Cyffes

Mi wnes i ofyn i'm nhad os oedd o wedi clywed un o'r hen bregethwyr erioed yn gweiddi allan 'rhag eich cywilydd chi" ac na oedd ei ymateb. Felli, rhyw fath o stereoteip dwi wedi rhoi ar weinidogion yr efengyl ond dim heb reswm. Y ddau orthrwm mwyaf o fy llencyndod oedd y capel ag yr ysgol. Un yn Gymraeg ag un yn hollol Saesneg ei naws â'i iaith "You gorra siarad Saesneg if you wanna get on" anaye? Dim yr efengyl nag y gweinidogion oedd y broblem ond y ffaith fod y capel 'in the round',  

"Thomas Williams built it in a style influenced by Emrys ap Iwan's stay in France. It is said to be one of the two remaining round chapels in Wales (although strictly its shape is best described as extended half-round)" 

felli yn lle wynebu'r gweinidog a'r blaenoriaid yn y set fawr roeddech yn wynebu eich cymdogion ag eich gelynion oherwydd hyd yn oed pryd hynny roeddech ddim yn gwybod pwy oedd pwy "Halt who goes there? Friend or Foe?" "Well that all depends" chwedl Jessica Rabbit. Yn fy arddegau cynnar mi roeddwn yn fachgen drwg, yn dwyn pethau o siopau, mwy allan o ddrygioni na 'malicious intent'. Unwaith wnaeth criw o'r ysgol hollol Saesneg gyda fi fel ei arweinydd dorri fewn i glwb bowls ble oedd fy nhad yn aelod ag yfed y pop oedd ar gael mewn crets, 'Cambrian Pop'. Roedd y bowlwyr yn talu tua 12c i dorri syched. Yn anffodus i mi wnaeth aelod o'r capel fy ngweld i yn arwain yr 'Hole in the Wall' gang a deud wrth fy nhad ag mi ddaeth yn stori a all wedi llenwi'r papur bro a thudalen blaen 'Y Goleuad'. Dyna ddigon o 'clues' i chi ym mha dref ogleddol oedd hyn. Felli bob bore Sul ar ôl y 'digwyddiad' roedd rhaid i mi gerdded i'm set o flaen y gynulleidfa, o flaen fy ngwell ac i'r dydd hwn dwi dal yn cael 'issues' o gwmpas cael fy meirniadu oherwydd yn las lanc roeddwn yn teimlo fod y pentref, y dref a'r capel i gyd yn fy meirniadu. Maent yn deud fod yn cymryd pentref i godi plentyn ac mae o'n cymryd rheolau'r pentref yna i dorri fo hefyd. Edrych yn ôl efallai roedd yn anorfod faswn yn beni fyny mewn carchar ar ôl dechrau mor gynnar ar fy nhaith bechadurus. Oherwydd dim ond un cam bach ydy mynd o dorri mewn i glwb bowls a dwyn ei pop i gerdded mewn i fanc a bygwth nhw tase e nhw ddim yn rhoi fy mhres i fi. Felli dyn canol oed erbyn hyn gyda phroblem gydag awdurdod  ag y sefydliad sydd yn sgrifennu hwn yn ei 'Wenglish' orau i geisio dallt y dalltings yn de. Diolch am ddarllen.   

Cywilydd a Chydwybod

Ar sodlau dyletswyddau a disgwyliadau mae cywilydd a chydwybod yn dod. Unrhyw un sydd wedi cael ei fagu i fynychu Capel yn gyfarwydd iawn â'r ffenomena yma sydd yn mynd gyda'i gilydd fel ceffyl a chert neu gariad a phriodas. "Rhag eich cywilydd chi" fasa rhai o'r hen bregethwyr yn gweiddi allan teswch chi wedi pechu yn rhyw ffordd. Mae'r pellter rhwng y pulpud a'r gynulleidfa yn gallu gwneud y geiriau yma swnio yn fwy pwerus. Cyfiethiad fasa 'Forshame' neu 'Shame on you' ond cyfieithiad llythrenonol i un sydd wedi cael ei boddi yn yr iaith Saesneg buasa "Between you and your shame" yn cymeryd yn ganiataol felli fod gan bawb cywilydd o'r groth? Yn debyg i'r Catholigion ar 'Pechu Gwreiddiol'. Pam fod Pysgotwr Siarcod y Cymry yn gwastraffu ei amser yn meddwl am bethau fel hyn? Well yn y mis diwethaf yn y bowlen pysgodyn aur sydd yn cael ei adnabod fel y Senedd fe welwyd cywilydd a chydwybod yn cael ei chwarae allan mewn sefyllfa Carwyn a Carl. Heb adnabod y ddau fasa rhywun yn deud fod Carl wedi dioddef o ormod o gywilydd a Carwyn wedi dioddef o ddiffyg cydwybod. Mae'n syndod i ynrhyw sinig fel fi fod unrhyw wleidydd gyda chywilydd na chydwybod o gwbl. Croen caled maent yn arddangos ar yr arwynebedd. Ond nid 'act' ydy bron popeth mewn bywyd. Ond beth fydd yr 'Actau' nesaf yn ein bywydau cymunedol? Neu ydyn ni dal yn mwydro ymlaen yn ein ffordd ol Thatcher sef y cwlt o 'unigoliaeth'. Rydym wedi gweld cwymp yn seren unigoliaeth yn ddiweddar gyda phardduo enwau enwogion. Mae glitz a glitter Hollywood wedi colli dipyn o'i sglein ag roedd 'na ryw deimlad yn yr ymwybyddiaeth gymunedol fod na balchder neu oleua rhyddhad fod hwn wedi digwydd. Symud cydbwysedd neu gyfantoledd cymdeithas nol tuag at y canol. Pŵer a thrachwant oedd graidd y broblem tybed neu ddiffyg hunan barch ar ran y dynion yma. Y dynion yma gafodd ei alw yn fwystfilod yn ffeindio fo yn anodd iawn i garu ei hun o oedran ifanc ac wedyn tyfu rhyw fath o neurosis gafodd ei ystofi gan ei sefyllfa bywyd. Mae yn hawdd iawn collfarnu oherwydd dyna'r ffordd rydym ni wedi cael ein cyflyri ein hunan. Ydy o yn syndod wedyn pam mae gymaint o bobol yn glwm i 'unigoliaeth' oherwydd bod nhw yn reddfol yn gwybod beth sydd yn orau iddynt ar sail ag ar gost i gymdeithas. Pwy sydd ar fai yn y fan hyn? Yr unigolyn yn tyfu fyny o'r groth, neu'r gymdeithas mae o yn tyfu fyny ynddi? A gewch chi'r ateb i hyn ar Blog y Pysgotwr Siarcod tybed?    

Dyletswyddau a Disgwyliadau

Gair diddorol di dyletswydd. Roedd rhaid i mi gecio cyn sgrifennu beth oedd y gwahaniaeth rhwng cyfrifoldeb a dyletswydd. Mewn cyfrifoldeb mae yna elfen o ddewis. Does 'na ddim dewis yn ddyletswydd. Wrth gwrs mi allwch anwybyddu eich dyletswyddau ond wedyn mae'r hen gydwybod yna yn dechrau wafio yn gornel eich isymwybod. Felli o ble mae'r dyletswyddau yma yn dod? Yn bennaf o'r teulu. Gawsoch chi ddim dewis yn eich genedigaeth a dim ots pa mor anodd ydy bywyd mae yna elfen o ddyletswydd tuag at y teulu. Wedyn mae yna ddyletswydd at eich gwlad ag eich iaith. Os rydych wedi cael y rhodd o'r iaith Gymraeg, wedyn mae yn ddyletswydd arnoch chi i ddefnyddio fe? Efallai does gynnon ni ddim dyletswydd i ddim oni bai am Dduw os gaffoch chi eich magu yn y ffydd Gristnogol. Felli dim dewis di Duw? Dyle credu mewn Duw ddim bod yn ddyletswydd. Rhywbeth arall fydol, cysurus, rhywbeth yn debyg i Siôn Corn di Duw? Neu ydy Duw yn enw arall ar ein henaid, ein ffynnon bywyd sydd yn rhoi cysur i ni pan mae'r ddynol rhyw wedi siomi ni tro ar ôl tro. Nhw sydd wedi ein siomi ni neu ein disgwyliadau? Felli ar ysgwydd dyletswyddau neu ddisgwyliadau mae'r bai am ein anhapusrwydd? Beth ddych chi'n meddwl eich bod ddim yn anhapus? Beth sydd yn bod arnoch chi? 
Mae bod yn anhapus yn beth poblogaidd iawn dyddiau yma! Yr oedolion yn anhapus oherwydd ei chyfrifoldebau a'r plant yn anhapus oherwydd ei dyletswyddau? Mae 'na elfen o ansicrwydd a risg ym mhob dydd bellach, beth fydd y newyddion pedwar awr ar hugain yn dod i ni ar y fwydlen heddiw. Pa gyflafan fydd yn treiddio lawr i'r isymwybod cyn nos ac yn gofyn y cwestiwn "A oes gyda ni dyletswydd a chyfrifoldeb at y byd neu waith y gwleidyddion ydy hwnna?" Efallai fydd yr ymateb ddim yr un fath i bob un. Efallai fydd yr ymateb yn dibynnu ar faint eich cydwybod. Ond wedyn fydd rhaid penderfynu ydw i jest am siarad am bethau ar y cyfryngau cymdeithasol neu ydw i am weithredu dros les y blaned? Dim ond y ni all penderfynu na dyletswydd ta cyfrifoldeb ydy hwnna.    

You gorra siarad Saesneg if you wanna get on

I remember Carlo from nineteen sixty nine He always had big ears and a sword on his shoulder He wasn't so good looking, but he seemed to have such status While I had none, I asked my Mam, "How come?" Mother said Carlo was loose and cheap And boys like that ended up on Benefits Street Not like me, I was good, you see Now I saw Carlo in Buck House today He's a bloody prince now in every way So darn rich, people tell me he's a bitch With lovers by the score, do I have to tell you more Oh, you've gorra siarad Saesneg if you wanna get on Principality can only hold you back The only men makin' it are men who are shakin' it They're faking all their morals on the mat It's an act, it's a fact You've gorra siarad Saesneg if you wanna get a name Bein' a good Cymro can only get you hurt Inappropriate behaviour never brought a patriot fame And women will always crave an SNP skirt (kilt to youze) When you read the newspapers every day (No not the Scum) There's always some berk in the letters page of the Western Mail that's having his say By writing the usual bigotry, he makes himself a name And no one blames him, Patriots all do the same But then they get serious and elected to power

and go to the Welsh Assembly and that bullying shower The FM is a Lawyer who's a really shrewd guy And get's the peoples' sympathy by crying and crying

Oh, you've gorra siarad Saesneg if you wanna get on Principality can only hold you back The only men makin' it are men who are shakin' it They're faking all their morals on the mat It's an act, it's a fact You've gorra siarad Saesneg if you wanna get a name Bein' a good Cymro can only get you hurt Inappropriate behaviour never brought a patriot fame And women will always crave an SNP skirt (kilt to youze)

Well, the next time it happens as he starts to write Of his schemes through the days and his plan through the nights And even though it's tasteless, the book sells coast to coast On all the chat shows, you can see him boast And now they're makin' a film of the book And no one gives a damn that the boy was a ham They've got posters obscene, now he's mixin with the cream No one even cares what he's done or where he's been Oh, you've gorra siarad Saesneg if you wanna get on Principality can only hold you back The only men makin' it are men who are shakin' it They're faking all their morals on the mat It's an act, it's a fact You've gorra siarad Saesneg if you wanna get a name Bein' a good Cymro can only get you hurt Inappropriate behaviour never brought a patriot fame And women will always crave an SNP skirt (kilt to youze)

Yes, you've gorra siarad Saesneg if you wanna get on

Don't you know there's a war on?

I have been bullied by my subconscious to write in the English language again. Ymddiheuriadau likes but I have just returned from a flying visit to the Capital of Wales. If I'd known there was Rugby on at the aptly named Principality Stadium, I wouldn't have bothered. On the train back from Ystum Taf/Llandaff North to Grangetown, after visiting a mate, a Rugby crowd got on at Queen Street Station. A short, rounder version of myself sat diagonally opposite and I thought that he like me was a Billy no mates but lo and behold he  had a wife and son. The son looked scared of him because he was pissed and the wife was watchful of others. When a crowd gets on, I pretend to be asleep but this loser must have known my plan as he proceeded to sneeze with gay abandon across the ail not once, not twice, but five times. I was dying to shout at him "Oy you dirty filthy bastard don't you know that coughs and sneezes spread diseases" but he looked harder than me so I turned my head further away and closed my eyes tighter. An observation that I make that the few times I have had to take the train is that some people do not seem to realise that they are sharing a public space with others. Whether this guy had his Rugby Supporters, Prince of Wales feathers, Daffodil Head feature on or whether he was pissed off  that his team had just scraped a win against Georgia, the Ray Charles tune that I was whistling as I got off at Grangetown. Sneezy and the other dwarfs were bound for Barry Island and possibly beyond. As I sauntered back, the reflection that I ruminated on as I often do is that common courtesy, politeness and manners in the public sphere are dead. Whether it is because so many people, myself included, live lives of banal anonymity that when it comes to match days, or weddings or funerals that there is a need to be seen and heard, I don't know.  

To use another well known 1941-45 epithet which we might do well to heed "Don't you know there's a war on?". There is a war a raging but sneezy and his pals on the shuffle me off this mortal coil special are in denial about it. They forget that George Bush declared a war on terrorism and now and again terrorism is having a pop back at us. Is this not a war? Some of us, the benefit parasites, the work shirkers are waging a war against the commercialisation of Christmas. Just because you work all week and then sneeze your head off on public transport on the weekends doesn't mean your better than us. Some are really looking forward to the holidays whilst the Islamic State and their lone wolves are looking forward to terrorising Christmas. Is this not a war? Some are waging a war against global warming, some, but not enough. Just sticking it in the recycling bag isn't going to cut the mustard Tonto! We are going to have to use less, buy less, consume less, waste less! We are going to have to ration ourselves and our families. We are going to have to pretend that there is a war on, a war against obesity, lethargy, apathy, self hatred, psychiatry, the medical model, bad manners and people who sneeze in public without holding a handkerchief to their trwyns.  

         

Stori Bwlio

Dwi am rannu fy stori bwlio gyda chi! Dwi'n siŵr ei fod yn stori digon cyffredin yng Nghymru. Dwi di gael fy mwlio ar hyd fy oes gan yr iaith Saesneg. Gymaint oedd y bwlio yma dwi di droi mewn i bwli iaith Saesneg fy hun. Dim fy mod i yn gorfodi pobol eraill i ddefnyddio Saesneg ond yr iaith yma ydy'r un dwi'n teimlo mwy cyffyrddus ynddo oherwydd yn Saesneg dwi di gael fy nhrochi a fy moddi. Peidiwch ag anghofio na cyn 1982 doedd yna ddim teledu cyfrwng Cymraeg a cyn 1977 doedd yna ddim Radio Cymru dim ond briwsion oddi wrth fwrdd Llundain roeddwn ni yn ei chael. Cyn i fi swnio mor hen â Methusela hoffwn i mi ddeud na ail darganfod yr iaith frodorol gynhenid ydy un o drysorau fy mywyd. Dwi ddim yn gwneud digon ond weithiau mae'r her o ddefnyddio Cysill 3.0 Prifysgol Bangor yn fwy nag unrhyw ofn cael fy nghywiro gan yr Heddlu Iaith (honedig) Dwi ddim yn meddwl fod nhw yn bodoli bellach. Diffyg hyder a diffyg hunan barch ydy rheswm fod pobol ddim yn defnyddio'r Iaith Cymraeg sydd gyda nhw. Mae'r Saesneg mor gyffredin ac yn cael i siarad ym mhob man yn y byd bron. Rydym wedi cyfarwyddo gymaint gyda'r bwli yn ein mysg ein bod bellach ddim yn gweld o/hi fel bwli ond fel ffrind cysurus. Allai ddim meddwl am y gair Cymraeg felli mi ai nol i'r hen fwli yn fy isymwybod ac i ddeud o yn Saesneg. Arfer ydy pob peth ac rydym ni yng Nghymru boed yn Cofi dre neu Swansea Jack yn llithro weithiau. Ateb i fwlio ydy gofyn y bwli ei hun pam ei fod o/hi wedi mynd mor gryf ac yn anoddefgar ac yr ateb gewch chi nôl ydy "Well does neb yn sefyll i fyny ata i bellach, maent wedi cyfarwyddo gymaint gyda fi, dydyn nhw ddim yn gweld o fel bwlio bellach" Stockholm Syndrome ta be? Faint ohonom ni fel Cymry sydd yng ngwystl i'r iaith Saesneg? Dwi'n ceisio rhoi fy llaw i fyny ond dwi'n strugglo oherwydd mae'r Saesneg wedi clymu fi fynny mew rhaff ac wedi rhoi mwgwd ar fy mhen a chlorian ar fy ngheg! Dwi yn siarad am yr iaith yn y fan hon! Yr iaith Saesneg yw fy mhwli, dim y Saeson fel pobol a dim Lloegr fel gwlad ond ei iaith nhw. Ond i chi'n gwybod be? Dwi am ddechrau ymladd nôl....yn araf deg.    

Unreconstructed Male

aka Ken Frane's lament. 





my resentment knows no bounds

it is a flock of seagulls, a pack of hounds

it is a punctured football in an alleyway

it is the pissed off look on a captured stray

Oy, oh enlightened one

it has taken me fifty years to get to today

I know that you are mindful and have found the way

but let me be human, grumpy and stew away

unreconstructed caveman, antediluvian male

seeks female, I can promise you stale

I wish I could change just to please you

but therapy costs money and no you wont do

variety is the spice of life not monogamy

I know you wish to have your day (in court)

but enough's enough I'm not going to pay

for the divorce and the kids and the house 

It was never love, I just fancied you and needed sex
I don't care whether you've met up with your ex.

you could nag for Wales with your mouthful of ashes

I don't know why you bothered with those window sashes

yes I know I'm sexist and misogynist

you say that to all the boys                                                        

when they don't come up trumps and buy you the toys

Yes love whatever you say

I know that I'm old and ugly, fat and grey

and not a catch that you'd want this time of day.

http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/love-sex/women-why-happier-single-than-men-relationships-hard-work-survey-mintel-a8050511.html

the claustrophobia of this time

Between now and Christmas Day I will be like the goldfish at the top of his bowl gasping for air. I don't suffer from SAD because the darkness suits my soul and heart, but because I don't take part in life and only observe it, I realise that I am a conscientious objector to life or to the conditioned life that we are encouraged to take part in without question. The build up to Christmas is like the build up to a boil bursting. Whilst respecting the Christian need to celebrate the alleged birth of their saviour I cannot respect the Capitalists and retail businesses right to make money out of this need. As I get older and a childless Autumn beckons, a Puritanism has gripped me which I have to reign in, as I, as a (self described) satirist and social commentator feel the need to evangelise this natural consequence to austerity. Perhaps it is because I am aggrieved when I see some people benefit from the misery of others. The mistake I have continuously made is that instead of trying to improve my own personal situation by pulling myself up by the bootstraps and benefiting through the hard work of honest toil, I am continuously thinking of ways to try and improve the lives of all, the definition of a socialist to some and a fool to others. How somebody can hope to do this without standing for public office is yet to be seen but there is a palpable sense of time running out. By divesting myself of the need to distract myself by working for reimbursement, I have thrown myself into communicating by social media in return for buttons, red buttons. I cannot multi task so I have no choice other than to commit to caring duties that highlight mortality on a daily basis. When these duties end I will be forced to entertain thoughts of my own mortality, the cost of being a child to loving but older parents. At the age of 51 even if the possibility presented itself, I doubt whether I would put a child through what I have been through, that is thinking that their parents are going to die on a daily basis from a young age. They are still alive and I have got old with them still dreading their date of death. Hence my feelings of Claustrophobia. I cannot escape from the requirements of shopping where you observe and are in turn observed. The basket fills with the usual staples and the soulless voice thanks you for shopping at their particular temple. Boxing Day brings a sense of relief knowing that normal people will be back at work and school soon. The new year brings new hope. I think perhaps January is my favourite month because it is the furthest away from Christmas, closer to the last one and still far enough away from the next one to pull away from the top of the water and instead of gasping for air, start to take shorter more measured breaths.

Lack of Kindness, Lack of Empathy

This has got to be one of my favourite songs! It came out when I was teaching English and Drama in a South East London Comprehensive School in 2003. The same year that hundreds of thousands marched on the streets of London against going to war in Iraq . It would have been easy for me to join them, as friends had come down from Wales to protest but I chose not to, believing that Saddam Hussein was a pain in the arse who needed to be got rid of! You see I haven't always been so enlightened and I can hold my hand up and admit to my mistakes and before I go off on a Ronnie Corbett ramble I'll get to the rub of this post. The lack of kindness and the lack of empathy in our world today. Kensington Council have been described as distant and lacking in emotional intelligence in dealing with the survivors and the community after the Grenfell Tower Tragedy. Here in Wales we have a First Minister who is now surely ruing his lack of empathy in dealing with one of his close personal friends. That Press Conference last night was embarrassing and insulting to the family of Carl Sargeant. Now I have no truck with the Welsh Labour Party as I have said many times on the blogosphere before but by doing things 'by the book'  Carwyn Jones fell into the 'I was only obeying orders' trap. Westminster shouts and Wales jumps. "We must be seen to be doing the right thing" whereas a layman digging ditches can see that this was not the right thing to do in terms of humanity.

People have become dispensable in Politics. It really doesn't matter who you replace with who! Unless they have innate humanity, kindness and empathy all traits deemed weaknesses in power play culture then the circle will continue. The Welsh Assembly Building like Grenfell Tower is now bereft of its 'force of nature' and if there is a march to bemoan the lack of kindness and empathy in life tomorrow, I'll be on it. 

Gibbets & Jihadis

http://www.medievalwarfare.info/torture.htm

Somewhere in the house I have a letter from a Dutch court declaring me insane and what you are about to read is obviously the thoughtful rantings of an insane man. After yesterday's atrocity in New York, as an insane man I am about to propound a philosophy and deterrent that will have my fellow trendy lefties fainting in the aisles. In certain media outlets and in the back rooms of certain British boozers, ISIL are referred to as a Medieval Death Cult. Well if we in the Capitalist Christian Black & White West or the CCBWW for short intend to carry on watching the Great British Bake Off and celebrating Halloween then we must have a deterrent worthy of our medieval past. There was talk on last Thursday's question time of not letting em back in, the Soldiers of Allah who have gone oft to foreign shores to bomb, kill and maim us. Well what about letting em back in and while we are medievally burning Guy Fawkes on the Bonfire and gayly Christmas shopping in Oxford Street and Times Square we might look up and observe jihadists rotting on gibbets and shudder as we realise how close they were from stopping us enjoying our self indulgent little pleasures. George Bush declared a war on terrorism after 9/11 and terrorism is carrying on that war on a civilian population using the tools of rampant capitalism. Not even your most unhinged UKipper would dare to propound what I just have here but in my defence I have just completed a month of abstinence from alcoholic beverages so I may not be thinking straight. A couple of liveners and I'll be back to abnormal. I think that Spain and Catalonia are playing a remarkable game of bluff and double bluff with the Islamic State. Since the atrocity on Las Ramblas in August, the Iberian peninsula have been playing an elaborate game of smoke and mirrors with the Moors of old and only time will tell who will come out the victors. If we the global proletariat don't do sumffink to deter these barbarians who are hell bent on changing our way of life then we will just continue to be like the ducks in the Heineken advertisement of old.

 I am either too old or too insane for all this shit.