'I'm not supposed to tell you,' he confided, 'but they're missing.'
I had visions of a gap in the building, the upper storeys mysteriously held in place by skyhooks. 'What do you mean,' I asked.
'The numbering goes straight from seven to fourteen to make the hotel seem higher,' he explained sheepishly.
A similar explanation for platform eight seemed unlikely but when I found it, the train appeared to be destined for Manchester, not Cardiff. A porter explained that it had been going to Manchester but broke down so they brought it back to Crewe and it was now the Cardiff service. This didn't sound very reassuring but several other passengers had more faith in the vagaries of the train network and were already aboard so I joined them. Nothing happened at the appointed time for departure and we were informed that there was no crew, which, it being Crewe, I found mildly amusing. Gerry was there to meet me, forty minutes late, at Craven Arms, predictably fulminating at my choice of route, his implacable hatred of Virgin trains necessitating the Newport option, although as he always drives it's only a theoretical choice in his case anyway.
The overnight stop on our two day walk was at Bridges. Accommodation was in a converted barn, two interconnected rooms one with twin beds, the other with bunks, with a bathroom serving both. The only decoration was a dark mural covering an entire wall of the twin room depicting demons. I elected for the bunks, regarding a modicum of privacy as recompense for a less comfortable bed; in the event, it was necessary to cover the mattress with a spare duvet to prevent laceration by the feral springs.
Dinner was acceptable pub food, an open fire and an unexpected visit from Gerry's acquaintance Val. When she'd gone, Bob and Gerry speculated about her new boyfriend, a subject of endless fascination despite limited content since neither knew who he was. I'd brought my head torch; I rarely have the opportunity to use it and wasn't going to miss this one. I sauntered up and down the deserted road a few times and wandered over to the stream whose crossing points give the hamlet its name. Sheltered by a stand of trees, I switched off the torch. For a few moments, the darkness seemed absolute, an experience which fascinates and terrifies the city dweller in equal measure. After a few moments, stars materialised followed by the indistinct outlines of bushes. There were no cars.
Back in the barn, Gerry and Bob were getting ready for bed. Bob went back to the bar and returned with a deep basket with a zipped cover containing our breakfast.
'I expect you'd call it a hamper,' Bob said to Gerry, gnomically.
'Why've you brought it in here,' Gerry demanded. Bob said he thought it would be cooler than in the overheated bar.
'We're supposed to have our breakfast in there,' we hooted, 'take it back!'
After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. It was the barman returning the basket.
'I've brought your breakfast,' he said, 'you forgot to take it.'
Bob produced a pair of pink sneakers from his backpack.
'They're my wife's, our feet are the same size,'he said. There was a note of pride in his voice; dating apps take note, I thought. Gerry poked fun at Bob's pyjamas and Bob poked fun at my electric toothbrush. Bob and I were too sorry for Gerry to make fun of him.
It wasn't a restful night. The extra duvet overheated me and I was fearful of banging my head against the upper bunk if I sat up. In the morning, Bob claimed to have been disconcerted by the demons, although I thought Gerry's snoring more likely to be the problem.
© David Thompson 2016
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