All Down Rhyl From Here

The day of the Katherine Ryan’s performance in Rhyl arrived. But as we were about to find out, the Katherine Ryan gig side of the day becomes secondary after you’ve spent hours in Rhyl. Thankfully that wasn’t the only place we went that day. There were sights to see pre-Katherine.

A brief trip to Bangor alerted me to the existence of a giant snot—it devastates me that it never became a franchise.

I shouldn’t be too disappointed though. Lowri using the sleeve of my generously donated jumper as a tissue revealed to me this wasn’t the only giant snot in the area.

(It’s a green jumper, but wasn’t originally)

For proof of the snot's existence, see below.

Next on the list was Conwy, home of the smallest house in the UK. Anyone who knows I exist knows I’m amazed by even mild novelties. This wasn’t an exception—they don’t say it for nothing—it’s small. Even if it was ‘The Most Average Sized House in the UK,’ I’d still be like, YEP, let’s see that. Lowri insisted I should be committed to photograph in front of it, so please blame her for what you’re about to see. She described one picture as nice (where’s a tape recorder when you need one, right?)

It might have been this one I genuinely don't know.

They all looked the same throughout. I just nodded and thought of cake, just as with so much else in life. I should point out I hate looking like a tourist in my own country, but it’s a small price to pay compared to saying "No" when someone asks if they can take a photo.

This could’ve been a useful source of comedy for Katherine gig, but it was never used. Jokes like "I’ve seen bigger dicks than that house" (Lowri’s contribution), "and they were redder" (My contribution I mean- not my…yano, that’s more tartan) were never uttered on that stage. Two people who write, and that’s the best we came up with.

We know, it's the beginning of a beautiful writing partnership.

Anyway let’s actually talk about Rhyl now, I guess.

About two years ago, a flatmate told me that Rhyl was used as a practical joke in his school. If someone said they were going on holiday, the general response would be, "Where are you going Rhyl? Aaaaay," and they’d all have a good laugh (clearly never been—once you have you never laugh again—bad comedy venue). Two years later, I genuinely was technically going on holiday to Rhyl, and it wasn’t even ironic.

The place isn’t (quite) without merit, but it’s among few things I can’t pretend to fully enjoy. The other two are the idea of cheeseboards being desserts and Captain Planet.

The Latter Being a Series Responsible for Lines Such as This...

Rhyl, for everyone who doesn't know (aka Everyone), is one bustling seaside town in North Wales which is now home of ....little.

When I asked what Lowri remembered, her response was this:

You’ll notice I’ve included her picture. This is to gradually provide evidence that I didn’t make her up. I wouldn’t find a random picture then create an account based around it and then sign in and out of my own account while responding on a fictitious one. Not after last time.

Her statement about there being a lack of photographable (didn't think that was a word but they didn't try stopping me) isn't strictly true.

She's clearly forgotten this.

This is the Tourist information centre at Rhyl. Fact. Additional Fact: It was closed on a Saturday afternoon. Three possibilities for this:

1. There are no tourists there ever

2. The staff close it as a warning to potential tourists of the town’s quality hoping they’ll leave for a better holiday elsewhere

3. All of the above.

There was also this piece of tragic realism I like to call 'Caged Up Fun Land.'

This is one of the former attractions of Rhyl. Presumably some sort of funhouse—the place where fun is meant to be experienced is now restricted to public and on the verge of destruction (what do you mean 'It’s not symbolic?').

There are a plethora of arcades, but it took us almost the whole day to find them—even though when we did they seemed unmissable. Not our fault. Not like we could ask at the tourist info centre. We found a grand total of one of them a few hours before which was essentially a square of carpet with a penny pusher on top of it. It was a real victory finding one that offered hairdryers as prizes after that. There was one photo of me in an arcade, but I’ve deleted it because I looked like a bell end (why don’t you delete every photo of you then, ha ha ha, SHUT UP), wish I’d kept it, since Lowri said there’s nothing good to take photos of there I’d have a great excuse.

Our spirits were so close to being crushed before those discoveries. After the arcade discoveries, we found out there was an actual Wetherspoons, and never have either of us been happier to find one. We’d need to be in High Spirits (as in the actual emotions, not the film starring Daryl Hannah. Not that anyone thought that anyway). Soon enough we’d be at a comedy event. The next post will be entirely about that.

This song was a recurring mention that weekend. Also, it's there so Lowri ignores how much I've mentioned her snots. More than either of us thought, for the record.