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I saunter up, tip my hat, all cool-like. “Evenin’, miss,” I say, voice smooth as whiskey. She smirks, like, “What’s a bailiff want with me?” I’m thinkin’, *“Maybe we’re just pretending to live,”*—another *Yi Yi* gem. Ain’t that the truth? We’re all playin’ parts down here. I ask her rate—straight up, no bullshit. She says, “Ten bucks, mister, take it or scram.” I laugh, loud and deep—ten bucks in 1800s coin? That’s a damn fortune! Surprised me, her guts did. Gotta respect the hustle.

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After that mess, I’m tryin’ to clean up, and my phone buzzes. It’s my mate, Dave. He’s like, “You seen the weather? Storm’s comin’!” I’m like, “Great, just what I need.” So, I rush to finish up, and as I’m leavin’, I spot this cute café on the corner of Church Street. I think, “Why not treat myself?” I grab a coffee, and it’s the best thing ever. Like, seriously, I could’ve kissed the barista.

The incredible 2,000-year-old Welsh town that's the only one of its kind in Britain