Glan Yr Afron
Dave, Pinto and I packed up the car and headed south for a weekend away in one of my favourite parts of the UK — the Pembrokeshire coast. I had previously spent a magical few days there with my mum and little sister, walking a section of the coastal path a few summers ago, and it was during that trip that I truly fell in love with this otherwise lesser-known corner of the country. The endless sea, the constant presence of dolphins, the swooping red kites, and the quaint villages nestled into the undulating cliffs — where you could always find a delicious cup of coffee and a freshly made Welsh cake — it was heaven.
I’ve been meaning to return ever since, to continue another stretch of the path with Dave — perhaps next year once the house build is complete. So when I stumbled across Glan yr Afron (Thatched in Wales) on Instagram, I knew it would be the perfect stop for my Botanical Grand Tour. I promptly reached out to Gemma, and we arranged a creative exchange.
We set off early on Friday morning, with a planned stop in the Lake District at the stunning Blackwell Arts & Crafts House, where the incredibly talented artist Francis Priest — and a lovely friend — had a fantastic exhibition on. Her intricate, colourful ceramic pieces were beautifully placed throughout the house, perfectly complementing the Arts and Crafts interiors while holding their own as striking artworks. The exhibition traces her evolution from early monochrome work to her more recent richly detailed pieces, including works from her latest collection Unfixing, alongside rarely seen archive pieces and new works inspired by the architecture of Blackwell, designed by Mackay Hugh Baillie Scott.
Pinto had a good wander around the grounds (and a bark at some unsuspecting schoolchildren enjoying their lunch), and then we were back on the road, Wales-bound.
We arrived at Glan yr Afron in the soft light of the late evening, the valley just beginning to lose its glow. The cottage sat nestled amongst blossoming hawthorn and cherry trees, a cosy and welcoming presence in the landscape. While I always research the places I collaborate with, nothing quite prepares you for the moment of arrival — stepping through the bright red door into the living space, with its pitched ceiling, ancient rafters, and striking wattle and daub fire hood, felt incredibly special.
Glan yr Afron is a true gem — a rare example of a traditional West Welsh thatched cottage, lovingly restored by Gemma and James, building on the careful work of previous owners. Nestled in the historic village of Penbontrhydyfothau, the cottage sits beside a Georgian bridge, with the River Fothau flowing gently below and the garden stretching down to its banks.
Inside, the interiors have been beautifully considered. Original features are not only preserved but celebrated — complemented by thoughtfully placed antiques, objects, and traditional textiles. I’ve always loved the gentle wonkiness of old buildings, and this cottage is full of it: the absence of straight lines, the soft texture of limewashed walls, the characterful timber lintels, and the combination of aged terracotta quarry tiles and worn stone floors. The whole space feels handcrafted — perfectly imperfect and full of soul. I was especially drawn to the Welsh blankets and cushions layered throughout; I’ve since found myself scouring Gumtree and eBay in search of one for our own home.
After unpacking, we headed straight out into the surrounding woodland to explore and let Pinto stretch his legs. Spring was in full bloom — bluebells, primroses, harebells, gorse, hawthorn and cherry blossom bursting to life along the riverbanks and hedgerows. Everything felt weeks ahead of Fife, where the magnolia was only just beginning to bloom.
The next morning began slowly — coffee in bed, wrapped in a Welsh blanket, looking out over the garden through the original shuttered windows, with the sound of the river and birdsong drifting in.
My schedule on these trips is always shaped by the weather, and after checking the forecast, I knew Saturday morning offered a precious dry window. I set up my temporary studio on the cobbled patio and headed into the terraced garden in search of inspiration. I was particularly drawn to the cowslips scattered across the upper terrace, along with primroses, hawthorn, unfurling ferns and budding branches.
It was a glorious morning — casting in the sunshine on the worn stone steps of the cottage, working on my Ceredigion intaglios as well as a piece for the cottage itself. Dave (my long-suffering cameraman) was periodically summoned to document the process in between researching extractor fans for the house.
While the plaster dried in front of the wood-burning stove, we headed out to explore. Our first stop was Tresaith, where we walked along the beach and caught a glimpse of the famous waterfall. The sea was wild that day, waves crashing dramatically against the rocks as we sat in the sun watching the spectacle. From there we headed to Cardigan for a wander, coffee, and a glass of wine at Grain, before picking up Welsh lamb chops and halloumi from a local butcher and returning to the cottage to cook a simple feast on the BBQ as the light faded.
Sunday brought a shift in the weather, so we set off early for Llangrannog to walk a stretch of the coastal path before the rain arrived. It was wild, windy, and exhilarating - made even better by a chance encounter with a group of friendly Welsh ponies along the hillside. We made it back just as the rain set in, seeking refuge in the newly opened Tafell café for coffee and a generous slice of chocolate and Guinness cake.
Back at the cottage, I revealed my casts in the warmth of the kitchen, leaving them to dry by the fire while the rain tapped steadily on the windows. I took the opportunity to retreat up into the crog loft - one of my favourite spaces - with a book and a cup of tea, while Dave dozed on the sofa below. Later, we returned to Tresaith for the beachside sauna we’d spotted the day before. It was heaven - just the two of us, the heat of the sauna contrasting with the wild, crashing sea just metres away. Running out into the waves and back again felt like the perfect closing ritual to a deeply restorative weekend.
We drove back to Fife with full hearts, returning to the realities of a busy week of plasterboarding - but with an energised plan to return soon and continue our journey along the Pembrokeshire coast.
This was another special stop on my Botanical Grand Tour - a project inspired by the Grand Tour traditions of the 18th century, where travellers collected plaster intaglios as souvenirs of their journeys.
My version is rooted here in the UK, capturing the flora and seasonal landscapes of each place I visit through flower casting. It’s a quieter, more personal interpretation - one centred around place, seasonality, and a female perspective on this historic tradition.
If you’d like to follow along with the journey, you can explore other stops on the blog. And if you own a cabin (or know someone who does) and would like to be part of the Grand Tour, I’d love to hear from you - I create a bespoke artwork for each stay as part of the exchange.
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