St. David's Day

During the short time we were at St. David's the weather was 'mixed': days of unbroken sunshine interspersed with days of chill winds and driven rain. During a planning session, with the map unfolded on the table, the rain battering the windows and the remains of lunch cleared away, I reached for the half-empty bottle of wine and, being in no hurry, took time to read the medical advice regarding responsible drinking set out on the back label. The wine was 13% alcohol by volume and a 125ml glass-full of it would constitute 1.6 units of the three or four units per day which a male should not regularly exceed. With the aid of my phone I was eventually able to calculate that, if I wished to drink tomorrow, I had better put the cork in for now.

This informative labelling is provided courtesy of a supermarket chain torn between encouraging us to buy more wine than we ought and discouraging us from drinking too much of it. Thus enlightened, the concerned consumer has three ways to go: one is to memorise the equation, use calibrated glasses and meticulously measure the pleasure; two is to moderate consumption by gauging cause-and-effect by guesstimation; and three is to bypass the system altogether by drinking either recklessly or not at all. I have never met anyone who has chosen the first option.

Personally, I always managed well enough before the days of scientific calibration, competence in maths not being my strong point: besides there is too often scope for misinterpretation of well-intentioned scientific advice - however accurately presented. In the news that day was the story of a child who developed rickets because its mother had denied it vitamin D by over-application of sun-block cream.  Her information on the dangers of melanoma was incomplete and unconnected with anything else. Life's flow, old wives' tales, folklore or experience - call it what you will - context is crucial to the interpretation of statistics. Surely everyone knows how to take sensible precautions for their well-being?

The next day dawned sunny, as predicted, and we were prepared with our boots, map, packed lunches, flasks and sunglasses. St. David's peninsula, with its jagged coastline, cliffs, coves, inlets and ever-changing views, is a holiday destination popular with those who want beaches, water activities and coastal walks. And Ramsey Island, just offshore, adds scale and intrigue to the vista of the open sea. That day, set against a clear blue sky and a glittering sea, the yellow gorse, white and lilac wildflowers and fresh green grasses of spring all combined in a harmonious palette of colours fresh to the eye and invigorating to the spirit.

The coast path was not busy, except near the beaches where people had ventured up to the cliff for a short stretch, but we did encounter a few other hikers. In one party of four a middle aged woman had paused to answer her phone. I overheard an exasperated "Well, have you tried turning it off then back on again?" then a more enthusiastic "What's the weather like with you?" A party of about 20 Asian teenagers trooped past in the opposite direction. Their stylish clothes and unsuitable footwear gave away the fact that their tour bus must have been nearby: but at least they were able to see for themselves that it doesn't always rain in the UK.

We hiked all day. My feet needed a rest, my throat a beer and the rest of me a wash. But in the shower, as the water stung my head and shoulders, I noticed I had a T-shirt-shaped, white torso and vividly contrasting red arms and neck – a sure sign of vitamin D overdose. Later that evening, after lavishly moisturising, I neglected to compute the units of alcohol I consumed over dinner.