***k Wales & Welsh ***ts

http://www.dailypost.co.uk/news/north-wales-news/obscene-anti-welsh-graffiti-beauty-13543653

Has it really occurred to anybody that perhaps the bored teenager in Tudweiliog was right?

His sentiment written in sediment

He must have walked into a shop where they started talking Welsh

I myself walked into a shop in Llanbedrog where a local said to the shopkeeper

"Beth mae hwn eisiau?"

What does this one want?

"Peint o lefrith os gwelwch yn dda"

A pint of milk please

I followed the twat out of the shop and his car for a hundred yards

He had a Manchester United Sun Visor emblazoned across the back window.

I turned into the campsite and lay on the floor in my tent.

At that moment I thought

***k Wales & Welsh ***ts

Even though I speak the spoke, that encounter left a taste of sour llaeth in the mouth

Maybe it's because I look like a thug myself that Neanderthal man always wants to try it on!

I dunno

You can imagine the teenager and his testosterone

The vandals had also written a mobile number and the words “pig”, “dec” and “call”.

Perhaps the Community Leaders should ring the number

You shouldn't really hate your own 

Cas gwr na charo'r wlad a'i maco

but sometimes I do....with a vengeance.

Truculent Reluctance

Are you reluctantly truculent

or

truculently reluctant?

My guess is the latter 

cos you have got fatter

too many things fried in batter?

Never mind

Pooer Dab

yewer eart will look good on the slab

Burke and Hare

for all your after life care

Stop pissing about bad poet and get to the point

there's summat yewer wanting to say!

Weeeell, wondering I am

if you really give a damn

you and the overgrown boy scout

you talk a good game

but it's always the same

it's muggins here observing

the passive aggressive.

You've got it down to a fine art

you're not alone. There's many a

"It's my way or the highway out there"

but perhaps they just hide it better.

I'm going out to buy a Red Setter

and threaten the baby sitter

but then I'll be on Wales Today

and waste away in a damp old flat in Ponty.

Are you truculently reluctant

or is it just flatulence? 

Dyfalbarhad

Dyfalbarhad

A dyma ni heddiw ar ddiwrnod dyfalbarhad sef diwrnod canlyniadau TGAU. Lefel O oedd o yn fy nghyfnod i chi. Dwi'n cofio ble oeddem ni pan ges i fy nghanlyniadau, Aberaeron, Sir Aberteifi neu Dyfed fel roedd o ar y pryd. Yn sbïo draw i ochor arall yr harbwr a gweld pobol yn chwarae mewn brass band. Diwedd mis Awst ag mi roedd 'na ryw Garnifal sydd yn parhau tuag at y dydd hwn. Carnifal ydy arholiadau. Ffair llwyddiant neu fethiant yn un ar bymtheg oed. Y gwahaniaeth rhwng mynd ymlaen i Brifysgol a hunan fodlonrwydd y dosbarth canol neu droi at fyd gwaith yn ifanc, prentisiaeth efallai ac wedyn flynyddoedd o ddicter a theimlo'n ddug am gwrs bywyd. Methais i fy Lefel O ac yn lle mynd ymlaen i fod yn newyddiadurwr mi es i ymlaen i astudio argraffu neu weinyddiaeth argraffu i fod yn fanwl gywir. Yr inc yn lle o ble ddaw'r inc. Y peth gorau i mi ar y pryd oedd gadael Cymru a mynd lawr i Dde Lloegr i astudio ac wedyn ar ôl dwy flynedd yn nol i Ogledd Cymru i wynebu unwaith eto ardal fy methiant. Ar ôl dwy flynedd arall mi roeddwn yn y North Wales Medical Centre ar ôl cael nervous breakdown a dwi ddim really wedi dod at fy nghoed ers hynny. Nawr mae chwarae victim status yn ddigon hawdd i mi, teimlo really hard done by ydw i gan fywyd a dwi'n olrhain yr hanes i'r diwrnod hwnnw yn 1983 pan welais i ddyn yn chwythu ei diwba ar ôl i mi gael fy nghanlyniadau. Mi roedd o fel rhywun yn tynnu cadwyn ar doiled bywyd. 
Dyfalbarhad, you've either got it or you haven't cyw and I haven't! Dwi di ofni mentro ers y diwrnod hwnnw jest in case dwi'n methu eto. Mae methu unwaith at 16 yn ddigon i unrhyw un. 

No Tenim Por

No Tenim Por

No Tenim Por, No Tenim Por

as yet more bodies hit the floor

No Pasaran No Pasaran

as the jackboot breaks down the door

Confuscious and his interesting times

Fear fuels hatred feeds war breeds fear

A war against an invisible enemy

so we are not afraid?

but we have lost before they have even begun

because we are not prepared to change

the fatberg aka the white west, the kkk

we carry our national emblems upon our chest

and yearn for Christmas so we can feed the beast

called children.

They know that something is wrong,

 like kids in Britain's phoney war 1939

after which drastic measures were put in place

like evacuees and rationing but how can you flee 

from your neighbour who you don't really trust?

Trying to ration tourists to less tourism?

The fleeced need fleecing 

Could we all perhaps do with less?

Stop trying to compete with each other to see who is best?

We are cavemen in suits.

Are you a member of the cossetted middle class

or an under educated soul of the working class

or are you lauding it over us and spreading the fog of Rees-Mogg?

Who and whatever you are like bad poets everywhere

you need to stop and stand and stare

and glare into your own soul

before it's too late

No tenim por, No tenim por

No pasaran  No pasaran

Hatred feeds War breeds Fear fuels Hatred feeds War

The smell of Poo 💩

                                                                             

     http://www.walesonline.co.uk/news/wales-news/people-saying-centre-cardiff-smells-13481656💩

We finds  out yesterday (kairdiff vernacular) that people have been complaining about the smell of poo in Central Cardiff. It's been there for years and only now are people waking up to the fact. The smell is a metaphor for the managed decline of the so called Capital City of Wales. I have lived in the less than salubrious suburb of Grangetown since November 1988, more off than on in recent years and when we used to go out on the piss, we'd (my fellow piss heads) and I would come home and for some reason we'd always put this Vic Damone song on high! I had a Crooners CD that I was rather partial to when pissed. Whether it was the melancholia from the alcohol or a realisation that we lived in this shit hole and had to make the best of it, I don't know. There could be some huge fatbergs in the sewers or it could be a pre-emptive odour from unseen shamanic forces announcing to tired parents and austerity hit shoppers that a huge pile of poo namely the BBC building will be opening in 2019 and also a new HMRC HQ is to go up with a Tax Payer subsidised dragon atop that will be able to drop 💩 on the peeps below. This combined with the Western Mail Building and the Welsh Rugby Union nestling beside the pigeon droppings of the Principality Stadium, is anybody surprised that the centre stinks of shit? Don't forget that this area will be housing 4,000 Civil Servants shortly. They are all going to have to take a 💩 somewhere. They are moaning about it down the Bay as well, this could of course be the right dishonourable Neil Hamilton opening his cakehole again or it could be a message from the city forefathers that helter skelter development could land you in the 💩. This odour is just a taste of things to come. Bitter? I'm bastard citrus butt!

Further Reading

http://sharkfishinginwales.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/sick-city-centres.html

The Beauty Queen of Leanne

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 perturbed to see in the last couple of days that there is now a jockeying for position in attempting to unseat the Leader, Leanne Wood. Very ungentlemanly conduct considering that it comes from a WET Eisteddfod field from a man riding an exercise bike in Green Wellingtons. Like other pundits I would state that it is not the Leader that is the problem, it is the Party. Root & Branch it needs a full valet service, the cobwebs need to be blown out of the corners and instead of being a defensive party as in Tarian Cymru they need to become the Jack Russell of political parties. They should have been amongst it with Sports Direct UK and BBC Newsnight recently. A well meaning tweet here and there wont cut the mustard I'm afraid. Just in case you are unfamiliar with the unusual suspects let me give you a run down of the runners and riders. 

(All Photographs are the Property of the BBC)

The man in green wellingtons himself. A name to conjure with and one which will give Newsnight researchers a headache.
Was not a member of Plaid Cymru when he jumped ship from the H.M.S BBC straight into the arms of  the Anglesey Assembly Seat. Another member had been selected for the seat but was encouraged to step down as the Rune stone was seen as a safe bet. A careerist at the Beeb and the same in Plaid Cymru it would appear. There is something of the automaton about Rhun ap Iorwerth. Despite any perceived faults in her leadership at least Leanne Wood is human.



Smug Simon Thomas, he of the Fisher Price toys quip, credited with losing the Ceredigion Westminster seat to the Liberal Democrats, recently won back by the thrusting Ben Lake. Bit too shifty and a shit stirrer to be the Leader of a Political Party and very unlikely to throw his hat in the ring unless he does what he did last time, stand in the first round, lose and throw his support behind a better horse.

Adam Price, Leanne Wood's left hand man and long time confidante would be a popular choice for Leader with the new Taoiseach of Ireland, Ruth Davidson and Kezia Dugdale in Scotland being openly gay leaders of their respective parties. A fine orator with the Westminster experience of trying to impeach Tony Blair. If I was a betting man I would put my 20p in the slot for the Garnant boy.

An outside choice but one to watch out for on the stand side is street fighter Neil McEvoy. The pugilists' politician, this is the type of Jack Russell character the party needs to win back voters and popular support. He has done it in Cardiff as a Councillor, whether he can galvanise the whole of Wales remains to be seen. Whether the traditionalists and feminists within the Party will give him that mandate is another matter entirely.

And to the incumbent herself, Leanne Wood in her own words is a campaigner. She has steadied a leaky ship and was a very visible presence in shutting down UKIP in the TV debates. Rose through the ranks quickly because of her enthusiasm. Some say she was fortunate in 2012 because of the weakness of the other candidates but you don't stay leader for five years unless you have a magical something. Her taking of the Assembly seat of the Rhondda was historic.

Plaid Cymru is a party that unsettles itself. If a Leader can be challenged every two years it doesn't leave that leader in a very secure position. Like Football Managers we all think that we can do things better but it is not the manager that it is at fault here but the players. There is something rotten in the State of Wales and until that is scraped out, it really does not matter who is the leader of this particular party. Unless they change the rule that a Westminster MP cannot be the leader of the Party, then you are left with the scraps in Cardiff when you have the likes of Liz Saville Roberts and Ben Lake in London.    

   

Chwaraeon Uniongyrchol

Hwhaa a Hullabaloo, dyma ni eto yn amddiffyn yr iaith yn erbyn cyfalafwyr anglophone. Rydym wastad ar y cam nol, wastad yn amddiffyn. Tarian Cymru?
Ydy o ddim yn amser i fod yn ymosodol ynglŷn â'r iaith tybed? Oni bai fod chi yn mynd i dalu pres mawr i gwmni cyhoeddusrwydd cyhoeddus o Lundain i wneud y Gymraeg yn fwy derbyniol i bobol sydd heb yr iaith sut yn y byd rydym yn mynd i gyrraedd y filiwn erbyn 2050 dywed? Dydi'r softly softly approach yma ddim yn mynd i weithio. A ydy o'n amser i fod yn gas ac yn fileinig gyda'r iaith? Gwrthod siarad Saesneg o gwbl. Os dydyn nhw ddim am drafferthu dysgu iaith ni pam ddylwn ni siarad iaith nhw. Iaith ein Gormeswyr after all! Iaith ddeiseb y Ring of Iron yn Fflint? A ydyn ni fel cenedl wedi bod yn rhy barod i droi at y Saesneg? Dwi yn un o'r gwaethaf, dwi yn cyfadde’ a dwi yn tristau am gymaint o sothach a rwtsh Saesneg dwi yn rhannu, it's the go to language of choice cariad if you want to get on. Beth am wersylloedd iaith i oedolion yng Nglan-llyn a Llangrannog ble mae Cymry yn tynni llyw i'r iaith a gwireddi chwedl y twristiaid ac yn mynd i drefi glan mor ac yn dechrau siarad Cymraeg gyda’i gilydd o flaen estronwyr? Mae fy nhad yn cofio fod yn Llandudno yn nhridegau'r ganrif ddiwethaf a Chymro yn gweiddi ar Dwristiaid neu Fewnfudwyr "You have no right in our country" mewn acen gref y Gogledd. Yn Llandudno o bob man. Erbyn hyn ar y Costa Del Crime fuasa'r esgyd ar y troed arall a fasa’r Saeson yn deud " You have no right speaking Welsh in your own Country" fel gwelwyd yn Chwaraeon Uniongyrchol ym Mangor. Tynnu blewyn o drwyn y Cymry maen nhw chi ac maent yn llwyddo bob tro. Mae'r ymateb yn nerthol ond pisio yn y gwynt rydym yn gwneud oherwydd dim ond aros am y digwyddiad nesaf ydan ni. Beth am i ni'r Cymry creu stŵr ag agor busnesau ble mae'r iaith Saesneg yn cael ei gwahardd. Cafes a Thafarndai yn drefi Glan Mor ble mae 'No English Language Rule'. Dwi di ddeud o blaen fod y Cymry ddi Gymraeg, ein cyd dinasyddion sydd ddim yn siarad Cymraeg yn waeth na'r Saeson. Passive Aggressive di'r Cymry! "Let's ope it dies out of its own accord" ydy mantra hwy. Ydan ni wir yn sylweddoli pa mor anodd ydy o i ddysgu'r iaith ddadleuol yma? Ddysgu iaith i fod yn amddiffynnol amdano fo? Faswn ni yn reight awyddus i ddechrau'r 'Apartheid Cafe' yn Aberystwyth ble fydd neb yn cael yr hawl i siarad Saesneg. Hardly the best business model in the world cariad ond ar ddiwedd y dydd cyfalafiaeth sydd a fydd yn lladd y Gymraeg oni bai fod ni yn dweud enough a digon yn uchel ac yn aml.     

Serious Scotland

Last week I spent Monday night to Friday morning in Glasgow, Scotland. I had travelled up to Crewe on Arriva Trains Wales and then transferred to Virgin Trains which was like an upgrade from a BB in a seedy backstreet of Blackpool to the Waldorf Astoria. Even though Virgin and Richard Branson did the dirty on Jeremy Corbyn I hope they are one of the Rail Operators who are tendering to take over from Arriva in January of 2018. I had read somewhere that Glasgow did not feel like a British City and it did feel different, perhaps Scandinavian. The air was fresh and clean, it did not feel like a polluted city although I did experience walking through a rush hour and in that respect it was like every other British City. People trying to get home at exactly the same time. Whenever I arrive someplace new, I walk like a madman ( I can use such terms for I am a madman) to get my bearings, like a Baudelaire flaneur on speed and this I did the first night along the Clyde walkway where I was delighted to see a statue to 
Dolores Ibarruri:La Pasionaria.
The part of the Clyde that I walked alongside from behind Central Station to the West of the City was a little non descript. I don't know what I had been expecting but it must be how visitors feel when they see the Taff in Cardiff flowing through Bute Park and out to Cardiff Bay, a little underwhelmed. Never mind the following morning I decided to walk down Sauchiehall Street where I had a breakfast bagel and coffee and the lady asked whether I was from Newcastle. Bit further South I replied. "Speak a bit more" she commanded. "Well alrighty" I replied "I will have black pepper and brown sauce on my bagel, thank  you" "Och yes I've got you now". She didn't say where she'd got me pinned down to but she'd got me. Satiated, I decided to try and find the Blue Plaque of R.D.Laing.  I had looked at a map and seen that it was in an area on the South side of the City called Govanhill and I saw Govan and thought it must be in that direction but having walked for miles I decided to ask directions and thus started the most helpful series of events. I was told twice by two different people that it was behind Pollockshaws and that perhaps I should get a No 90 Bus and I'm glad that I did because who was driving that bus at approximately 12.15pm on Tuesday 25th July 2017 but Mr Mohammad Sharif of First Bus Glasgow. I asked him for a Day Pass and directions to Ardberg Street. On alighting, he told me to catch another bus and get off after one stop and cross the road and work my way down and I would see it and like a mirage in a desert I found it. I had walked for miles and was feeling extra grateful. Govanhill by all accounts was an area with a high percentage of refugee families but one thing that struck me was that there was a fairly easy going vibe and that if I was a Refugee or Asylum Seeker in the UK, then I would rather be based in Glasgow than anywhere else. There didn't seem to be the edge or tension of other cities despite the after effects of austerity. I looked up at R.D Laing's Blue Plaque and thanked him for his life and legacy of challenging Psychiatric Orthodoxy and headed back for the centre of the city. Despite having bought a Day Pass I walked and walked. I don't know what it is, there is a level of addiction to walking that I tend to only stop and look for alternatives only when I am well and truly knackered. Glasgow was impressing me with its earthiness, its lack of pretence and its general ambience of good nature. It was my first visit but I'm sure it won't be my last.

The Wall Art was fantastic and here is just a small sample. I am not an artist or a musician. I am a bad poet and I should really have gone to Dundee to track down the birthplace of William Topaz McGonagall but I am a big fan of Street Art and I appreciate a good busker and Glasgow was well endowed with those as well.

Because I am no longer an imbiber of hard liquor I decided to take inspiration from the Shark in the Wall Art below. Only water for me on this trip. 

After being very impressed by the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum on the Wednesday morning and less so by the Tenement House in the afternoon my curiosity about the City's 'Fitba' had to be satisfied on the Thursday. In the morning, it was pissing down and I hailed a bus on the West Side of the City and of all the buses and all the bus drivers in the whole of Glasgow who should pull up but Mr Mohammad Sharif. I was so glad to see him, I bought another Day Pass and when we got to the last stop in the centre I offered him a couple of quid to buy a coffee as a token of my appreciation but he refused  and just said that he was happy to do a good deed and that it was nice to be appreciated. I cheekily asked him for directions to Hampden Park and the Scottish Football Museum and he pointed me towards the No 6 to East Kilbride.
                         

 Near to the Bus Stop was a surreal picture. I had to take a photograph.

Somebody, perhaps on a night out,had left a decent pair of shoes in the middle of the pavement. I thought the symbolism was stunning. Had the owner been abducted by aliens? Had he decided to leave an old life behind? On my Instagram Page I framed it as the inspiration for a Creative Writing Competition and I would be delighted if you would consider taking part.

Having played Rugby for most of my teens, twenties and early thirties I now hate the Welsh National Sport and have thrown my allegiance behind the Football. Rugby was the script but football was the passion. Were you in Anfield in 1977 when Joe Jordan handled the ball and denied Wales the right to go to Argentina and the World Cup Finals?

Well here is the football from that game and it's on display at the Scottish Football Museum in Hampden Park, Glasgow.

I don't know how aggrieved Welsh fans still are about that night because they've been to France now with Chris Coleman's side in the European Championships last year but even in 1977, 1958 seemed a long way back in time, the last occasion that they had qualified for the finals of a major competition.
I mention this fact because it struck me that Scotland and Glasgow in particular had a sense of civic pride. They treated their footballers like heroes almost elevating them to a God like status. In  Cardiff and Wales we do not have that sense of civic pride. Where is the National Football Museum? 
If Big Joe Jordan had not handled the ball that night, then the world the following year would not have experienced one of the wonder goals of all time in the World Cup Finals in Argentina in 1978.

                           
I realise that I am ageing myself terribly in this blog but hey time and tide waits for no man. The Scottish Football Museum was a great trip down memory lane. If you go, make sure you combine it with a Guided Tour of Hampden Park because the Volunteer Guides are wonderful. I didn't and regret it.  I headed back into the Centre again with my Day Pass and decided to visit the Peoples' Palace. Once again a great example of civic pride. It showed the history of Glasgow. 

Of all the exhibits this one particularly caught my interest.

 Sing up there at the back!