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Monday, 16 July 2018

Green Curious

You've probably spotted them in Llanbedr Pont Steffan or Machynlleth. Walking around in stripey, rainbow coloured hand knitted jumpers, jesus sandals and trousers that are off grid. These are the Greens or Hippies to you and me. These are the white settlers who have come into our not so green and pleasant land and are trying to make it a better place to live, like less pollution and nuclear power plants but oh no, the ethnically charged Owain Glendower Brigade lump them all in with UKIP and the Conservatives. If they cannot prove conclusively that they are related to Edwin ap Caswallon of Pennal Farm, Sir Meirionydd then they are no good to us, indeed to goodness. Unfortunately my fellow nationalists Global Warming & Climate Change does not stop at Offa's Dyke so however much you think a constitutional name change would help the Wales Green Party it would actually only help you in feeling more Welsh. Why all the hoo ha and furore on twitter and why make it personal? Just because something is called Englandandwales doesn't make it so! The projection is all in the mind of the beholder. I was one of the most vehement 'anti-English football team' in this year's World Cup because I unfairly ascribed the cultural baggage of British Conservatism and Monarchy to the England Football Team. The Auld Enemy? but I bet you support Man Utd and fly from Liverpool or Birmingham Airport on your holidays? The thin red line has to be drawn somewhere and in this case I feel that the dyed in sheep's wool nationalists are projecting their fears and insecurities on to a political party that are only trying to help you (unlike the Conservatives & UKIP) You want to breath fresher air and live in a more environmentally sustainable way? Well stop bleating then Defaid ap Cadno and Vote Green.

Sunday, 8 July 2018

Opatija on my mind

"Madam Deputy Speaker, as I have made clear before, we have no disagreement with the English people who have achieved so much through their country’s great history.
Neither should we wish to be in a permanent state of perpetual confrontation with England
Many of us looked at a Pre-Brexit Britain with hope.
We would much rather have in England a constructive partner ready to play by the rules.
But while we should continue to keep open this possibility, we must also face the facts. Theresa May's regime is carrying out acts of aggression against our values and interests within Europe and beyond."
A Speech Delivered at the Welsh Arsembly by a bloke in a Balaclava on March 28th 2018
In 1981 we went on a family holiday to Opatija in Croatia which was then in Yugoslavia. This was really pre mass packaged holidays by air so we went by coach with a crowd of good natured northern folk who had come down to join the coach from Nantwich in Cheshire. It appears that the coach company are still going which says something for them. What I remember about crossing from Italy into Croatia was a Memorial with a  Black Skeleton hanging from a wall. It wasn't Jesus for sure! Now it says a lot that I will be supporting a former Fascist State against Wales' nearest neighbours, England, on Wednesday next in the Russian World Cup Final but it is my contention that post Brexit Referendum, that it is behaving like a Fascist State in insisting that Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland leave the European Union with it. If Edward I was alive today, I would be having strong words with him. 
We arrived in Croatia a year after President Tito had died and the same year that the Eisteddfod Genedlaethol was held in Machynlleth. I remember his framed picture being inside the many news and tobacco kiosks on the front of this seaside town. "During World War II, he was the leader of the Partisans, often regarded as the most effective resistance movement in occupied Europe."  
It is my contention (The Shark Fisherman of Wales) that what Wales needs at the moment is a partisan resistance movement against the British State. If there was, then Alun Cairns and Bruce Robertson of Trago Mills would think twice about opening their mouths. Similar to the United States of America with their body bag phobia I believe that Wales as a Nation State has become so soft that we wouldn't know what partisan resistance was if it parked on our collective foot. It appears that 'Petitions' are the way to go if you are not happy with the State's Decisions these days and we have seen how effective they have been. To be fair, the petition did dissuade Kenneth Skates from building his Ringpiece of Iron at Flint Castle but unfortunately the same didn't happen for the renaming of the Second Severn crossing. Edward I's distant descendant via Saxe Coburg Gotha managed a swift tea in secret with Alun Cairns in secret to have the bridge named after him. Two idiots so clueless and out of touch with Welsh National Feeling that they just went ahead and did what they felt they had to do. They had the weight of the History of the British Empire behind them. Weedy Skates only had a hundred years of history of Welsh Labour behind him so he wasn't prepared to risk it.   
Back in the late 1960s the last Partisan Resistance movement we had, the Free Wales Army was ridiculed by the British Establishment, the discredited George Thomas et al. Very often it is our own Dic Sion Dafydds (of which I have been accused of being one) who scupper any plans of partisan resistance by laying allegiance through the British Media to those who employ them. It is very difficult in practice for those minor celebrities earning a fat cat salary in London to align themselves with the land of their birth because the Corporation would not approve. Therefore a few well aimed tweets have to suffice.
We holidayed in Ostend, Belgium in 1976, another coach holiday and that is why I supported Belgium against England in the World Cup Finals. On Wednesday I will be supporting Croatia. It means nothing and is quite frankly a pathetic gesture on social media to show that you disapprove of your imposed government and monarchy. 
  

Friday, 6 July 2018

Porton Down



The night sky hung so heavy
The wet road shone so bright
Reflecting back my headlights
As I drove on in the night
To Porton Down.

I drew into a lay-by
My eyes were dark with strain
Turning up my collar
I walked out in the rain
On Porton Down.

I was high on Porton Down
Thinking of my friends below
But they had gone some other way
They did not want to know
About Porton Down

I thought I saw the devil
In the branches of a tree
It was just imagination
But he looked a lot like me
On Porton Down.

The cold moon drew strange faces
On a slowly changing cloud
One looked like God the father
And I shouted right out loud
On Porton Down.


Wednesday, 4 July 2018

Dream Team

Dim ond Tri from David Williams on Vimeo.
Mr Price said his proposal "remains a practical and progressive way forward and it could have made a traditional contest avoidable".
"However, media statements soon indicated the negotiations were being undermined," he said.
"So we must park the proposal for the time being and revert to established procedure."
He said: "But we cannot put off the irresistible call for defining change.
"Change in the way we frame our politics; the projection of who we are, what we stand for, what we have fought long and hard for and what's ultimately important to us."
Well the Shark Fisherman of Wales is 'siomedig' that the Dream Team of Leanne Wood and Adam Price wont materialise but hats off to whoever is behind this carefully choreographed and stage managed Leadership Debate & Challenge. It is raising the profile of Plaid Cymru, a party that has lost more than a thousand of their eight thousand members in the last eight months. A party that outwardly appears to be about Group Speak & Party Line. I thought the Green Party experiment of having Jonathon Bartley and Caroline Lucas as joint leaders was a brave and dare I say 'modern' thing to do. The weakness there was that Bartley was an unknown and Caroline Lucas has effectively tutored him in the Leadership role. She has now stood down and he is now a recognisable figure. Price & Wood would have made a formidable leadership team. Both from solid Thatcher hating stock and both with very good reason to be. They would be able to wipe the floor with the Tories in the next Assembly election of 2021 but if there is a more left leaning, Corbyn supporting First Minister in Mark Drakeford it will make their challenge to Labour more difficult. The sad thing is that now once again it will be about personality rather than policy and politics. Who do the membership like? Whoever wins and it is likely to be Leanne Wood, this election will have raised the profile of Price and Ap Iorwerth so that when Wood stands down in 2021 having not achieved the role of First Minister (but cemented her legacy in Plaid Cymru history) then they will be familiar faces and can stand on their own definitive platforms. It would have been better had it been Price & Wood against Nuclear Energy Jobs supporting ap Iorwerth but there we are, Welsh Nationalism will have to find a way to widen its appeal with all the recent indignities and slaps to the national chops from Iron Ring, Cairns, Liddle & Trago Mills and others too many to mention.  

Wednesday, 27 June 2018

Cymhleth Israddoldeb



Dwi'n teimlo fod rhaid i mi gyfiawnhau beth wnes i drydar y prynhawn yma. Ar ôl anfon y geiriau ffwrdd i'r gofod mi wnes i sylweddoli fod gyda fi cymhleth israddoldeb ynglŷn â'r Gymraeg. Dyna pam sgrifennais i'r geiriau sarhaus ynglŷn â'r bobol sydd yn mynychu Tafwyl ag yr Eisteddfod Genedlaethol. Cofio nôl i ymweliadau ar faes yr Eisteddfod dros y blynyddoedd ag y cof mwyaf oedd fy mod i ddim yn perthyn i'r gymdeithas yma. Dwi yn gallu siarad yr un iaith a nhw ond dwi ddim yn teimlo yn un gyda nhw. Dwi erioed wedi mynychu Tafwyl ag melli mae'r feirniadaeth yn annheg ond i mi mae'r syniad o Tafwyl yn wrthynt hwy i mi. Dathlu'r Gymraeg yn y Brifddinas o fewn muriau'r Castell. Y Castell sydd ddim yn rhyw groesawgar mewn unrhyw gyfnod arall y flwyddyn ond mae 'na rywbeth braidd yn anghynhwysol am wyliau fel hyn. Wrth gwrs mae rhaid clodfori arbrawf yr Eisteddfod Genedlaethol i gael gwared ar y weiren bigog ag y gleddyfaeth ond yr un fath o bobol fydd yn mynychu. Ar y cyfan pobol gyfforddus gwyn ddosbarth canol. Nawr does 'na ddim lot maen nhw yn gallu gwneud am y ffeithiau hyn ond ei golygfa ar y byd a'r betws rwyf yn cwestiynu yn fy nhrydariad. Yn fy marn i os ydy'r Cymry Cymraeg yn mynd i fod yr un fath o bobol sydd yn byw yn y Siroedd Cartrefol (Home Counties) rydym wedi colli'r frwydr. Mae rhaid i'r meddylfryd newydd. Mae rhaid i'r meddylfryd cyfalafol newid os yw'r Iaith Gymraeg am oroesi.Y Chwyldro Diwydiannol laddodd yr iaith yng nghymoedd y de ag nawr ceiniogau'r diwydiant ymwelwyr sydd yn effeithio ar enaid ein pobol gan ganiatáu newid enwau hynafol ar eiddo. Y teimlad o orthrwm dwi yn mynd i ffwrdd gyda fi oddiwrth unrhyw ŵyl yn yr iaith Gymraeg ydy'r ias arwynebol yma ond efallai fel gwedais i yn gynharach mae hwn mwy i wneud gyda fy 'Cymhleth Israddoldeb' nag gydag unrhyw wirionedd yn y sefyllfa dwi newydd dystio iddo.   


Saturday, 16 June 2018

Home Town









It could be Spice, it could be alcohol, it could be Bridgend, it could be Manchester. It doesn't really matter. What matters to the comfortable and complacent is that this is in full daylight when people should be in work. There is no work. There is no hope. Only benefits if you are lucky! It is all very well the Police asking people to work with them to counter the destructive tactics of drug dealers but these dealers are only emulating what they see around them every day namely Neo-Liberal Capitalism. A dealer would not classify themselves as such. They would consider themselves 'entrepreneurs'. We are in the world of 'The Apprentice' and 'Dragons Den'. They are thinking "Well if I show a bit of initiative here, I can make some money". What Conservatives, The Police and The Establishment want you to do is make money legally by going to work but as we know there is no quality work. Top jobs in the area are in Parc Prison for Officers looking after locals who choose to Zombie out on Park Benches but is Drug Addiction really a choice? Do people really choose to behave in a manner designed to upset the comfortable and complacent or have they been traumatised by circumstances at an early age? "There but for the Grace of God go I" cries a local pastor with trembling finger. "There is no God" comes back the reply from the hunched up figure on the park bench.  




Monday, 4 June 2018

Mortality & Mental Health


https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/318895.php

It's a Monday so what better day of the week to write about mortality and mental health. Death, other peoples that we are not intimately connected with have entered our 'living rooms' since the advent of 24 hour news. We all knew subconsciously that other people were dying, but we didn't know them, they were on a different continent, it was a war that had nothing to do with us so we didn't care. The trouble was we did care. We cared too much but we didn't know what to do with that generalised anxiety. The good news story at the end about the hamster learning how to juggle alleviated our concerns slightly but there was always a niggle that would return "When would it be our turn?" What has happened recently is that 'death' has been turned up a notch with ISIL and their televised You Tube barbarity playing on our subconscious fears. Do people in poorer countries who have had bombs dropped on them fear death less than those in wealthy countries. The wealthy 1% have been building bunkers to escape to, if the shit hits the fan. My specific interest in writing this post is a link with mental health. There must be one. I have death anxiety  I must have or I wouldn't be writing this. My anxiety revolves around the impending deaths of those close to me and then to a more selfish and personal death anxiety, the neurosis related to an 'unlived life'. I have not truly lived and this is what my own personal anxiety relates to. Knowing that at one particular time in the future, that all our collective lights will be extinguished, perhaps leads to this desperate scrambling to fill our lives with stuff, occasions, more stuff, more people to carry on our lineage and the equally desperate succour to be convinced that there will be a life for us after death because this one is so shit. I cannot be alone in this thinking but I have never heard it discussed in mental health circles "The reason that I am mad is that I am scared to die or that I am scared to continue with an unlived and unlivable life" As a layperson who has read a few psychology books I am more convinced now than when I began, that the threat of death underpins much of our collective madness and insanity and instead of being comforted by the news reports of mass deaths, we are even more disturbed by it because these deaths are more and more senseless. Death needs to make sense. Death needs to be the price we pay for a full, kind and caring life not for a selfish one. So when we receive the news that innocents are killed we are outraged because they have not been given the opportunity to lead a full, kind and caring life because it has been snatched away by the selfish ones.     

Wednesday, 30 May 2018

Obstruction


Anywhere you go, in this day and age, you are likely to be obstructed. Your physical progress in day to day activities like driving gas guzzlers is likely to be impeded by traffic jams and parking restrictions. We have sensed a rise in racism since the Brexit vote of 2016 but the Shark Fisherman of Wales has also felt a growing sense of claustrophobia. If you want to get somewhere you have to physically factor in the likelihood of delays. This over powering sense on occasion of being hemmed in, of gasping for air, especially on sweaty, sultry days like yesterday. If I feel like this in the countryside, imagine what sensitive snowflakes in the cities feel like. When I return to Kairdiff from West Wales which is less often these days, if I am able to borrow a motor vehicle, I make sure that I leave late in the evening so that there is less likelihood of traffic congestion. I, like everyone else, prefer a smooth run but dependent on the time of day this is less and less likely. The Bus takes 4 and a half hours from Aber to Cardiff (although I am told that there is a faster one now), the train takes you through Shrewsbury to get to Caerdydd and that is over 4 and a half hours. When you consider that it is 2 and a half hours to get to Paddington from Cardiff Central by train, then the word obstruction springs to mind. We in Wales are being obstructed from progressing. Barricades are being put in our way, both physical and metaphorical. It is not in London Government's best interests to have a Wales where people can get about, they might unite.
Another example of obstruction is in ones pursuit of employment. If one has been unemployed as long as me, then the matter of references becomes a burden. I wonder now, who can I contact from 2005, who will be able to give me a reference?  How do you give somebody who suffered a drug induced psychosis a character reference? Here are a number of fictitious references I imagine could be written about me:

"If he gets bored, he will just walk off the job"

" Keep him interested and give him some variety, otherwise he will tell you what you can do with your job"

" He is not interested in money so make sure that you can spin some higher, esoteric, altruistic motive behind your soulless, mind numbing job"

The obstruction is in my mind. I have bought into 'Learned Helplessness' big style. The rats putting their paws on a pad and getting an electric shock and then giving up. I realise that I gave up on life at the age of 22. I have been going through the motions for the last 30 years, not feeling anything, not allowing myself to feel anything. This disassociation as a defence mechanism. Withdraw into yourself and then just leave your physical form for others to deal with. The reality of life's obstructions are just too much to deal with so we just pretend that they don't exist, we retreat into drink and drugs and addictive behaviour to numb the pain of thwarted ambition, or we cheat and go round the obstruction, instead of over it. You will recognise the people who do this immediately. They are our elected representatives in Parliament. They realised very early on that they wouldn't need references. Just join the local party and voila, you can become leader without very much life experience at all. I am starting to realise that Government is the obstruction in all our lives and 'learned helplessness' is voting them back in every 5 years.     

Wednesday, 23 May 2018

A View from the Bridge

The Shark Fisherman of Wales is spending much of his time in Ceredigion these days attending to family needs and cares. This requires travel down the beast of a road known as the A487. Last Thursday I was stationary outside the Aberaeron Stores (aka the Spar) on the Bridge for five minutes awaiting oncoming traffic coming from the South (Cardigan) Those familiar with the picturesque Georgian town know that residents, churchgoers, Wncl Tom Cobblers et al, park all along the left side of the road up as far as the Craft Centre at Clos Pencarreg. It used to be the case that two sets of traffic, Northbound and Southbound could pass each other with care. Not any more. Due to the size of the Heavy Goods Vehicles going North and South along this trunk road, somebody has to give way. So similar to the village of Llanon, because of parked cars along one side of the carriage way, drivers have to stop to give way to oncoming traffic. Summer's here and temperatures are soaring and I foresee road rage incidents and possibly accidents at these two specific places in the months to come. Yesterday, I was a Pedestrian on the bridge awaiting a family member to finish shopping and not once in the twenty minutes was I stood there did any traffic flow freely. South Bound Traffic had to stop for North Bound Traffic. If you are a regular user of this road, then you know, otherwise a sign outside the Aberaeron Stores GIVE WAY TO ONCOMING TRAFFIC might be helpful.

One suggestion would be to divert all heavy goods vehicles or cars down from Ffos-y-Ffin, down passed Rhiwgoch and on to the A482 thus avoiding the bridge all together. Is this feasible I ask Civil Engineers and Council Officials? 



The A487 has been in the news recently due to lobbying by petition to get road widening and passing places between Cardigan and Aberystwyth. As the Presiding Officer and Assembly Member for Ceredigion, Elin Jones actually lives beside this busy trunk road going through Aberaeron, you would have thought this would have been a priority for her.  

Tuesday, 15 May 2018

The Aloneness of the Long Distance Runner

GUEST POST BLOG by Matthew Lidis


You all remember my 600th post by special guest Matthew Lidis which has been viewed 961 times since its publication and over 1000 times by the time this one goes to press. Well my old writing buddy from Salford International University has gone and done it again. This time, he has achieved something pretty remarkable, hang on, I'll let him tell you about it himself. 


"In August 2004 I started running. I was living with my dad as I recuperated from a particularly nasty bout of depression. One night, from nowhere, I decided to put on a pair of battered indie Golas, seemingly the most suitable footwear I had for the task in hand, and ran round the block. It took me about three minutes. On my return I was drenched in a thick, cold sweat and my lungs were burning - the result of a long, fruitful and happy relationship with skunk weed and Embassy Number One. After necking a pint of water and flaking out on my single bed, my breathing and heart rate eventually returned to normal. And I felt, eventually, fantastic. Something had disappeared, something had clicked, something made sense. Within an hour I was raring to get out there again just so I could feel that rush and buzz that had faded far too quickly. The fog I had been swimming around in for the three or four years before had not lifted, but it was suddenly easier to navigate.

Over the coming weeks I could be seen pounding the streets of BL1 in my entirely unsuitable footwear and a broad array of ageing Britpop t-shirts. My distances slowly increased and I noticed my mind travelling to places it had never been before. I would come home from my temp job at a car finance firm eager to get out there on the pavement, just so I could see what revelations my legs would feed to my brain that night. It became clear that excercise was having as much a positive effect on my mental well-being as my physical health - a benefit the PE teachers failed to mention as they berated my teenage rejection of rope climbing and horse vaulting.
I made my way down to London that November and, by then, I had upped my mileage to around four per night. Running had become part of my daily routine, so much so that my new housemates would notice when I had not been for my daily fix. I had become addicted. New doors swing open the first time you take any drug. Avenues painted in never-before seen colours are yours to explore. Running was no different. I was chasing that sensation of release I felt after that first run, just like every junkie does. Without my daily hit I would become irritable and angry, which would melt away after a mile or two in exactly the same way as draining a couple of pints or a few tokes on a spliff.

Fast forward a few more years and, following the death of my mum and a particularly nasty break up, I had learned to cope by means of the all too rare combination of running and drinking. One justifying the other. By the time I was 30 I was happily running eight miles a day, followed by a good few beers or a bottle of wine or two. The carbs from the drink fuelling my running and the running allowing me to feel no guilt about drinking. As my miles/units crept up my thoughts inevitably turned to the challenges these bring. Could I manage a whole bottle of whisky in one go and could I run a marathon? The answer to the former, despite the disturbing events at a house party in Stoke Newington, was a resounding yes. A life goal achieved. I applied for the London marathon soon after. I didn’t get on an ended up running the Blackpool marathon instead. Which was great. I got a good time (3:40) But there was this niggling need to run the one I wanted to. Nine years of rejection magazines later, I finally got on. I was fat, but I was nearly two years sober.

I trained and trained, lost a stone and a half and paid £137 for a night in the Tottenham Premier Inn. As I made my way to Blackheath with 41000 other runners, I felt anxious. People shoved past me to get on the train, nobody talked. A nervous throng and the feint smell of Vaseline. Where was the #spiritoflondon? It was right there, the same as I’d ever known it. Brutal, unforgiving -  like the heat. I dragged myself round the course on the cusp of heatstroke the whole way. I remember very little about trotting through London in 24 degree heat other than the deafening noise of the crowd began to irritate me when I was focusing all my energy on simply not collapsing.


I feel a sense of emptiness as I write this on the swinging Virgin train home, sad that the legendary London marathon was not all I was expecting, although what I was expecting to enjoy about running along with the population of Skelmersdale, I am unsure. I do feel a sense of achievement and I do feel empathy for the other battered runners I see on this train, struggling to waddle up to the toilets. But, most of all, I feel a craving for the silence of pounding an open, empty road early on a Sunday morning. For if this fourteen year relationship with running has taught me anything it is that that my race is with myself and it is one I am happy to run alone."



Bottom of the Ottoman

News from Nowhere

News from Nowhere
Liverpool

Hitler navigates the A487 from Aberaeron to Aberystwyth

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David's books

How To Be Idle
Second Sight
Freud: The Key Ideas
The Yellow World
Intimacy: Trusting Oneself and the Other
Going Mad?: Understanding Mental Illness
Back To Sanity: Healing the Madness of Our Minds
Ham on Rye
Electroboy: A Memoir of Mania
Memories, Dreams, Reflections
Mavericks
Murder in Amsterdam: The Death of Theo van Gogh and the Limits of Tolerance
On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
I Bought a Mountain
Hovel in the Hills: An Account of the Simple Life
Ring of Bright Water
The Thirty-Nine Steps
A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose
The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment
The Seat of the Soul


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