Yesterday: climbed Snowdon up the Watkins path. After a few thousand feet, I found myself with a delightful family who hadn’t taken that route before. They were lovely, though I would have been just as happy with the solitude at high altitude. Climbing mountains is about searching, a longing for something elusive in the distance and in these places you get closer to touching something. Talking to that family, I shall call the "howards" left less space for the first quest. The summit was a more intense emotional experience for the wrong reasons: Rosie had acquired a deep long gash on her leg which left me with blood covering my hands. I felt devestated by guilt and concern for my loyal travelling companion. My mind raced through alternative solutions that would be best for my poodle. I decided to get away from the crowds, and give rosie a rest to allow the injury to clot and stop bleeding. It did work, but I would have given anythign not to have a problem like that to solve.
The urge to climb mountains is a  really tough one to explain, so I may have to re-visit this theme to articulate it more clearly.
Hotel: after a meal, there was no getting round the fact that I was too tired to drive home. Betwys-y-Coed has lots of hotels & B&Bs, it didn’t take long to check in a place that allows dogs. British hotels are grotty places, they hark back to a nostalgia for classicism, but the stuff isn’t that old but looks flaky in detail and smells of mildew. A great place for a novelist to seek material, or for me to read more of a Brautigan book. That book really drew me in yesterday- it takes me some time to get used to an author’s voice. Don’t look him up on Youtube though- he sounds like Big Bird from Sesame Street; his writing has strength.
I longed for a place that is more populated by climbers and people who do stuff outside; maybe they do exist, or maybe Wales still hasn’t caught on to that rich potential market. that is one country held back by under-investment and lack of imagination.

Quality advice here