Here I am at the multi-coloured
Italian-style Portmerion village near Portmadog in North Wales. Its designer has repeated denied
claims the design was based on the fishing village of Portofino on the Italian
Riviera. True or not it’s worth a visit for its sense of deliberately fanciful
colours and uniquely-shaped buildings. It looks out onto the estuary of the
River Dwyrdy so you can’t blame anyone for living
there (there are lots of “Private” signs dotted about.)
Anyone who has watched British television knows
this is the filming location for the cult series The Prisoner that ran for seventeen episodes. It’s mildly surreal to
watch now so it must have been more so when it was broadcast in the sixties. A
former secret agent (played by Patrick McGoohan)
suddenly resigns from his job and is making a hurried departure from the
country when gas is piped into his London flat rendering unconscious. He wakes
to find he’s in a re-creation of his apartment but it’s in an isolated seaside
"village" packed with odd characters and strange laws. The story of
how the agent tries to escape from this bizarre prison begins (.please watch it
to find out more.)
I arrived at Portmerion
from the rear (not from the from estuary side) and parked in woods besides cars
and the odd coach. I sat in the motorhome having a coffee and peanut butter
sandwich. My eyes scanned across the green wood....mmm leafy woods provide
great cover for people like me who like scaling fences and walls. My eyes soon
landed on a fence…..I’m like a gazelle over fences. I locked up and found
myself creeping down a bushy decline and then leaping over the fence. From here
I passed through woodland and then a gate into the area where a coach was
disgorging grey-haired folk. I merged in with them, waved at a pretend person
in the distance, shouted, “Elsie....there you are,” and entered the village for
free…free! Things are free are more
enjoyed. At school I remember finding a box of ten Sony C90 cassettes still
wrapped in cellophane and it made my month (still got them and the strains of
Rainbow, Whitesnake and Kajagogoo
hasn’t faded.)
I was going to stay there for the night but a “No Overnight Parking”
sign said otherwise. I drove into Portmadog town, had
a stroll around, bought a curry and parked in the harbour. It was noisy outside
the pub but horizontal in bed I overheard most of the conversations. Some were
in Welsh. One man said someone had “fried in a house fire” and the listener
asked, “Was he alright?” (no he fried….it meant he died.) One woman talking
about sharing a holiday said, “I can’t get my kit off in front of you even
though you’re my best friend.” The next morning the harbour was chocked with
fog but as I had some cereal while sat on a bench the sun was already burning
it off.
Brian Epstein, manager of The
Beatles, visited...