Hwyl Fawr


Emily Trahair

It was a struggle to work out how on earth to write this editorial, so I took a twilight walk up Constitution Hill, to gain some perspective. From there, if you squint a little as you look down on the sweep of the bay as the lights come on, Aberystwyth looks like a city in miniature, a Donostia perhaps, or a Rio. It was a clear early evening – the indistinct blue peaks of Yr Eryri and Pen Llŷn were visible across the horizon, so Cardigan Bay looked like a vast lake as you might find in Sub-Saharan Africa, Canada or the Caucasus. In moments of crisis your desire to be very much anywhere else than where you find yourself can lead the mind to trickery. But we are, prosaically, where we are; in this case juggling packing tape and spreadsheets in wintry mid Wales, in the midst of the administrative nightmare of winding up a beloved magazine; and from there to the dole queue.

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