It’s been seven years since Caroline and I went to Cardiff together. Caroline realised this while we were there on the weekend. Seven whole years ago, before we were married and back when we were both courting (as my Grandfather would’ve phrased it). I’d been back quite a few times without Mrs Thomas in the interim, for the rugby and so on, but it was Caroline’s first trip back in three-quarters of a decade. Where do the years go?
We were in Cardiff to see Bellowhead, an eleven-piece contemporary folk group, who were playing at the St. David’s Hall as part of their farewell tour. They’re very good, especially live, although as the tour’s sold out and they’re splitting up in May there’s a limit to how useful this information will be to you. Sorry about that. I’d got Caroline tickets for Christmas (on the understanding that I’d get invited along, obviously) and the fact that the St David’s Hall date was the most convenient for us was almost a happy accident.
So we got there on Sunday afternoon, dropped our bags off for at the hotel and headed into Caerdydd town centre to get some grub and ended up in the Old Market Tavern on Trinity Street…
…This was our first mistake. I’d like to emphasise that the front of house staff were lovely. They couldn’t have been more friendly or cheerful and it wasn’t their fault that they had an incompetent sociopath in their kitchen.
Firstly, I ordered steak, only to be told, regretfully, that they’d sold out. That was fair enough, these things happen, so I ordered the chicken burger. After a while out came a beef burger. I politely rejected it and the bar manageress, full of apologies, sent it back and assured me that my chicken burger would be with me soon.
Too soon, as it turned out.
I knew something was wrong as soon as it bit into it. The chicken breast felt odd in my mouth, the centre of the breast strangely gelatinous. I peered down at the burger and the heart of the meat was as pink as a flamingo’s foreskin. It was medium rare, essentially. Salmonella surprise.
Luckily I hadn’t swallowed my only mouthful and I carefully deposited that back in my napkin before calling over the bar manageress to explain the latest mishap. A complex blur of emotions crossed over her face when she saw quite how raw the burger was and realised how close to a law suit the pub might had been if I’d eaten any of it. She offered to replace it but I decided that I was off chicken for the rest of the day and thought I might have a beef burger instead.
A fresh beef burger was duly summoned, the second brought to me that day. It was nice enough, but I’d be lying if I told you my appetite hadn’t been slightly blunted. The bill was paid (a small percentage of it at least) and we left before the chef to make another attempt on my life.
Afterwards we went back to another bar, the Corner House. We’d nearly eaten there, but had decided not to as we were booked in there for lunch on the following day. More fool us. We saw the lunch menu and nearly wept at what might have been.
When we did eat there on Monday the food was exquisite (and cooked through, which was a blessing). We would have happily eaten there two lunchtimes running. Bloody typical. Other than the gents toilets being a Himalayan hike up a million flights of stairs the place was virtually perfect.
After leaving the Corner House we went back to our hotel room to freshen up and then to the St. David’s Hall for the show. I’ve not been to a folk gig before and, by goodness, I’ve never seen so many sandal-wearers in one place before. And the beards. Heavens, but the beards! It was a great gig, though. The support act, “Mawkin”, were brilliant. They’re a five-piece folk group, award winners in their own right, and despite only playing five songs we were moved to buy a copy of their album at the interval. Even better they’re not splitting up at the end of the tour so you can go and see them for yourselves.
But when Bellowhead took to the stage they brought the hall to raw and vivid life. People were on their feet from the moment the band took the stage and remained standing to the end of the second encore. There was much dancing and our palms were raw from clapping by the end. They played for over an hour and a half and the energy from the group and the audience could have lit a Cardiff herself. But I think the nicest thing was that we were close enough to the stage to see warm looks, smiles and glances between the bands before, during and after each numbers. It seems like Bellowhead are separating on the best of terms, while the whole exercise is still fun.
Upon returning to the hotel we took wine in our room. I went down to the bar to get some glasses, but paused by the window to admire the city lights. Cardiff looked in rude health. It had been a good day. A very good day.
The Flog 