So, travel throughout Wales is now possible. What to do with my new found freedom, this heady brew of space? Angelsey, of course - quite out of my usual remit of North East Wales, of course, but oh to travel. I'm reminded of G.K. Chesteron (1874-1936),
'The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land.'
Anglesey to a pre-historian is like being a child in a sweet shop, where the sweets are free and the notion of tooth decay is a piece of Trumpian fake news. Now, I'm no pre-historian, but I was a bit giddy nonetheless.
Newborough Beach first. There was sun, there was sand, there was the ludicrously sceanic Snowdonia in full splendour across the Straits, and Ynys Llanddwyn, of course. But I was taken with the stones on the beach, as much as anything...in my defence, I have been stuck inside for some time, and have felt much like Andy Dufresne in the the prison yard of Shawshank, once scrabbling around in the dirt for flakes of Micah, caught now in a glorious thunderstorm. It's been a while. But, the stones on the beach - the variety, the colour, the geological splendour (I have an 'O' Level in Geology). I found a stone I liked - I always do, and coined it the Newborough Heart - well, why not?
And then on to Barclodiad y Gawres, a little ways up the coast. And I don't know what to say - what can I say? Thousands of years ago - thousands, mind - our ancestors, your ancestors buried their dead on this headland, and watched the sun rise and fall over the Atlantic Ocean. Did they see ships hugging the rugged coast, trading copper for tin, and bringing new ideas into the land. We didn't used to be so afraid of foreigners then.
And so to Bryn Celli Ddu - its near pefection, it's evidence of adaption and reuse, its stunning alignment to the movement of the sun, the glorious lack of definitive answers.
The crushing beauty of North Wales.