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It was all the rain that made it so surprising. When you think Wales maybe you think rolling valleys, sheep, leeks… So I had packed jumpers and raincoats and sensible walking shoes. We had a Wale of a time, pun fully intended, hiking up beautiful green hills and exploring round the coastline. My aunt and I spent ages scrabbling over huge slabs of sea bashed stone and delving into rockpools to disturb the creatures within. The museums lining the beach front provided shelter from the rain and yes, here I would like to remind you of the rain. Because this was a very damp holiday you see. Soggy socks hung on the radiators inside our rental cabin as we played endless rounds of uno with frozen fingertips. We layered up to climb into bed and again we layered up the next morning to head out and face the elements. Yet, by some miracle as we stepped out into the squelchy mud, there were sun rays upon our faces. Spinning 180 and tearing back into the cabin we pulled on our bikinis as fast as we could and raced down to the seafront. Those next few hours splashing in the sea and constructing sand castles with our eagerly purchased buckets and spades I’m afraid to tell you came to a very sorry end. It wasn’t even warm but still, later that evening as we showered off the sand and tried to get ready for bed our backs were on fire. The burning. In Wales! Sun burnt. The both of us. My grandmother showed no mercy in slapping on the after sun, exercising no delicacy in her application of the aloe vera gel. Scolding us about our scalded backs. To this day the lower half of my back tans a little different to the rest of me and I always remember to pack sun cream!