Well, we arrived in Tywyn, got out of the car, to be greeted by a deluge of Old Testament proportions. Knee deep in rain, we were, as we passed the local animal rescue fund-raising shop with its window display of a 1925 de-activated Colt pistol and a de-activated machine gun and I pondered briefly on the refreshing lack of attention to legal requirements of these quaint little Welsh towns.
Sadly, when we got to where we were going, we discovered that the butcher's shop has now morphed into a fishmonger's.
"We seem to have the kiss of death effect on businesses round here," he complained.
He could be right. The last time we went to Tywyn was for lunch at the Propergander, only to find that it too had closed.
Meanwhile, the weather was