Standing three long days of hard walking away from the Welsh border at the Dee estuary, Pen-y-Ghent serves to remind us that once upon a time everybody in Britain was Welsh (except that back then there was no Welsh border, and folks had the good sense not to be bothered by nationality). Today our Welsh-est people are almost certainly descendants of those short dark Britons who placed themselves where they were most able to avoid the Romans, the Angles, the Saxons, the Norse, the Normans, etc.
Some people say that Ghent does mean border, but I'm siding with "windy" from the Welsh gwynt, i.e. windy peak, or Windy Mountain (or indeed Mont Ventoux), but for all my ponderings and conjecture I still fail to understand why yesterday the Welsh should have been so fucking stupid as to vote seven UKIPpers into their Assembly.
"Croeso i No-one", is it, boyos?