“Nine hours…” We had finally made it to Rhyader as the sodden daylight was fading. “Nine..”

We’d only stopped once more on the way and that was to take on board some necessary refreshment. We’d called at the first pub we’d found, just across the Welsh border and the very English barman, choosing to perpetuate a travellers’ myth,  had preferred to talk to his regulars than take a food order from travellers. We were hungry.

We sat out in the pretty beer garden, set high above the river and my ravenous companion laughingly chanted for the rains to come and wash the place away. The heavens obligingly opened and for the next hour we drove in lashing rain, low visibility and damp clothes. I believe the pub remained dry…

To be fair, it had only been six hours on the road. The other three we had been wandering the sacred sites of Kilpeck and King Arthur’s Stone. Even so, we were tired. I’d been to work before we left, and the extra couple of hours on top of travelling made it a long day… we were ready for a drink, dinner and some relaxation. All we needed was the hotel.

We do not get lost. We may, occasionally, become slightly misplaced. Nor do we ever go the wrong way. It is always the right way, even if we don’t always know it at the time. In the same way that life gives us what we need, rather than always what we would choose, roads take you where you ought to be, rather than where you think you want to go.

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