A perfect morning, a million miles from anywhere, with nothing more to do but contemplate the lunch menu and a stroll along the cliff top - or see if the tide was out far enough for a walk along the Newgale sands and watch the surfers - that is if there were any waves of the right height and strength coming in. At this time in the morning though, all looked calm and bright.
Last night the dining room had been packed. Not just with guests, but all the locals - people from Haverfordwest and many of the small villages around had gathered for the annual Carols-mince pies-and mulled-wine event. We sang our way through 27 traditional carols with ALL THE VERSES. I found the simultaneous swallowing and singing more difficult than normal, possibly because the lumps in my throat were not only caused by pastry crumbs, but arose from an unexpected sense of awe and magic.