Ynys Môn, Heddiw

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A mixed bag of a day, I suppose you would call it. A trip out to Plas Newydd in the pouring rain - it's still pouring now at eight in the evening, having barely desisted since I crawled out of bed at eight this morning - to see some manner of art exhibition on display in the music room there. I haven't been in the house since I worked there for BT some years ago: I had access to the non-public underbelly of the place - very prosaic - in the process. Today's visit was a good chance to revisit Rex Whistler's dining-room mural again after some considerable time. It really is rather fine, and always brings to mind the sensibilities of Clough Williams-Ellis, of Portmeirion renown: that kind of left-of-field, wistful and curiously ornate nod to the Classical Mediterranean so popular with British artists of a certain elevated class back in the salad days of the inter-war period, but into which imagined, fanciful world Whistler also conflated the landscape of North Wales.

Whistler was killed in the Second World War at the age of 39, his love for Lady Caroline Paget [the daughter of the then Marquess of Anglesey] still unrequited at his demise. Anyhow, after our stroll around the publicly-accessible part of the house, we braved the rain and went into Porthaethwy [Menai Bridge], did some shopping and went for a light lunch at The Anglesey Arms, by the Menai Bridge itself; oft-times frequented by the current Marquess, although not of late: I think he and his mates have moved on to another Sunday afternoon venue to drink and jangle [he's actually a decent, down-to-earth bloke for a Marquess]. After which sup we wended our away home to watch the semi-final [splendid game, too] of the Women's Rugby World Cup, between England and France. We look forward to next week's final between England and Canada at Twickenham, with eagerness. There you go: that's me done for the day...

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