MONETISING THE AWEN

arking is an emotive issue, and usually I have little sympathy for people who get caught out. If you park somewhere, you make sure you’re allowed—simple as that. But what happens when the rules change under your feet, and a place you’ve trusted for two decades becomes a trap?

​I am a creature of habit. I enjoy certain things being fixed. Don't get me wrong, I love new experiences, but not at the detriment of my comfort spots. The biggest regular thing I do is my trips to West Wales—probably the greatest pleasure in my life. Only recently we came home from our latest journey. Everything was as normal as it always has been, until it wasn't.

One of the early visits, several years ago

​One of the most beautiful places on our route is Llyn Tegid in Bala. It's a spiritual place that is deeply important to our journey, intrinsically linked as it is to Ceridwen and the Awen. We take time there to let the atmosphere wash over us—just for a short while. We usually eat our pack up by the water and make use of the facilities. We've done this for more than twenty years.

​On our return from our most recent trip, we stopped by the lake as usual. It was only by pure chance I noticed a small addition to the parking charges board: Blue Badge holders were now required to pay. Morticia is disabled, and for the entire twenty years we’ve been stopping here, blue badge holders parked free. The new signage gave no clear warning of a major policy shift—just a list of tariffs quietly posted where a regular, seasoned visitor wouldn’t think to look. The fee was a bit steep for the brief time we spent there, but I duly paid. It was then I noticed the ANPR cameras by the access road, and a sudden feeling of dread set in. How long had those been in operation? They definitely weren't there in June when we came last.

Our recent stop at llyn tegid

​I came home and half-forgot about the whole thing until an invoice dropped onto our doormat. The cameras at Bala had snapped us on the way through and charged us £100, reduced to £60 if paid within 14 days.

The parking invoice
(in welsh, provided alongside English
which is required by welsh law)

​You might expect a story about a heroic fight—a principled stand in court for what’s right. But I know when to fight and when to retreat. These parking enforcement companies are ruthless; they design their systems around panic and short deadlines. By the time the £100 ‘invoice’ hit our doormat, seven of the fourteen days for the reduced £60 rate had already elapsed in the post. I paid my £60.

​The real loss won't just be ours; it will be felt by the town of Bala itself. Our financial contribution was modest, but we always enjoyed dropping into the local shops—there's a great gift shop and a fantastic pagan bookshop in town. We won't be the only regular visitors now choosing to drive straight past.

​But the deeper crime is the commodification of a sacred space. For centuries, people have come to these shores to pause, breathe, and commune with the spirit of the water. Handing the banks of a sacred lake over to solar-powered ANPR cameras and private ticket merchants doesn't just drive tourists away—it drains the sanctuary out of the landscape.

Print by J.E.C. Williams in the book 'Y Mabinogion',
trans. J.M. Edwards (Wrexham, 1901)

​Legend has it that Gwion Bach accidentally tasted three drops from Ceridwen’s cauldron here and gained absolute enlightenment before fleeing across the Welsh hills. I fear if Initial Parking had been operating back then, he would have been slapped with a £100 charge notice before Ceridwen even had the chance to give chase.

The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. 

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more of my journey and the daily reality of staying grounded in the modern world over on social media. Join in:

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