Vive La France!

The French were walking around St Mary Street this afternoon and they couldn't believe how shit it was. I could tell by the looks on their faces and the Gallic shrugs and the fact that they were having difficulty finding something to photograph.   I've been away for a bit in the Hinterland and I've forgotten how shit St Mary Street is. St Mary Street is shit. Why don't they rename it 'On the Piss' Street because that's what its there for. There is no Book Shop, that says it all. We've only got one dedicated book shop in the center. For Fuck's sake Cardiff is meant to be the Capital City of Wales. Whether it wants to be or not, it is! 
There is no such thing as a living culture in Wales, in the English speaking part of it anyway. The Welsh Language has the remnants of its chapels and Eisteddfodau and it has an old and ancient culture. In Wales, it doesn't matter how you dress it up, its English Speaking Counterpart does not have a culture.
Pubs and Sport, oh and a bit of Theatre and Opera (for the odd ones) but nothing that makes them specifically Welsh. 
We might beat France in the Rugby on Saturday but who gives a Fuck because the French will still be going home and saying 'Merde'. 
The Anglo or Vichy Welsh is an artificial construct:
Discuss! Duck First. You 'Welshy Bastard'
I was talking to a friend in Jacob's Market this morning and he said a cup of coffee in Paris is 6 euros now, so he doesn't bother going anymore. He and his family went every year.  Football and Rugby are the religions in Wales now because many can't be bothered with organised religion in the God & Jesus format because they either can't get their head around it logically or they were turned off it as children.  Now before you go and brand me the Marshal Petain of Wales I want it to go on record, that I want it to be better. I want Cardiff to be the Capital, I want it to be a Capital worthy of its name.  It's only people like myself who've got too much time on their hands, because of the Recession, who can be bothered, being a tourist in their own city. 
If Cardiff was asked,
"So what do you think of that grumbling Welshy in Grungetown, moaning all the time about you, making pointed remarks without substance in his blogs?"
I'm sure Kairdiff would reply 
"It's time for him to shape up or ship out, it's time for him to drinks his Brains grow his belly and put his Bluebirds scarf around his neck cos if he doesn't shut up, I'm gonna strangle him". 
That's what Cardiff would say if it could speak back to me.    
Mock, Faux, Shallow, Concrete. You couldn't use these words to describe Paris, Dublin or Edinburgh and you couldn't use them to describe me either. Even if I close my eyes, turn around and blink ten times, these are the words that come to me about Cardiff.
Sorry Like! Oh and Vive La France for Saturday.