There is something about Bethesda Rugby Club that is just beyond description. You could say it was tatty, even scruffy but that tells you nothing. It’s a huge rectangular single storey building that you feel is standing up better in some places than others – part of the ceiling over the pool table collapsed recently under the weight of snow and when Sue and I were down there this morning the builders were patching the patches.
I’m running a sourdough course there Thursday/Friday so we were checking what gear I had stored there and clearing out the fridge in which some people store perishable food and whichother people inadvertently turn off – for a few weeks at a time. Anyway Sue found a box of beef dinner that had been at the back of the freezer compartment since about 1937. The fridge was off and the pack well squidgy. I was looking through one of the kitchen drawers for a poly bag to put it in.
It was only a small drawer but it contained; a roll of disposable plastic aprons, some disposable plastic gloves, a Father Christmas oven glove, several books of raffle tickets, a Bethesda Rugby Club tie in a cellophane wrapper, and a pack of six inch nails.
The place is indefinable ….
The PArtisan Baker 
Bethesda….. Is there still the pub with a snooker table with the extra purple ball and the old fashioned cash register…?
The Douglas Arms ……
What can you say? I was probably underage when I first went there. We used to hitch up to Bethesda from Birmingham before I accepted I was a natural coward and opponent of physical fitness.
They finally stopped insisting on pounds, shillings and pence some time back, the map of the world with all the pink bits of the British Empire has gone although they will probably be mourning Thatcher on Wednesday (there is an anti-Thatcher gig in the Llangollen that evening).
There is a whole book to be written about Bethesda ….