesavers.

I know I tend to be on a bit of a downward trajectory at this time of year, but that's really boosted my mood today. So huge thanks to everyone who's chucked some odd change into a collection box, or bought a ticket for the raffle, or came to our gig, or sponsored our mini-marathon in September. I wish I could give you a hug and say thanks in person. I guess this will have to do as an alternative.

A Grant-aided Trip to Swansea

In which The Author meets a proper author

Back in the summer of 2015, I was coming home from a hospital appointment and reading Ben Aaronovitch's latest novel, Foxglove Summer, on the bus.

Actually, I've jumped the gun slightly. Let me start again ...

In about 2013, I was browsing in The Works in Aberdare when I found a book in the history section called Rivers of London. Thinking it was going to be about the actual rivers – the Fleet, Tyburn, Westbourne, and so forth – that lie beneath the streets of the modern city, I picked it up and started reading the jacket.

As soon as I saw the Gollancz colophon (that's a posh word for a publisher's logo, in case you're wondering) I knew the book was in the wrong place. Gollancz has long been regarded as one of the leading UK publishers of science fiction and fantasy. This was turning into a promising discovery.

It turned out to be a contemporary crime novel about a young Metropolitan Police constable named Peter Grant. He's out on patrol in Covent Garden one weekend and discovers a headless corpse in the portico of St Paul's Church. The body is very recent. And the only eyewitness to the brutal murder has been dead for two hundred years. That leads Peter to a secret department of the Metropolitan Police who investigate supernatural and paranormal happenings.

That was enough to spark my interest. I took it to the counter and mentioned to Stacey that it had been misplaced. She laughed, and we compared notes on the 'frequent flyers' you come across when you work in a bookshop. Then Stacey told me that it was in their offer, along with the next two books in the series (Moon Over Soho and Whispers Underground).

I bought all three and proceeded to enjoy them thoroughly over the next few weeks. It took me a while to track down the fourth one, though. Eventually Neil R. bought me Broken Homes as a Xmas present. He knew I was a big fan of the books and I couldn't afford to go hunting it down myself. By now I was using Twitter, and occasionally put a message up saying how much I'd enjoyed reading a particular book. One of the authors I was following was Ben Aaronovitch, needless to say. I always liked reading his day word count, his queries aimed at his small army of Tech Support experts, and his random thoughts on everyday life.

That brings us to the summer of 2015, and my hospital appointment. On the way there I called into Waterstones in Putney and bought Foxglove Summer to read in the waiting room. It had only come out in paperback a week or so earlier, and I made a beeline for Waterstones as soon as I arrived in the vicinity of the hospital.

By then I'd signed up for the Gollancz newsletter, which gives subscribers advance warning of new publications. I'd also looked at the Gollancz website, to see if they ever wanted proofreaders. Virtually the first thing it said was that they 'currently have all the freelance help they need'.

It therefore came as something of a surprise to find a number of production errors in a finished book. I was about halfway through it when I arrived home, and it was like reading one of the uncorrected bound proofs which the trade reps would drop off in the shop. (By chance, one of the reps who generously kept me supplied with practice material was Graham Ireland from Orion.) Some were very minor things – missing punctuation, simple typos like from instead of form, that sort of thing – but some were more like the sort of thing that shouldn't really have made it to proof stage. One officer was promoted from Detective Constable to Detective Sergeant in just a few pages. The spelling of one character's name changed from time to time. Another character's surname changed without explanation.

Pretty much the first thing I did when I got to the library the following day was log into Twitter. I tweeted that I was thoroughly enjoying Foxglove Summer, but added that Orion (Gollancz's parent company) really didn't have all the freelance proofreading help they needed.

About quarter of an hour later I had a notification that someone had replied to my post. I checked, and found a message from someone named Gillian Redfearn. She asked if I was reading the hardback, and added that they'd had the text 'redone since for obvious reasons'.

I didn't know who Ms Redfearn was, but a quick click revealed that she was Deputy Publishing Director at Orion.

Now here was an interesting situation. Should I reply in earnest? Or should I just laugh it off?

I decided to go for Plan A. I replied that it was a paperback, bought the previous day. A short period of time elapsed before Ms Redfearn responded. She invited me ('in that case', as she said) to send in anything I found.

Now, imagine my dilemma. I hadn't done any paper proofreading since leaving university, and I was a bit rusty on the BS symbols. Also, I was reluctant to mark up a brand new paperback and post it back to London without knowing when I'd be able to get my hands on a replacement copy. In the event I decided to go old-school on the book. Luckily for me the weather was glorious that weekend. I took my trusty Chambers Dictionary, my notebook, a couple of pens, a ruler, and Foxglove Summer itself, to Aberdare Park on the Saturday morning. I found a fairly quiet spot to sit in the sunshine and started working my way through the text, line by line, noting anything that seemed not to ring true. I even found myself googling a real church in Herefordshire, to see whether it has a tower or a spire.

But I enjoy doing that sort of thing. It wasn't work, it was a pleasant way to spend a weekend without spending any money. I spent two full days beside the lake, reading the book for the second time, but in microscopic detail. Back at home, I typed up my findings and wrote a nice covering letter explaining a bit about my background. I put everything in the post and sat back to see what transpired.

It was the start of the summer holidays. Probably not the best time to expect a rapid response to a job application, never mind a cheeky 'side door' approach to a large company. Consequently a few weeks went by until an email pinged into my inbox from a chap named Craig Leyenaar. Headed Foxglove Summer - Proofreader, this is what it said:

Dear Steve, Gillian Redfearn passed your notes on Foxglove Summer to me. The close reading was impressive and you caught many errors that we will be correcting. Thanks for that. We are happy to consider this your 'proofreading test', but before we are able to pass on any jobs could you give us some more details? Are you happy to do both proofreading and copy-editing on screen? How long did it take you to proofread Foxglove Summer? What is your hourly rate? After we've received this information and we can all agree on terms we'll put together a contract and move on from there.

Well, that was the foot in the door I'd been hoping for. I sent Craig the extra bits and pieces, and I was away. Sort of …

It didn't take long until my first assignment arrived in the post. It was the final part of a trilogy by Gavin G. Smith: a very strange SF novel called The Beauty of Destruction. Craig also sent me PDFs of the first two books, so I could check for any continuity errors that might have sneaked into the mix. And I'm not lying when I say that this huge pile of paper sat on my desk for two whole days while I pondered what to do next.

You see, from just reading the first few chapters I could see that I had an uphill struggle ahead of me. As well as a great many typos, missing punctuation, dubious hyphenation (especially of Welsh words), and the usual typesetting glitches I was used to from the bound proofs, there were numerous inconsistent spellings, changes of name, incorrect spellings of real places, real companies and so forth … In short, it was a bloody mess. I was afraid to touch it without seeking some advice first. If I fucked it up, I'd never hear from Orion again and I'd be back to square one.

I emailed Rob H., an old friend who's been proofreading for close to twenty years. His advice was simple, practical and sensible – just what I needed to hear, in fact. He reminded me that I was being paid to find mistakes in the text. That's exactly what I should do. Mark everything up, he said, and send it back. He added that he'd come across books where the copy-editor seemed to have 'fallen asleep at the wheel', and pointed out that that's why publishers use proofreaders as the final line of defence. So that's exactly what I did.

In the event I typed out about eighty separate queries, as well as correcting factual errors like the names of various armaments manufacturers. (I was almost expecting to find the library on lockdown, with snipers on the roof of the Jokecentre, because Echelon had picked up my google searches and decided that a major terrorist cell was based in Aberdare.) I marked up the proof with so much red ink that it looked like a crime scene, posted it back to Orion, and emailed all my paperwork to Craig. The die was cast.

I was prepared for an email thanking me for my work on The Beauty of Destruction and paying me off, never to darken Orion's door again. Instead, once he'd had chance to go through everything, I had a very positive email from Craig. This sentence in particular gave me a great boost: 'After going through it, I think I'd be happy to send you some copy-editing work as well as proof reading.'

Craig was as good as his word, fair play. The next assignment I had from Gollancz was the typescript of Rig by Jon Wallace, for copy-edit. This was a bit of a curveball, because that was also the final part of a trilogy. That meant that I was slightly confined by stylistic choices made by the previous copy-editor. (In fact I was rather surprised that the three books weren't assigned to the same person.) It was a bit of a learning curve, because I had to use features of LibreOffice I hadn't come across before. But it's all good grist to the mill. I enjoy new challenges, and I've always enjoyed researching things in books and via the Internet. It seemed as though I'd finally landed the job Rowland and my other friends had told me I should have been doing years earlier.

My reputation for thoroughness and attention to detail was starting to pay off. In fairly short order Craig asked me to work on the 'definitive' texts of William Gibson's 'Sprawl' novels, an anthology of his short stories, and the 'authors' preferred text' of Good Omens by the late Sir Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. These are far from being newcomers to the scene, after all. To have names like those on my CV was quite an achievement, considering that I'd been officially freelance for only six months or so.

It wasn't long until my name started to circulate within Orion. In my first departure from Science Fiction, Craig's colleague Tom Monson asked me if I fancied copy-editing a historical novel by Christian Cameron. Set during the fag-end of the Peloponnesian War, Rage of Ares was the final instalment of the Long War saga. I think I must have been off school ill for the morning we covered Ancient Greece, because I knew bugger all about the period. Furthermore, my grasp of Classical Greek is limited to a few epigrams from Homer I've picked up from crosswords over the years. But I did my best with the typescript, flagging up marginal queries and compiling a fuller list of Notes and Queries (something that soon became my signature). I must have done an okay job, because Christian was very kind in addressing some of my more obvious questions. It didn't take long before one of Tom's colleagues (another Craig) offered me another of Christian's books – this time, set during the Hundred Years War.

This was a bizarre coincidence. The day I finished working on Rage of Ares and emailed it to Orion, I was in London. (See The Oyster is Your World.) I somehow found myself at the Priory of St John of Jerusalem, in Clerkenwell. I took a few photos, wrote a blog about my discoveries in town, and thought no more of it. When The Green Count arrived, I was amazed to find that Sir William Gold, the protagonist of the series, was raised at the Priory of St John of Jerusalem. (This was the original priory, of course, sacked during the Peasants' Revolt.) I sent the link to Christian via Twitter, and he was kind enough to leave a comment on my blog.

Since then I've worked on another four of Christian's books (two historical fiction, two fantasy), and we've pencilled in a couple of pints when he's in the UK next year. (He's based in Toronto.) We work via Twitter and/or email to iron out any problems in the text, and always have fun discussing obscure points of fictional (but real-ish) grammar. He's been generous enough to mention me in the acknowledgments to his books, and to endorse me online. It's going to be great to sit down and talk to him face to face, rather than via cyberspace.

Last October I had an email from an unfamiliar name, sent from a publisher called Bonnier Zaffre. They had a new crime novel for proofreading, and apparently someone in the office had suggested that I was the man for the job. It turned out that one of Orion's editors had moved to a different company and taken her contacts book with her. I knew then that I was moving in the right circles. Since then I've done a number of jobs for them, most recently proofreading the new novels by Lynda La Plante and Wilbur Smith. Yes – the Wilbur Smith.

All of which brings us back to Ben Aaronovitch. At the start of April, Craig emailed me out of the blue:

And so we come full circle . . . the new Ben Aaronovitch is coming up for copy-edit in a fortnight. Would you be available to do it?

Needless to say, I said yes.

It was Lies Sleeping, the latest instalment in the adventures of Peter Grant. I had to refer back to my well-thumbed copies of the earlier books while I was working on the typescript. Ben and I got to discuss some points via Twitter when I sent the edited typescript back, and I think we got each other's sense of humour. And then came the best news of all. A couple of months ago Gollancz announced that Ben would be touring the country, giving talks and signing Lies Sleeping. Best of all, he was coming to Cardiff and Swansea.

Wales tends to get overlooked when it comes to author signings. If they get as far as Cardiff we can count ourselves lucky. Swansea is pretty much terra incognita for mainstream UK publishers. Unfortunately, it's also pretty much inaccessible from Aberdare by public transport.

Cardiff was a more realistic prospect – a Thursday lunchtime signing in an independent shop in the Bay – but by the time Rhian and I got round to booking the tickets, it was sold out. (Rhian's also a big fan of the books, so I made sure she had the day off before proceeding any further.) I commented on Twitter, saying how disappointed we were to have missed out. Luckily Craig spotted it, and said that he could put us on the guest list if needs be.

It turned out that social media came to the rescue again. My old friend John works in the centre of Swansea, and offered us a lift there and back again after the event. I told Craig that we'd be heading for Swansea instead, and he said he thought it would be a better event anyway. Instead of just a signing, Ben would be giving a talk as well. We booked our tickets straight away.

Rhian, Liam (a big fan of Doctor Who, for which Ben wrote a couple of scripts back in the Classic era), and I set off in John's car at 8.00 on a hazy Thursday morning two weeks ago, and were in town just after 9.00. We decided to have breakfast in Thereisnospoon (as good as anywhere), and then jumped on a bus to Limeslade. We had the day to ourselves, and for £4.50 we could kill a couple of hours and get some sea air. We got to the beach at high tide, by which time the clouds had burned off and the sun was well and truly out. We walked the cliff path to Langland Bay, stopped off in Langland's Brasserie (a couple of converted beach huts) for second breakfast, and then walked to Caswell village to get the bus back into town.

We killed some more time at the Waterfront Museum, which wasn't as exciting as I'd hoped it might be, then made our way to the No Sign Bar for something to eat. It's not far from there to Waterstones, and we had time to browse before the event started. I picked up The Gradual, a 2016 novel by Christopher Priest that sneaked into the bookshops while my back was turned. (I finished it on the way back from London on Tuesday, and very good it is too.) Obviously I needed to buy Lies Sleeping. And I needed a new copy of Rivers of London, the first book in the sequence, because mine is currently circulating among the bar staff in Thereisnospoon in Aberdare. I had a nice chat with the Waterstones people while I was updating my loyalty card. I had the rest of Ben's backlist in my bag, after checking with the management that he'd be happy to sign those as well. John joined us when he finished work, and we all headed to the top of the building for the event itself.

The talk was entertaining, informative, and light-hearted. Ben has a rather warped sense of humour (which comes across in his books), and he's very down to earth about his writing, his family, and his writing process. It was good to be with so many people who clearly love the books as much as I do. He was even kind enough to ask if his copy-editor was there. We had a bit of banter about publisher's house style, public transport in Wales (Ben was travelling by train), and assorted odds and ends.

We queued for the signing (towards the end of the queue, because I had half a dozen books as well as Lies Sleeping) and we had a chat with the PR lady from Gollancz while we were waiting. (I can't remember her name, alas, but she was very pleasant.) It was nice to know that we were expected, as she called us 'the Aberdare contingent' when she came over to talk to us. Ben and I had a good chat while he signed my books, and I explained how the paperback of Foxglove Summer had opened the door to what I'm doing now. It was really lovely to tie everything up in a big loop, face to face with the author himself.

Afterwards the PR lady told me that Christian Cameron will be on the Gollancz Authors events list next year. (I knew that already from the horse's mouth, so to speak.) It seems that my name is quite well known in the offices. I asked her to pass on my thanks to Craig, for arranging for us to come to the event. I also emailed him the following day to tell him how the day had panned out and thanking him for having faith in me back in the summer of 2015.

John dropped us off in Aberdare and Rhian and I repaired to Jacs for a pint. It was only then that I realised Ben had given me a namecheck in Lies Sleeping, for my 'meticulous' copy-editing. That's as big a vote of confidence that I could have hoped for. All in all it's been a long, strange trip, and meeting the man who indirectly started the whole thing off was the perfect way to end a very busy, educational, entertaining and thoroughly enjoyable year of freelance work.

Seventeen Miles Later ...

In which The Author and his friends go up a hill and come down a mountain

Saturday morning dawned cold and misty, and for a few moments I wondered whether I'd be taking part in the sponsored walk after all.

The night before I'd slipped at home and stubbed my right big toe hard. Very hard. In fact, it was so painful that I feared I might have broken it. Then I remembered a pub chat with Martyn E. last week. He's currently nursing a broken toe and a cracked rib – the second is the direct result of the first, which he managed to incur in work. The doctor who treated him had told him that if it had been his big toe, he wouldn't have been able to walk as his balance would have been affected. Well, I was able to walk (after a fashion), so that was a decent start.

I made my way (on foot) to Aberdare and bumped into Liam as he was coming out of the newsagent's. We made our way to the cafe near the bus station to wait for the others and had a good chat until Rhian arrived. Kate was next on the scene, with her miniature whippet Betty Boop in tow. Paul rolled up a few minutes later, and the team was complete.

Originally a few more people had expressed an interest in joining us. But Liam's parents had been doubtful from the start, as Jude injured her Achilles tendon a while ago and is recovering slowly. As they had prior commitments on Saturday, they were out anyway. Similarly, Eggy and Geraint were booked (separately) at Cwmfest, a music festival a couple of miles away in Phonicsland Cwmaman. Jason W. has had to spend the last few weekends shopping around for a new car. Alexis had something on which meant that she couldn't make it either. Anne-Marie had apparently twisted James's arm to spend the weekend in Tenby, which seemed a good call given the glorious weather. But five (plus a dog) is a nice manageable number for a first attempt like this. We were the ones who'd started Just Giving pages and collecting sponsors, after all. We boarded the 8.30 bus to Penderyn and the game was afoot.

When we arrived at the Lamb Hotel, the road was full of farm vehicles. I knew there were occasional livestock sales in the village, but I've never been to one. I must find out when the next one is happening and check it out for myself. We waited until the bus had turned around and jumped off on the return leg. It's a short walk from there to the world-renowned Penderyn Distillery, and the start of the Cynon Trail proper. I took the photos with my phone and a miniature tripod, so they aren't great, but they'll give you an idea of the sort of day we had.

Me, Rhian, Paul, Liam, Kate, Betty Boop (being carried)

The path was, until relatively recently, a freight line from the quarry opposite the Lamb to the old Hirwaun Station, and thence to the national rail network. Now it's been converted into a well-made off-road path, popular with dog walkers and horse riders as well as walkers and cyclists. It runs more or less parallel to the road, but it's far enough away that you forget about the village and just lose yourself in your surroundings. My original plan had been to lay a breadcrumb trail with Anthony Nolan stickers every so often. We had hoped for a larger number of people, of course, and I anticipated us breaking up into smaller groups as time wore on. In the event we didn't really need to place the stickers, but each one has the website address and the Walking Together logo. They might encourage casual walkers and cyclists to check out the link for themselves.

About twenty minutes into the walk, Paul commented – not for the first time – that you don't notice the distance when there aren't any landmarks. If we'd on the main road we'd have been constantly saying 'We're only as far as so-and-so', and that can get a bit disheartening.

This part of the Cynon Trail is right on the fault line between the countryside and the industrial landscape. If you look to the right as you approach Hirwaun, you can see the large opencast workings just north of the village centre. Between you and the workings there's farmland. It's an odd juxtaposition, really.

At Hirwaun we took a small detour along Elm Grove and into Station Road. Paul wanted to see the site of the old Hirwaun Football Club and the Bodwigiad Inn, which features in A Pub Crawl to Die For (Part 1). Neither of these watering holes are open for business. We followed Station Road into the centre of the village, and then our cunning plan came unstuck. We had pencilled in breakfast in the cafe, but of course Betty Boop wasn't allowed on the premises. Paul compromised by buying us all bacon rolls, which we ate on the way to the next stage of the off-road walk.

Tramway in Hirwaun is aptly named. The village plan reflects the early development of the rail network which linked the industrial centres of the Cynon Valley. There's a great old photograph showing the tramlines running along what is now a minor road through the village. When we reached the southern end of Tramway, we were off the road network again and on the route of another former tramway. This one runs behind the housing estate at Trenant, skirts the school at Rhydywaun, runs behind the huge Penywaun estate, and emerges in Trecynon. It passes some industrial archaeological sites, including the stone supports of the former Gamlyn Viaduct, the stone tramroad bridge near Gelli Isaf, and the quaint cottages at Arthurs Place. It follows the river Cynon pretty closely, and it's a beautiful sheltered stretch of the Cynon Trail. This photo in particular makes it look like an illustration from a Tolkien novel.

We hit our first problem in Penywaun. A very handsome Staffordshire bull terrier had obviously sniffed out Betty Boop's presence, as he made a beeline for her and wouldn't be dissuaded. The girls were quite shocked when I – an animal lover – suggested kicking him in the bollocks to dampen his ardour. Rhian was even more amused when I clouted him on the nose with a stick. He sprinted off in the direction he'd come from, only to catch us up a few minutes later. Kate was carrying her dog by now, but the little fellow was quite determined to follow his instincts. Eventually Paul managed to send him packing, but we kept our eyes open in case he popped up again.

We arrived at Gelli Isaf, a quaint row of cottages perched on the river's edge, and from there it's a short walk to Trecynon itself. We crossed the road and picked up the tramroad again, stopping for another photo at the historic Iron Bridge.

We continued as far as Tesco, where we took turns to look after Betty Boop while visiting the toilets. Then we were back on track, crossing the railway line into Robertstown, then crossing the Cynon near the Gadlys Arms and picking up the trail on the north side of the river. This is another well-made stretch of off-road path, emerging near the new Aberdare College building. We decided to cut out the stretch through the Ynys, and made our way past Plasdraw to the start of the Aberdare Canal nature reserve.

This isn't as grand as the name suggests, but it's a lovely stretch of the Cynon Trail, following the surviving portion of the Aberdare Canal to its end just north of Cwmbach. The flowers were still in bloom and bees and butterflies were active among the hedgerow. It was the last weekend in September, remember.

We crossed the main road and decided to wet our whistles at the Ynyscynon Inn (formerly the Golden Post). I've only been there twice in the last ten years: the first time was in December 2009, when Jenny and I went on one of our very rare dates (see A Minor Miracle); the second was with some of the Plaid Cymru Cwm Cynon gang when we leafleted the whole of Cwmbach in one day. It's not a pub that regularly features on my radar because it's on the wrong side of Aberdare. But the sun was over the yardarm and it seemed rude to just walk past without calling in.

It was obvious that our little dog was running out of steam, and Kate came up with a good idea. If we took the short cut from the new housing estate to Pant Farm, we could follow the old Vale of Neath line to Blaennantygroes, drop Betty Boop off at Kate's grandmother's house, and then drop down to the village shop. It would cut out the gradual (but very exposed) climb through Cwmbach and give us a nice shady alternative. So that was what we did.

I don't know the new part of Cwmbach very well, but Kate used to have a paper round in the village. That sort of local knowledge can't be beaten when it comes to finding short cuts and alternative routes on the fly. We slipped through a small alleyway between two houses, made our way uphill through Pant Farm, and climbed the embankment leading to the old railway line. There's a stunning old tunnel there, which I need to photograph properly when I get the chance. And then we were on the Vale of Neath path. The footpath leads to the former Merthyr Tunnel, but it also forks and drops down to the top of Blaennantygroes.

Liam was definitely setting the pace, with the girls following on and Paul and I bringing up the rear. We had a good laugh when we encountered another fallen tree, which would have probably rendered the path 'impassable' on health and safety grounds if the little dog hadn't been able to just spring over it.

We branched off into Blaennantygroes, dropped Betty Boop off, and continued downhill to the shop. It's a short walk uphill to the Royal Oak, which had crossed our minds for another stop. But I wasn't sure whether the Cefnpennar Inn would be open, so I'd persuaded the gang to push on as far as that. We made our way up the tarmac part of Cefnpennar Road, where I think Paul was starting to struggle a bit. We made it as far as the entrance to Llettyshenkin House, and then hit the most challenging part of the route so far.

I've already shown you what Cefnpennar Road is like, but here's a photo I took on Friday morning. It's a road in the very loosest sense of the word. Some of my older friends have called it 'the parish road', which suggests that it was a main thoroughfare in bygone days. It certainly isn't one now.

Paul and I made it to the top a few minutes after the others, and we all decided to have a breather in the field. The views from here made the whole ascent worthwhile, but by now my battery was running low. I took one photo of us and we continued on our way.

The descent into Cefnpennar village was fairly uneventful, with Liam continuing to set the pace. As such he reached the pub before the rest of us – and it was closed. I'd had a feeling that that would be the case, so I wasn't all that surprised. But we were a bit disappointed all the same. We continued downhill through the village, with Liam charging ahead of us. We weren't sure if he was setting the pace, or simply being carried forward by the weight of his backpack. By the time we passed the entrance to the golf course he was way in front and picking up speed on the descent into Cwmpennar.

I turned to the others and said, 'Liam's broken into a sprint. Or else he's just broken.'

When we got to Cwmpennar we found out why he'd had that burst of energy. There's a bench at the side of the road. We had a little breather there, then continued to Duffryn Woods and spent a few minutes admiring Prof. James Havard Thomas's magnificent war memorial, which stands in a little clearing surrounded by trees on all sides. You can almost picture yourself in Flanders when you see it from this angle.

We stopped at the indoor bowls centre to use the toilets, then continued past the Aberdare Hotel and Mountain Ash Town Hall to pick up the Cynon Trail beside Nazareth Baptist Church. After following the river for five minutes or so, we arrived opposite our next scheduled stop: the George.

This is a rather odd little pub in Newtown, Mountain Ash. I've been there a few times and the people at the bar have always made it perfectly clear that it's a local pub for local people. But Paul knows everyone, and one of his pals was sitting outside when we arrived. We ordered our drinks and waited while the landlord set up a table and chairs outside for us. There was a diversion in effect on that stretch of the Cynon Trail, so we knew we'd have to continue along Old Cardiff Road and past Usk Villas to pick it up further south. By now the effects of the long slog over Cefnpennar Road were taking their toll. I think a couple of us were tempted to call it a day and catch the first bus back to Aberdare. But Paul, in fairness, was committed to walking the entire distance. I was still raring to go, so we talked about it over our drinks and decided to push on.

There's a new road being built across the valley just south of Mountain Ash, which accounted for the closure of the Cynon Trail. It was one of the main reasons why I abandoned our Arthur Linton Challenge cycling project for this year. It made for an 'interesting' diversion from the route I'd originally drawn up. There's a flight of steps up to the new road from Usk Villas, and Rhian was really starting to struggle during the ascent. Liam, as usual, was powering ahead of the rest of us. Paul and Kate were going to follow the A4059 to begin with until I called them back. It could have all gone wrong at this point. Can you imagine trying to co-ordinate a large number of cyclists around this section? I certainly can't. With any luck it'll be finished by next summer and I can have a second attempt at making the project come to fruition.

There isn't a great deal left of the industrial sites south of Mountain Ash. The pits were pulled down once they closed, and the railway sidings have vanished as well. The Cynon Trail winds along parallel to the river, sheltered by trees for most of its length, and without any real landmarks to tell you how far you've walked. I've walked this part at least four times in the last year while drawing up the Arthur Linton Challenge so I knew where we were, but it didn't really matter. Once we reached the Pontcynon Industrial Estate, my plans to lay a breadcrumb trail fell apart.

Rhian was lagging behind us. Kate was charging ahead to use the toilet at Abercynon Sports Centre. Paul, Liam and I got as far the sports centre, sat down to wait for Kate, and then waited ages for Rhian to come into view. It did cross our minds that she might have stopped at Abercynon Rugby Club, just off the Quarter Mile Bridge. I rang her, only to find that she'd crossed the bridge and was walking along the Old Road. In fact, she'd overtaken us and was passing Abercynon Library at the time. We grabbed our gear and set off along the final section of the route. We came out into River Row, crossed the Cynon and followed the road towards the fire station.

There's a signpost at the end of Greenfield Terrace advising you that it's 14.5 miles to Cardiff.

I pointed at it and said, 'Who's up for pushing on to Pontypridd?'

(That's the furthest point at which our Day Rider tickets would still have been valid.)

Liam gave me a murderous look, so I scrapped that idea and we headed for the Navigation Hotel, our original finishing point. Rhian was emerging with a pint when we arrived, so we grabbed a table outside and settled down to wait for the bus home. The whole adventure had taken us just over eight hours, and by that time we were all ready for a sit down and a nice cold drink.

Kate's expression might be the laughter of hysterical madness. Liam is definitely not amused. The rest of are putting on brave faces.

We caught a bus back to Aberdare at just before 6.00. Paul jumped off at Asda, from where he could cross into Aberaman near his house. Liam crawled off to get a taxi home, which is almost unheard of. Kate had to run home to change for her evening shift in Jacs. Rhian hobbled as far as the Lucky Star with me, and then hobbled up the hill to Jacs with me. For some bizarre reason I was still feeling fine. Maybe it's because I'd walked about half of the route in the previous week, scoping out the extent of the storm damage. Maybe I'm fitter than I thought. Kate seemed to have got her second wind, but I decided to bale out on the 10.30 bus. The walk up to Trecynon could have been the last straw for me.

In spite of the aches, pains, diversions, horny dogs, cock-ups, and assorted niggles en route, we all had a brilliant time. We couldn't have had a better day weather-wise, and of course it's a fantastic way to raise money for Anthony Nolan. We've all decided that Walking Together from Jacs should definitely become an annual event. Every year it'll be a different route, always ending at a convivial pub for a bite to eat. We'll know the potential pitfalls next time, and can plan around them.

For my part, I've hit my £250 fundraising target. Some very generous online donations took my Just Giving total over the halfway point on Thursday. I've got to catch up with a few people who sponsored me the old-fashioned way, but I'm well pleased with the result. I don't how the others have done, as they were mostly collecting sponsors on paper as well. I'll let you the full amount when it's all paid in. In the meantime we're going to leave the Just Giving page open for a couple of weeks, in case anyone wants to chip in retrospectively. All in all it was a great way to round off a summer of friendship and fun in Jacs, and the perfect taster session for the regular event starting next year. Why not join us next time?