Days scanning the reports of upcoming weather. Days stuck indoors with nothing beyond the windows but unseasonally temperate drizzle. Woe. When will it end, when will the brown skies break, the rain cease and allow me to move..? Well, today as it happens.

And so out, up to Rhewl, breath catchingly lovely Rhewl, and up into the Llantysilio Mountains. A hike, in truth, and away with the post Christmas blues, the Covid related news and the indescribably filthy weather...

Passing Coed y Gadfa, the Wood of the Battle - the scene, it is said, of the destruction of Llywelyn's ap Gruffudd's army by the forces of Henry III, and rife with the unquiet ghosts of the slain. Cae Llywelyn is next, the field within which the Prince of Gwynedd camped before making to escape across the Rhiw Goch.

And ever upwards into the Llantysilio Mountains - to Moel y Gaer, commanding the ridge between Moel Morfydd and Moel y Gamelin. Blessed sun, wind...and snow showers, all 500m above meh level.

Inspired, invigorated and aware, the creeping, crawling ennui dispelled...

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It was about time. I'd put it off for to long, of course, but I was just a little hesitant, a little over awed, I think. I'd had a brief shufty a couple of weeks ago, just to test the water, but today was about getting a proper feel for the village. I wasn't disappointed. What a wonderful place.

I'd done the research, and was eager to have a look at the Castle, sited within the remains of a prehistoric hillfort. I knew access was restricted, of course, but what I saw was immensely atmospheric - I look forward to the day when access to the Castle is returned, usually on specific Sundays each spring and summer.

Trueman's Hill Motte is a bit of mystery. For many years it was thought to be sepulchral, a burial mound, but an excavation in 1820 found nothing to suggest it was a cairn. In fact, rather sweetly, the Rev. Stanley thought it might be some platform to watch medieval pageants. It's probably a motte - one of the many hundreds in the British Isles that lack a known history. Why it would be raised so very near to Hawarden Castle is beyond me.

The rather wonderfully named House of Correction is a village lock up. It looks quite posh, in truth, but I fancy those miscreants kept within its walls before being transported to court elsewhere might I thought otherwise. It has a basement, if you please, with a stone bed.

A wander about St Deiniol's was an absolute pleasure. We were made so very welcome, by a variety of vicars and vergers, all with a tale to tell. And the resplendent Gladstone Memorial, at rest in the boat of life, was a highlight.

And what better way to end the day then Sunday dinner at St Deiniol's Library. And yes, I joined, obviously.

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