It was a Wednesday night and I was back at school. Now I have to say that during those years which should have been my formative years I merely went through the motions of learning, somehow the goings on behind the bike shed were much more interesting.

But let us not expand on such things, because in the intervening years I have somehow managed to become interested in many of life's wonders and mysteries. Regional accents fascinate me, although there are some that I find immensely irritating. We tend to think of accents in large, general terms as in the different accent between north and south Wales. But it goes much deeper than that, there are differences within these large areas, many differences in fact. Swansea is different from Port Talbot and Neath is different again - and so it goes on. These differences are not always apparent to an outsider for some strange reason.

Now where was I? Oh yes, I was back at school and it was a 'free thinking lesson' - we were free to study and consider whatever we wanted. I had chosen, if you are unable to guess, regional accents, particularly those of Yorkshire and Lancashire. Think of it as 'George Formby meets Last of the Summer Wine'. I had put on my most effective thinking cap and it has some strange magical powers, if I wear it my mind completely relaxes leaving it free to process all kinds of complicated theories until the culminating 'Eureka!' moment. The cap is believed to be the very same one worn by that great thinker - Trevor Pythagoras.

My own 'Eureka' moment was not long in coming and it was indeed brilliant. So often the obvious answer is the one most difficult to see and even you will kick yourselves when I tell you this -

The Yorkshire accent is spoken in a backward sloping italic while the Lancashire accent is spoken with a forward sloping italic.

And isn't it so obvious!

I wrote copious notes and took them to the teacher, I was very excited and bursting to tell him but unfortunately he was testing a lunch with the domestic science teacher so all I got was -

"If you don't mind Evans, go away and come back later."

I went back to the class and, on entering, gave the usual greeting "Good morning, girls." The girls giggled, the boys glared. I sit at the back and added a bit of polish to my theory before heading back to see the teacher. On the way someone hands me a pile of leaflets and a yellow jersey.

"Here," he said "get these out! And if you can stick this broom handle somewhere you can sweep the floor while you're at it!"

It was chucking down with rain and the jersey was soaked. I am in a panic.

I must get it dry, I must see my teacher.

I can't do everything.

I panic again

I wake up.

It was such a vivid dream and, unusually, I remembered the detail so I wrote down notes to remind me. Have you ever tried to grab the memory of a dream before it slips away? You desperately try to cling to whatever you remember while even that slips from your grasp. A brilliant welsh lyricist once described it as two walls covered in slime and very close together, the dream is a tangible object and it is slipping down between these walls away from your grasp never to be recalled.

They say that dreams are caused by your mind tidily putting things away overnight so what was it that prompted this one?

I can't honestly say why Yorkshire and Lancashire cropped up and certainly I have no longing to go back to school. The girls, well yes, shouldn't they always be included in your dreams! All this was probably just a background for the stuff that can be explained.

The leaflets were an obvious reference to the leaflets we gave out on the recent Gower Run. The yellow jersey is to do with the Tour de France. The broom handle, well that goes back a long way (just in case that makes your eyes water somewhat, let me explain that I was referring to a long way in time) When I worked at British Leyland, as it was then, (but is no more, under any guise) there was a chap who always felt put upon and regularly came out with that expression. So often did we hear it that I am surprised that no-one ever rushed for a broom handle. That would have changed his tune, and played it in a rather higher key!

But the important and key part of the dream was the thinking cap and heaven forbid that I should be accused of dreaming of David Naylor but I think it certainly was his cap.

It was our annual Away Day to Tenby courtesy of John Cardy and the lovely Lady Baglan. David had arrived by train, unfortunately although David and his bike had safely arrived the same cannot be said about his hat. If David but knew that his cap, even as we speak, is making yet another journey across this wonderful country of ours he would indeed be envious! Anyway just as the rest of us would not feel complete without our flashy lycra David is not complete in his sartorial elegance without his cap. And so it was that our ride was preceded by a lap of dishonour around Tenby city centre in search of a suitable emporium. We stopped opposite a likely boutique but before he crossed the road I asked him if he would like my help in choosing.

"No, really Bob," he said "I think I'll be alright."

"Oh come on David" I said "I could tell them you're my grandad."

"No," he politely insisted "I'm sure I'll be fine."

He crossed the road, entered the shop and within a minute appeared in the doorway wearing a rather nice floral number with a floppy brim.

"No David, please no!" we shouted in unison and he disappeared again. He reappeared wearing a garish pink article with the legend 'Kiss me Quick' across the front.

This was too much, we crossed the road, grapped him by the elbows, took him back to the hatstand and made him put it back, we turned him round and marched him out of the door leaving a bewildered and disappointed shopkeeper sobbing over a lighter than anticipated till.

We took him to Morris Brothers and pushed him through the door.

"Now stop messing about," we told him "choose yourself a decent cap and quickly, we have a ride to go on. And, by the way, don't go for the most expensive!"

Well the tough talking worked and he came out with a rather nice flat cap, he had paid over twice as much as he usually pays but then Morris Brothers are hardly expected to have the same purchasing power as 'Wickes - bespoke tailors to painters and decorators'

(Message to Isla - Can you sow his new hat to his collar or something, and, while you're at it perhaps thread some string up his sleeves and attach his gloves to it. Thanks)

At last we were off, nine of us in total heading towards Penally avoiding the busy P1 (Penally bypass) and going through the village where John has to stop at the shop because he has forgotten his water bottle. (Message to Marilyn - can you find some way of attaching a water bottle to John, nothing too obvious! Thanks) We head on past Lydstep Haven and on towards Skrinkle Haven where we stopped and admired the view. Mike Brewer was heard complaining about things dropping off and nobody wanted to depress him by pointing out that when you reach a certain age ... !

Down past Manorbier castle and up the other side, a nice big hill to get the muscles ready for Freshwater East. The ride down was fabulous, knuckles a nice dazzling white! Couldn't resist a game of poo-sticks in the river, can't remenber who won but lets say it was Colin. Then there was the steep ride out but we all made it. Through Bosherston then and we stop on the bridge to admire the lilly pools, a heron stands still on a branch basking in the sun and contemplating his next meal.

For a heron it's a week of Fridays!

We lunch at Stackpole Quay, a rather good place to lunch. Jocularity and joviality reigns but eventually we must drag ourselves away, Pembroke needs to be got through and then the Lamphey rush hour, and David must not miss his train.

We clear Pembroke and I go ahead so that I can call and see my parents at St Florence, they are on excellent form, thank you for asking and as an unexpected bonus my sister Rhian was there.

I get back to Tenby to find that David has missed his train so he was there in the back garden with the others tucking in to Marilyn's wonderful tea.

And so we headed for home, the weather was perfect, the company great, Pembrokeshire was at its best.

Many thanks to John for leading us but a special thanks to Marilyn for spoiling us!

A great day!!

Happy pedalling

Lew Spokes

For the complete Wednesday and Sunday rides programme click on the link at the top of this page, or if that is too much trouble then click here.

Golf Course Vista		Gathered before the off
Ready to go		Elegance doesn't come more sartorial than this!
The cliffs from Skrinkle		A game of poo-sticks
Probably the winner		So what's next then?
Last stop before lunch		Colin gets The Cap