"Croeso i ddyfnderoedd fy isymwybod: Welcome to the depths of my subconscious. Shark Fishing in Wales is one man's odyssey to understand the land of his birth through anecdote, observation and reminiscence! By learning about his country, perhaps he can learn more about himself. A process of individuation which Carl Jung suggests we should all go through. Less assuming one nationhood and more working towards one nationhood before we become Independent." Daf Williams
Cymru/Wales: Bipolar Nation
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https://linktr.ee/lucyreidarts 'I can play the piano' whispered 5-year-old me to our deputy head teacher Mr. Dennis who was s...
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+ = My life can be distilled into the above arithmetical equation. Capel(Chapel) + Ysgol(School) = Carchar(Prison) There ...
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The Hero's Journey from David Williams on Vimeo . I know that some of you read this blog especially the very popular Guest Blog P...
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As a Ffrinj Nutter who had a dalliance with the Welsh Nationalist Party/ Plaid Cymru/ The Party of Wales many, many years ago I was p...
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January 1988 sees me starting work (Kairdiff Vernacular) at 'The Printers' on Broadway, Roath Cardiff. It looked less like the o...
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http://sharkfishinginwales.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/my-news-years-resolution-is-to-become.html I saw Jimmy again today. He was sat ne...
Saturday 30 November 2013
Stalin ate my Homework
Money
Yes, it's what I want but in holy communion with many people I haven't worked out how to accumulate the green stuff, the moula, the sponduliks! Money, Cash, Dosh! I spend it but I don't earn it. I don't earn it because I am not over keen on selling my time, my short life in return for something which will allow me to buy food and shelter to extend this short existence. 'Financially Impotent' would be a good description of my abilities and attitude. The life of a three bar pensioner beckons if I get that far. I have learnt over the last few years to live on little and that has been liberating. The huge psychologist's brain in a jar in Whitehall works out that a critical mass of people can be controlled by paying them £71.00 by encouraging them to jump through hoops to get, usually, a poor paying job with long hours and unpleasant working conditions. Work to live? or Live to Work? Well neither actually. I have been known to put Occupational Therapists and Job Advisors out of work. I mean what are you going to do with a 47 year old man with no references.
If I respected money then I would go and work in Subway but I just don't think that I would look aesthetically pleasing enough when I ask if the customer would like the cheese melted. Also at my advanced age, my bullshit monitor/meter just goes off the scale at any perceived injustice or human nonsense. I just walk! I do a Renee. So what's to be done? Self employed? I just don't feel that I could ask anybody for money. Money for me is a bigger taboo, than sex and death. From being an effusive 'hail fellow well met' years ago where drinks were bought for tight arse friends to buy their friendship perhaps. There's no sentiment in business, look after the pennies and the pounds will look after myself. Can you believe that such a sensible? man as myself actually bought Paul McKenna's 'I can make you rich' in Waterstones in Derby 3 years ago. Well I want my money back. The Television Hypnotist has a plethora of books that work on silly people's psychology. 'I can make you thin', 'I can make you fat', 'live your life like a boss' etc etc. We are constantly bombarded by Wonga and Cash Lenders offering loans at incredible interest. I can't be the only one who is financially illiterate. I think I want money but perhaps I don't, just to spite the system. I won't spite the system. I will just end up poor. Well I've certainly chosen the slow route to riches! Have you ever heard of a wealthy Playwright?
Sunday 24 November 2013
Cymdogion/Neighbours
Er fy mod yn ddiffygiol yn ei ddefnydd mi wnâi wastad amddiffyn yr Iaith Gymraeg. Weithiau dwi'n ffeindio fo yn anodd amddiffyn y diwylliant Cymraeg gyda'i bwyslais ar Eisteddfodau, Cystadlu a Chapeli a Chwaraeon. Dwi ddim yn hoffi'r dywediad 'iaith y nefoedd'. Mae 'na rywbeth elitaidd am y dywediad yma. Well gyda fi 'Iaith Sanctaidd'. Mi aeth y ddadl mor gynnes mi ddechreuais i gymharu'r Cymry Cymraeg a Chymru cyn y chwyldroad diwydiannol fel Palestina a'r mewnfudwyr uniaith Saesneg fel yr Iddewon. Doedd o ddim am dderbyn hyn o gwbl a synnais fy hun am wneud y gymhariaeth. Efallai dwi wedi bod yn gwario gormod o amser ar y weplyfr. Dim os am hynny!. Dwi'n teimlo yn bersonol fod o'n bwysig i ddefnyddio'r Gymraeg i drafod pynciau dwys difrifol. Dwi'n ffeindio yn anodd fod yn arwynebol yn Gymraeg. Mae o gymaint yn haws yn Saesneg! Dwi wedi osgoi cymunedau Cymraeg Caerdydd ers talwm, dwi ddim eisiau mynd i yfed yn Y Mochyn Du, neu'r Dwc of Clarence neu ganu mewn côr. Dwi ddim eisiau dysgu gwneud cacennau, na gweu, na newyd clytiau yn y Gymraeg. Dwi eisiau trafod anarchaidd a Punk. Mae'r Iaith Sanctaidd yn Wleidyddol. Mae popeth i mi yn wleidyddol. Dwi'n parchu fy nghymydog yn fawr a'i barn ar bob pwnc dan haul. Mae o i bob cyfryw yn hunan dysgedig. Dwi'n aros fy amser cyn gallai fod o ddefnydd i'r ymgyrch ieithyddol! Dyw mynd i gyfarfodydd yn Nhafarn y Kernyw neu unrhyw gyfarfod neu unrhyw dafarn ddim yn mynd i ysgogi fi. Mae rhaid i'r diwylliant newyd oherwydd yn debyg i fy nghymydog mae tensiwn mawr yn cael i greu yn fy nghorff ag fy enaid. Dwi'n meddwl fod o wedi synnu at fy safbwynt ac at fy nadl. Yn y gorffennol dwi wedi galw'r Iaith Saesneg yn Iaith 'Bestial'. Mi wnaeth hwnna syfrdanu fo! Dwi'n teimlo wedi caethiwo gan y ddwy iaith ac yn gallu deall safbwynt Buddaidd o ddistawrwydd.
I do have difficulty defending the Welsh Language Culture for example the Eisteddfod, the Media and the Chapels because there seems to be an emphasis on market forces. I don't like the term they use 'the language of heaven' because I see that as elitist and arrogant but I do refer to it as the holy language. I could see him beginning to shake when I compared the indigenous Welsh with Palestine and the Immigrants of the Industrial Revolution as the Israeli settlers. He wanted to conduct a logical argument about the language but we both retreated to our default settings. I have consciously avoided the Welsh Speaking communities of Cardiff for a while now. I don't want to go drinking in the Black Pig or the Duke of Clarence, I don't want to sing in a choir, I don't want to learn how to ice cakes, knit or change nappies with Menter Caerdydd. I want to talk about anarchism and punk rock. The irony is that we have something in common. I was force fed English in a Welsh Speaking area of North Wales and he was force fed Welsh in a 1950's Cardiff school. When I referred to English as a 'Bestial' language he picked up his cap and left. Even though we are poles apart in our attitudes to the Welsh Language, we are both Welsh, we both live in the same street and we both live in the reluctant Capital of Wales. I admire him and to all intents and purposes he is self educated having been forced to leave school at 14. In our own distinct ways we have both been denied access to the 'Holy Language'. I feel incarcerated by 'language' and would prefer the Buddhist mantra of global silence.
Saturday 23 November 2013
Repressed
There's something going round Facebook like a virus, up to ten things you didn't know about me. Now some people have gone to town! I'm tempted but I think I have revealed enough as the Shark Fisherman. I have shown enough stocking as it were. Well here we are on a Saturday Morning, I am listening to 6 Music and waiting for Johnny Vaughan to come on Talksport at 11.00 o clock. There is a lady whose voice goes through me a one 'Georgie Bingham'. Posh and Vacuous! I had to leave one of Cardiff's libraries this morning because the Lady there. Lady L I shall call her had a voice like the proverbial fog horn. I just don't know what Libraries have become. When librarians can't shut up then we are in trouble. People seem so less self aware these days maybe because I am so repressed as one of my neighbours said to me. "See the problem is, you are repressed", he said.
I had to google it because even though I have studied 'Abnormal Psychology' at the Cardiff Centre for Lifelong Learning I was not over familiar with the meaning to it.
We have neighbours like this in Cardiff you see, honest to the point of bluntness
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychological_repression
I have locked down and buttoned down and very aware of myself when out and about so perhaps once in a while, maybe every six months, I blow like Vesuvius. I have a long fuse but when I go, I go. So what am I trying to say with this Blog Ramble? "That some women's voices go through me like nails on a blackboard, that I am repressed, that I am an extremist" Doesn't sound too promising does it? I have my writing to sublimate my frustrations. Writing is very cathartic but its no substitute for sex.
Tuesday 19 November 2013
Aberystwyth by Sea
Friday 15 November 2013
Eccles
I spent yesterday afternoon in Eccles. I had gone out there on a Tram. I had held the door open for two middle aged men as I entered the Manchester Art Gallery. They didn't say thank you! This grated. As I left the Gallery I exited behind the very same men: what are the chances of that happening? and they didn't hold the door open for me. As the Americans say 'I was pissed'. In the past when I have been angry I have actually shouted, cursed and swore in public whether there are people around or not. When you are pissed off, you are pissed off. Well better that than going home to beat your Mrs! Not that I am married of course. I use that as an example of course. We tend to take out our anger on others rather than the ones that pissed us off. So I fled from the scene of high art, the middle class, pomposity and bad manners to Eccles. I had heard a couple say previously as they looked at the Metro Link Map "Oh no, we'll give Eccles a miss!" This doubly intrigued me. The place where cakes with currants are made and the character from the Goon Show on the radio. A Playwright must be a good people watcher so I went to Eccles to observe people and hoped that they would have better manners than the middle aged men that I held the doors open for. The first thing I saw when I got off the tram having travelled through Longworthy, Ladywell and Weaste was a Shetland Pony. It was being used to encourage people to give to a Disabled Charity. I ignored the Shetland Pony but heard a man say "Eee she's a bonny lass"! Going to Eccles felt as if I'd gone back in time. There were shell suits and closed down shops. So here was the recession that they keep telling us about! Pit ponies in the streets for God's Sake. Outside Morrisons! Eccles shopping centre! Greggs and the usual nonsense, tumbleweed and a cactus and another Shetland Pony. Save me! The Library! Thank Goodness! Solace from High Art and Poverty in one afternoon. So I hid myself in a book "Teach yourself Playwriting" Well somebody's got to but I couldn't concentrate on the Rubik's cube that is writing a play. I listened to the voices and echoes all around me and thought. This is wrong! How can you have places like this when the centre of the city is all hustle and bustle! Why is there money in Manchester and none in Eccles or Rochdale? I've been to most end points on the tram now and am amazed in the polarity. Destination Piccadilly! It might as well be another planet. I thought about Cardiff, the Capital and how Barry and Newport either side of the great metropolis suffer in comparison financially. There is something not right about it. I left to go back to 'Media City' which in essence is a few poncy buildings and a video screen. There were two brothers on the platform at Eccles and they had just been shopping for essentials at Morrisons. No Flagons of Beer here! They looked scared. They were late teens and early twenties. The younger one looked to the older one as if for affirmation. "Should I laugh here?" "Should I smile here"? They sat down and seemed very self conscious amongst two gangs of 'chavs'. I don't wish to go all Manchester Art Gallery here and demonise the working class but what is the Manchester version of Scallies? There were two gangs of three and they held the tram carriages spellbound with their narratives of this bird and that bird and that was shit and she shit herself. "Hey look at this on my phone". I was glanced at and given an appraisal but didn't feel threatened but I could see that the Morrison's boys were in fear for their lives. They got off at Ladywell and their sigh of relief was tangible. The street they walked down from the tram looked just as dangerous as the environment they had just left. One gang of three got off at Langworthy and were then loudly ridiculed by the other gang of three as the tram left "Did you hear what he said then?" 'Dick".
I had forgotten how intensely young people size each other up. Older folk were gassing to strangers of the same age but it didn't happen with this age group. Eccles has a nicer library than Altringham.
One person's reality is another person's hell! I heard a belly laugh on the street in Eccles. People and places eh? You should go home to Wales and stop being so judgemental Shark Fisherman.
Saturday 2 November 2013
Boots on the Cenotaph
The fact is, the poet does not want admiration, he wants to be believed.
— Jean Cocteau Quotes (@CocteauQuotes) September 21, 2020
Fruity old fruit bats
Hello my fruity old fruit bats! That is a term of endearment by the way. I thought I would treat you to a piece of prose rather than the b...
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Bottom of the Ottoman
Bottom of the Ottoman from David Williams on Vimeo.
Crying in your Beer from David Williams on Vimeo.
Hitler navigates the A487 from Aberaeron to Aberystwyth
I shall never wear tweeds from David Williams on Vimeo.