Monday, 4 September 1950
Went with Glyn by car all over the Rhondda and Afan Valleys. Mist shrouded everything – purple heather, black slag heaps, disused pits, grim wet stone houses, uniform rows of drab streets. Occasional water-falls cascading with pure music down the mountainsides. Rain dripping steadily off of leaves bent with the pain of it. A brooding sadness.
From the brilliant but tragic, Russell Davies (ed.), The Kenneth Williams Diaries (London: HarperCollins, 1994).