Dateline 3rd August 2010 CE, Caerdydd Canolog (Cardiff Central Station). Your reporter arrives in a business-like fashion to catch the train to the Eisteddford. Ticket purchased, she looks for the appropriate platform and notes that the display shows 0 (zero). There is a platform 0 at Cardiff and this lends a Harry Potterish air to the entire enterprise. On time, we set off up the valley, stopping at tiny stations along the way.

A journey of less than an hour brings us to Ebbw Vale, where everyone on the train disembarks and heads for the shuttle bus. It's raining - what else did we expect? Fortunately, there is only a short wait for the bus and, once settled, your intrepid reporter digs into her bag for her publicity material and hands over Carmarthen Underground postcards.

I'm not really familiar with the Valleys and this was my first in Ebbw Vale. What struck me first was how lovely the surrounding countryside was, deeply green and carrying no visible scars from the long-gone industries. Granted, the Eisteddfod was placed on what is now a big building site, but, once among the booths and tents, the atmosphere was terrific. Of course, had I come on the Monday, I would, no doubt, have seen hordes of druids in their little wellies, and perhaps even the new Archdruid, Jim Parc Nest. Sadly, during my visit, there was a dearth of druids so I was very disappointed. Still, chwarae teg, I enjoyed the day.

I had a good wander around, amused at the various signs and impressed at how adaptable Welsh can be when faced with words like "noodles" for translation. There were booths selling exquisite hand-made jewellery, harps in a variety of sizes, two women playing the harp in one booth, art, crafts of all kinds, so much literature in both Welsh and English and, always in the background, chatter in the language of heaven. Young and old people, all enjoying themselves as the rain receded and and sun came out.

Having found Y Lolfa's booth, I introduced myself and went for a Welsh cake at the very cafe across the way before settling down to sign some books. Afterwards, I took my postcards and handed them out to passers-by for a time, then went for a long walk around the maes to give them out to all and sundry. While I was there, two copies sold so there was great excitement! One of the copies was sold to a lady I'd met on the bus and who, after so kindly buying the book, took a photo entitled "Desperate Author in front of Bookstand"! Note to self: coercion obviously works when selling books.

Anyone famous spotted? Well, there was beth-chi'n-galw who used to be in Pobol Y Cwm (and may still be, for all I know); then there was the multi-talented Dewi Pws, who, whether he liked it or not, had one of my cards thrust into his hand.

At about 4.15, I was weary and made my way back to the bus for the journey to Cardiff. It had been a wonderful day and great feeling to be even a really tiny part of it all.

Because of my experience, I was doubly astonished at a letter in the Western Mail the following day (Wednesday). The writer, living in Cardiff, seemed to be a "glass half empty" sort of person. He described the festival as a celebration of a dying language in a dying landscape (or words to that effect). This couldn't have been further from the truth as far as I was concerned and it's definitely not the sort of attitude to be encouraged. I, for one, am looking forward to going again; hopefully, there'll be some druids about!