Wrexham
I pulled into Wrexham about 11 a.m. on a Sunday. What to do? Where to go? I had read that St. Giles church was really something, so I punched the coordinates into my GPS & off I went. As I drove around Wrexham I couldn’t help but think, “dodgy”. The people, what few there were out, were poorly dressed & looked weathered. The stores in the main downtown area were low-end & outdated. All the buildings were similar in structure….half modern/late 1800’s design. Nothing remarkable about, well…anything. I’d been spoiled by the Cotswolds.
St. Giles Anglican church is an exception to the unremarkable landscape of Wrexham…it’s a fine example of ecclesiastical architecture. It’s been documented that a church was at this location as early as the 11th century, though this building dates from the end of the 15th century. The tower was completed in 1506, but it’s been lovingly maintained ever since. Service was just finishing when I walked up & the minister greeted me warmly & gestured for me to come inside, asking me if he could be of service. I told him that I wanted to take a minute to pray & he motioned for me to sit in one of the pews in front of the alter.
I’m not touting any particular religion & I’m not overly keen on the whole structured theological aspect the church adheres to, but I appreciate the sense of community it gives. While I don’t attend church in any of particular parish, I gravitate to churches…any denomination…wherever i am in the world & I absolutely have God in my heart. My version of God. I look upwards, towards the sky, when i pray, I just express my gratitude for what I have…I don’t ask for anything. I don’t actually NEED anything, except to someway find me some patience for the fool.
After dawdling around as long as I could & realizing Wrexham isn’t the Cotswolds, I pushed on to Debbie’s place…in a bedroom community about 15 minutes west of the city. Because the signs are in Welsh, it’s difficult to follow & end up trusting my GPS, which I don’t usually do. The place I’m trying to locate is Rhandir, Fflordd Isaf, Gwyfryn. Houses don’t have numbers here, they have names & the house name is Rhandir, but that isn’t necessarily written on the house either. Fflordd Isaf is the street name & it’s godawful narrow & steep. I miss my turn because I thought it was a back alleyway & not an actual street…that narrow. When I finally find Debbie’s place I lie & tell her I didn’t have any problem at all getting there. I always try & make the people I sit for feel comfortable & bitching doesn’t do that. Like, when Debbie messages me to ask how things are going, regardless of how things are going, I’m going to say FABULOUS…LOVE THE DOGGIE!
Debbie gives me the quick tour & instructions that she says in a really quick strong accent & off she goes. OK, let the games begin fido.
I decide to walk the Sheepdog up to a pasture Debbie told me about & wear us both out a bit, but when I try & put the harness on the dog he growls at me & snaps. Fuck you fido. I say all enthusiastically, “want to go for a WALK?!” & he whines & puts his tail between his legs & trots into the other room. Hmmm….doesn’t want to walk. It’s cold as hell in the house. The weather has turned shit with a solid drizzle & wind gusts that turn ominous, so I decide to watch another episode of Hannibal & light a fire. I sleep poorly, halfway because Louie, the sheepdog hogs the bed & halfway because I ate an entire bag of salt & vinegar chips with onion & garlic dip while watching TV & I have heartburn. I cause myself unnecessary grief at times.
The next day I decide to give this collar thing a real solid go & manage to get the leash on Louie. We walk up the steep road, covered in horseshit (?!), to the pasture for a game of fetch. Debbie said he loves to fetch & left me a tennis ball & a plastic thrower thing. The terrain is thick with heavy grass & very rugged. A rough trail can be seen & I follow it up an incline towards a steep drop to a gully on my left & thick bushes to my right. The dog gets hyped up for a throw & he races down the steep drop, sailing through the air & down the gully while looking back over his shoulder for the ball I guess I’m supposed to throw. Wow. Impressive Louie! I wing that ball for all I’m worth & it sails past Louie & bounces into the grass where Louie promptly fetches it up & races back up the steep hill, eager for more. We do this until he isn’t so chipper anymore & continue walking & throwing on more flat ground for another half hour or so. I end up falling in love with the stupid barking collie.
Other than being Louie’s Mom I don’t end up doing much near Wrexham. No chance encounters with Ryan Reynolds, owner of the Wrexham football club. No, fabulous restaurants. No interesting conversations with handsome Englishmen. Oh well…I’d better rest up because I leave Wales to drive to Manchester, dump the rental car & train it to Edinburgh to meet up with friends for a wedding. I’m sure there is a lot of fun in my near future. The dog doesn’t laugh at any of my jokes!!
