House made famous by Gavin & Stacey goes on the market
If you're a fan of Gavin & Stacey distraught at the fact that you can't get any more of it maybe there's a way that you can
This property in Barry, used extensively in Gavin & Stacey, is up for sale
(Image: Right Move )
There's a particular house for sale in a south Wales town that many of us will be familiar with if we're big fans of the most iconic and well-loved sitcom ever to be set in Wales. Gavin & Stacey, which aired for the final time on Christmas Day last year, has earned its place in millions of people's hearts all over the UK and beyond.
In a show full of memorable characters one of the most memorable was undoubtedly Doris, next-door neighbour to the West family, played by Margaret John. Doris was a recurring character in the show throughout the first three seasons and featured in the first Christmas special in 2008.
Sadly John died in 2011 so we were denied even more hilarity from Doris in the Christmas specials of 2019 and 2024. Love dreamy Welsh homes? Sign up to our newsletter here .
Now the house in Barry which belonged to Doris in the show is up for sale. Situated in Trinity Street in Barry the two-bedroom terraced property is next door to the house used as Gwen and Stacey's home.
The lounge where Nessa once famously gave everyone taps as a Christmas gift
(Image: Right Move )
The property featured heavily in the 2019 Christmas special as by then it was being lived in by main characters Gavin and Stacey and their children. The kitchen is the location of a famous scene where Uncle Bryn almost (but not entirely) ruins the Christmas dinner despite his level of preparation including the use of walkie talkies.
Article continues below
The property is being listed for sale by Chris Davies Estate Agents in Barry and is being advertised on Rightmove with an asking price of £220,000.
A description of the property reads: 'Located in the highly sought after West End of Barry, this charming two-bedroom mid-terrace property offers a rare opportunity to own a piece of British television history!
The dining table
(Image: Right Move )
"Famously known as Doris's house from the beloved BBC series 'Gavin & Stacey', this delightful home is brimming with warmth, personality and seaside charm.
"The property boasts a modern fitted kitchen and an open plan lounge/diner, ideal for hosting gatherings and creating lasting memories with friends and family.
"The two double bedrooms offer comfortable living spaces, while the modern first-floor four-piece bathroom provides a touch of luxury.
The kitchen: 'Will you kindly inform everyone that dinner will be ever so slightly delayed?'
(Image: Right Move )
"Step outside and discover the generous fully enclosed, low-maintenance rear garden, providing a private sanctuary for relaxation and outdoor enjoyment.
"Whether you enjoy al fresco dining, gardening, or simply basking in the sun, this outdoor space offers endless possibilities for creating your own outdoor oasis in the heart of Barry.'
Article continues below
Not a bad view out to sea in Barry
(Image: Right Move )
The house itself boasts an entrance hallway, a lounge, a dining room, and a kitchen on the ground floor while the upstairs offers two bedrooms and a family bathroom.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Spectator
3 hours ago
- Spectator
And now let's bomb Glastonbury
A small yield nuclear weapon, such as the American W89, dropped on Glastonbury in late June would immediately remove from our country almost everybody who is hugely annoying. You would see a marked reduction in the keffiyeh klan, for a start, and all those middle-class Extinction Rebellion protestors would find, in a nanosecond, that their rebellion was pointless, because extinction had arrived even more summarily than they expected. Go on, glue yourselves to that, Poppy and Oliver. Street drummers, liberal politicians, provo vegans, radical rappers, spiritual healers, Billy Bragg, that bloke who owns Forest Green Rovers, druggies, tattooed blue-haired hags, almost the entirety of middle-class London – all evaporated. I am not saying that we should do this, of course – it would be a horrible, psychopathic thing to do. I am merely hypothesising, in a slightly wistful kinda way. One on Glasto, one on Brighton, and the UK would soon begin its recovery, with only a few chunks of gently glowing cobalt 60 left to remind us of what we are missing. One on Glasto, one on Brighton, and the UK would soon begin its recovery The BBC would cease to exist, too. It identifies Glastonbury as an expression of the UK 'coming together', which shows you how much it understands about the country. It has poured millions of pounds of licence-payers' money into its coverage, and 400 staff were there last weekend, including the director-general, Tim Davie. Or at least 400 staff were actually working there – I'll bet another 400 or so were there in their little tents, desperate to surf the vibe or whatever the phrase is. All those people, then, and they still couldn't get it right. Nor should we take seriously their claims that pulling the ridiculous Bob Vylan from air would not be anywhere near as simple as flicking a switch. It is every bit as simple as flicking a switch, in that all they had to do was flick a switch. They had rafts of presenters who could have filled the time, plus cameras at every other stage in the festival site. All it needed was someone with the merest vestige of sentience to make the decision – but, then, this is the BBC we are talking about. Whoever was in charge of output at that moment – almost certainly someone called 'Johnny' or 'Ayesha' – probably just thought the stuff about the IDF was 'top bants'. In truth, I am not much worked up about the Bob Vylan (or Kneecap) stuff, per se. They were only doing what an endless list of hip young musicians have done at every summer festival going all the way back to Country Joe McDonald and 'one-two-three-four what are we fighting for?' – i.e., channelling infantile far-left agitprop devoid of nuance and context to an audience of gullible drongos. The difference is that the BBC decided to cover it, thinking – as it unquestionably does – that the majority of the country would be cheerfully humming along with Bob Vylan's tuneful music and are entirely down with the sentiments expressed. That is the BBC's real crime. It is worth a brief digression here on the nature of protest songs, of rock musicians playing politics and whether they have an effect or not. The BBC would argue that they do have an effect, that they tap into a perhaps previously unexpressed sentiment among the wider public and hence herald great change. Au contraire. In the mid- to late-1960s, the more protest songs and festival chants there were, the further to the right swung the rest of the electorate. As evidence, I would point you in the direction of Richard Nixon's comprehensive victory in 1968 and then, after Country Joe had done his stuff at Woodstock, a landslide in 1972. They all seriously believed McGovern was going to win that one, so wrapped up inside their radical bubble were they all (including the broadcasters). All those youthful protests of the 1960s resulted in surprise victories for the right at the polls a few years later – in the UK with Ted Heath in 1970, in France with an unexpected win for Pompidou in 1969, and of course the USA. The more fervently they insist that they are right, the more likely it is that the rest of the country will tell them to get stuffed. I suppose it is possible that Bob Vylan will do for Tim Davie, the DG – although he is the least of the corporation's problems, frankly. He knows he has a workforce which, in its arrogance, subscribes to a set of political beliefs unshared by the people who pay for its existence. And it is so endemic that there is nothing he can do about it. One little thing I noticed: the BBC News dutifully covered the Bob Vylan debacle and did so even handedly. But on every single occasion, on radio and TV, the story was immediately followed by a report of Israeli 'atrocities' in Gaza. Every single time. Do you think that is an accident? There was a programme on BBC Radio 4 on Monday, as part of the 'Currently' series, about Louise Lancaster, an environmental protestor who was finally (on her fifth conviction) handed down a four-year sentence (later reduced to three years) for organising a protest which seriously inconvenienced hundreds of thousands of people. You would be hard-pressed to find a more egregiously biased example of broadcasting. Lancaster – a middle-class teacher from Grantchester – was portrayed as a kind of saint, suffering state persecution for her entirely valid beliefs. The Sun and Daily Mail were mentioned disparagingly and every action taken by Lancaster lauded. The BBC decided first to commission this rubbish and then put it out. Can you imagine it doing a similar piece about Lucy Connolly? Not a chance. That is the real problem with the BBC. It is utterly incapable of recognising the bias it displays every day on an hourly basis, no matter how often that bias is pointed out. Bob Vylan, frankly, is the least of it.
Spectator
3 hours ago
- Spectator
Truly awful: Roblox's Grow a Garden reviewed
Grade: D– There's some scholarly research to be done, I fancy, on the strange psychological appeal of boringness in videogames. These gaudy things could be non-stop excitement, and yet many of the most successful are mega boring. 'Grinding' – repetitive tasks undertaken for incremental rewards – is a matter of pride and pleasure for serious gamers; and some games – I'm looking at you, interior-decorating Sims – really do offer a digital equivalent to watching paint dry. Remember FarmVille, for instance? Here was a truly mind-numbing Facebook game where you managed a virtual plot of land and grew corn and tomatoes and whatnot, traded them for imaginary currency, bought seed to grow more crops, and so ad infinitum. It is what sometimes gets called a 'Skinner box'. It was awful. Everyone loved it. Your mum loved it. It was Facebook's most popular game by miles. Anyway, the kids have now discovered FarmVille in a new form. It's called Grow a Garden, and it's on the Roblox platform, whose audience is pre-teen or tween, and the BBC reports that 16 million people are playing it. God help us. You buy some carrot seed, dump it in your blobby vegetable patch (the visuals are Minecraft meets Lego), harvest, sell, rinse, repeat. Your plants grow while you're offline, so even while you're at school your blocky virtual blueberries are growing. I found the best place to play Grow a Garden was in my allotment, where the time I spent attending to my virtual crops was time I wasn't acquiring blood-blisters digging out couch grass and horsetails and bitterly lamenting the sin of Adam. I felt bad. There's probably a lesson in there somewhere.
Spectator
3 hours ago
- Spectator
‘Boldness was his friend in betting and in life': A tribute to the great Barry Hills
I have always enjoyed Royal Windsor Racecourse, as it styles itself. It may not have quite so many dignitaries popping in from the castle up the road as Royal Ascot does, but it has long been famed for its friendliness and approachability. Jockeys moving from the weighing room to join their mounts under the parade ring trees pick their way between picnics and the Pimm's and Caribbean cocktail outlets, readily pausing for autographs. In times long past, a former clerk of the course once responded to jockeys complaining about the cold autumn changing room by bringing in a bottle of whisky from the Stewards' Room. Watching young Olivia Tubb win the opening apprentice handicap for Johnny Portman with a tidy ride on Prima Diva reminded me of Dean McKeown's experience at a similar stage of his career. Having led all the way to win on the 33-1 shot Miss Merlin, he told me he was mystified to be called in by the Windsor stewards. The well-backed horse he had beaten into second was ridden by one Lester Piggott, who had persuaded the authorities that Miss Merlin had 'intimidated his horse', and Lester was awarded the race. Afterwards the public idol turned to Mc-Keown and told him: 'You learned something today, son. Bullshit beats brains.' He could have had a political career. Of Saturday's winners, both Billy Loughnane on George Boughey's Amorim and Cieren Fallon on William Haggas's Tenability were confident they had been on decent horses with more to come, but perhaps the most enjoyed win of the afternoon was Rossa Ryan's success on Wisper, trained by the ever-courteous Alan King. Hearing after the race that Wisper had also won the best-turned-out prize, Alan declared: 'Thank God they didn't announce that before the race. I always fear it is the kiss of death.' The cheerful Wisper syndicate is led by former Lambourn trainer Michael Blanshard, and before his retirement you could always rely on Michael having a spate of winners in July. The former Lambourn trainer whose name dominated racing's weekend, however, was Barry Hills, who has died at 88. Back in 2010, interrupted by his ongoing battle with cancer, I managed to persuade him to let me write his biography, Frankincense and More, named after his extraordinary betting coup on the 1968 Lincoln winner. Backing it for weeks, he won enough to buy Lester Piggott's father's Lambourn stable and set out on a training career that netted him 3,181 British winners. Starting as a head lad's son with no silver spoon, Barry was not just a superb trainer of racehorses, with a dozen Classic winners and a Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe with Rheingold to his credit, he was the epitome of the self-made man and founder of a much-respected racing dynasty. Of his five sons, John, who sadly died of cancer in 2014, and Charlie have both been highly successful trainers. George is in the horse insurance business and twins Richard and Michael each rode approaching 2,000 winners as leading jockeys. One of Barry's achievements, alongside his great friend Robert Sangster, was bringing the supreme US rider Steve Cauthen to Britain. Barry and his wife, Penny, treated the American superstar like family, but even Cauthen occasionally had to suffer Barry's brusquer side, which earned him the nickname Mr Grumpy. Cauthen told me once of the day Penny asked him to take over her usual role of driving them to Nottingham. Normally she would drive with him alongside her, and Barry in the back reading the Sporting Life and smoking a cigar. 'I had very little experience of smaller English roads,' Steve told me. 'I kept pulling out to get by trucks and swerving back in again. I didn't quite know how to kick the Merc in the belly. Penny looked nervously behind them but there wasn't a word from Barry. The comment was saved for when we got to the track. B. Hills climbed out and said: 'I hope you give my horses a better fucking ride than you've just given me.'' Most of those who've asked me over the years about Barry have wanted to know about his ability to get one over the bookmakers. Basically, he told me, he kept things simple. 'I rarely back other people's horses. Sometimes I don't feel I know enough about my own… You can't win backing bad horses, because most bad horses have a problem – they bleed or they won't do it or they need blinkers. You're better off backing one good horse against other good horses than a bad one against other bad horses.' And it was better to back in the second half of the season when there was more form in the book. Finally: 'Never bet odds-on. Never back each-way. And don't be frightened of a long price – the longer the odds, the more you should have on.' Boldness was his friend in betting and in life.
