We found a main road. That can mean very little in rural Britain except that there is a single lane going each way, but there are bound to be road signs eventually. We had no immediate plans beyond finding lunch, so it didn’t really matter where we found ourselves. We would go wherever the road led and, as luck would have it, it led to Criccieth. Steve had mentioned it earlier as a pretty, seaside town… which sounded perfect.

We parked below the 13th century castle that dominates the town. Built high upon a rocky peninsula that juts out into Tremadog Bay, the castle is perfectly sited. Impregnable from the sea and having an easily defensible and distinctive double gatehouse, even its ruins give an impression of solid strength. Yet, somehow, in spite of the steep slopes down to the beach, the castle seems more ‘approachable’ than the one at…