Cymru, Lloegr a Llanrwst

Ges i frêc yn ddiweddar. Dyn di waith yn cymryd gwyliau. Glywsoch chi fasiwn beth? 

Hoe fach yn y Gogledd. Cerdded o gwmpas Pen y Gogarth, dros fynydd Conwy i Ddwygyfylchi ac ar y diwrnod olaf cerdded ar hyd yr afon Conwy rhwng Llanrwst a Betws y Coed. Godidog. Yn anffodus roedd y trefi yma dan ei sang dim just gyda thwristiaid fel y ni ond gyda traffic. Loris mawr yn mynd trwy Lanrwst a phaned o de yn ysgwyd ar y bwrdd tu allan i Cafe Contessa. Betws y Coed wedyn, yn waeth na dwi yn ei chofio. Ymwelwyr fel zombies yn sbïo lawr i ddyfnderoedd y dŵr i geisio cael cip ar ei adlewyrchiad.

Mae'n bwysig cael amser i fyfyrio ar y byd a'i betws ond yn well i ffwrdd o'r gwallgofrwydd maent yn ei alw'r diwydiant twristiaid yng Nghymru. Acenion gogledd orllewin Lloegr roedd y mwyaf cyffredin a phobol hael a chynnes gan amlaf. Dyna ydy broblem i genedlaetholwyr Cymraeg. Mae'r bobol maent yn ei diawlio am sbwylio ei wlad, gan amlaf yn neisiach bobol na nhw ei hunan. 

Felli beth wnewch chi? Cwyno? Ew, rydym yn hen giamsters ar y difyrwaith yna.

Beth allwn ni wneud yn ymarferol i wella ansawdd yr amgylchedd fel ei fod yn deg i ymwelwyr ac i bobol leol fel ei gilydd?

Mae lefelau traffic yn waeth neu tua'r un cyfartaledd roeddent cyn cyfnod y clo. Gormod o geir a dim digon o le i barcio. Gormod o geir i ffyrdd a gafodd ei adeiladu yn dridegau'r ganrif ddiwethaf. Gormod o geir a loris yn teithio trwy drefi a phentrefi Cymru yn achosi tagfeydd megis Llandeilo, Llanrwst, Betws-y-coed, Talybont, Llanon, Aberaeron ayb. 

Mae 'na gynlluniau 'Park & Ride' yn ein dinasoedd ni. Fasa cynlluniau tebyg yn gweithio yn y fro? Yn Barc Cenedlaethol Eryri. Cae mawr yn debyg i'r Eisteddfod Genedlaethol i barcio ceir a bysys bach Sherpa yn mynd a phobol i mewn i Lanrwst a Betws y Coed wedyn. 

Gyda nifer yr ymwelwyr fasa yn saffach i drefnu ardaloedd i gerddwyr yn unig. Mae o yn frwydr barhaol rhwng seiclwyr, cerddwyr a dreifwyr car ac wedyn y pla o motobeics ganol haf. Pawb yn dod i gael cipolwg ar brydferthwch Cymru. A ninnau yn euog o'r un peth rŵan nawr mae Magaluf a Benidorm ar gae i ni. Hwntws yn mynd i'r Gogledd am jolly. 

Un peth sylweddolom, mae na pres mawr ym Marina Conwy ac yn Neganwy. Tybed a Chymru gyffredin sydd bia'r cychod mawr crand yma a'r tanciau mawr sydd yn byrlymu ar hyd yr A55 yn gwneud sŵn mwyaf dychrynllyd?

Un peth cytunwyd arno ar ôl y gwyliau, roedd y distawrwydd a byd natur yn falm i'r enaid ond roedd y traffic a nifer yr ymwelwyr yn ormod i ddygymod a nhw.

Mewn 'nanny state' Brydeinig mae o yn rhyfeddod i weld sut mae cymdeithas yn disgwyl i gymaint o bobol plismona ei hunan yn nhermau ymddygiad pan maent ar grwydr yn wlad wahanol.

Un fendith o'r gwyliau bach yn wlad ein hunain glywsom ni ddim gair o'r gân 'One Nation, One Britain'. Rydym wedi cael ein concro ond mae dyn yn cael yr argraff fod y concwerwyr ddim eisio rhwbio fo mewn, dim tan ddiwedd yr Euros beth bynnag.    

8 Secrets of a Healthy Mind

I think we all know why

 Copied & pasted from Selena Martin on Facebook

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀs ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴀɢɴᴇsɪᴜᴍ ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ sᴛᴏᴏʟ sᴏғᴛᴇɴᴇʀs? (ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴅᴇʜʏᴅʀᴀᴛᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴡᴇʟ)

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀs ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅɪᴇᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʙᴜʀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴅɪɢᴇsᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ Pʀɪʟᴏsᴇᴄ? (ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴀᴜsᴇs ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙᴜʀɴ, ᴄᴏʟᴏɴ ᴄᴀɴᴄᴇʀ & ᴏsᴛᴇᴏᴘᴏʀᴏsɪs ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇs ғᴏᴏᴅ ғᴇʀᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏᴅʏ)

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀs ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇʀʙs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ ғᴏᴏᴅs ᴄᴀɴ ᴀʟsᴏ ʜᴇᴀʟ? (Ashwagandha)

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀs ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ᴄʜᴇᴍɪᴄᴀʟs ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴsᴛᴀɴᴛ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴀᴄʜᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟᴇʀɢɪᴇs? (ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ғʀᴀɢʀᴀɴᴄᴇ & ᴄʜᴇᴍɪᴄᴀʟs ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ʙᴜɪʟᴅᴜᴘ ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴇʟʟs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇs ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀʟʟᴇʀɢɪᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴀᴄʜᴇs)

Wʜʏ ᴀʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴғᴏʀᴍᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴀᴛ ᴀ ɢʀᴀᴘᴇғʀᴜɪᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴅᴀʏ, ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴘʀᴇssᴜʀᴇ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ? (ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴡʜʏ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ᴇᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴏɴ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴘʀᴇssᴜʀᴇ ᴍᴇᴅs)

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏᴇsɴ’ᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴄᴏᴀʟ ғᴏʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴀᴄʜᴇs, ʙʟᴏᴀᴛɪɴɢ/ɢᴀs, sᴋɪɴ ɪssᴜᴇs, ᴄᴏʟᴅs, ғᴏᴏᴅ ᴘᴏɪsᴏɴɪɴɢ? (ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴄᴏᴀʟ ʙᴏɴᴅs ᴡᴀsᴛᴇ/ᴛᴏxɪɴs ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴏᴠᴀʟ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴅʏ)

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀs ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴇʀʙs ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀʙᴀʟ ᴛᴇᴀs ᴛᴏ sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ ɪᴍᴍᴜɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪɢᴇsᴛɪᴠᴇ ғᴜɴᴄᴛɪᴏɴs? (ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ʜᴇʀʙs ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴏʀɢᴀɴs ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴊᴏʙs ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴅʏ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ)

Wʜʏ ɪsɴ’ᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏʙɪᴏᴛɪᴄ ᴅᴀɪʟʏ? (ᴛʜɪs ʙᴏᴏsᴛ ɪᴍᴍᴜɴᴇ ғᴜɴᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ʜᴇʟᴘs ᴄʟᴇᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴡᴇʟ, ʜᴇʟᴘs ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴀʙsᴏʀᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇʟɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴋᴇᴇᴘs ᴄᴏʟᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟᴇʀɢɪᴇs ᴀᴛ ʙᴀʏ)

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀs ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴅɪᴇᴛ/ʟɪғᴇsᴛʏʟᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴs ғᴏʀ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴛs ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ᴏғғᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴘɪʟʟs? (ᴅɪᴇᴛ & ʟɪғᴇsᴛʏʟᴇ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇs ᴀʀᴇ 90+% ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ɪʟʟɴᴇss)

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀs ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ sᴜᴘᴘʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs ᴛᴏ ʙᴏᴏsᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ ᴘʀɪᴏʀ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ sɪᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴅ ᴘɪʟʟs

(sᴜᴘᴘʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs/ʜᴇʀʙs/ᴛɪɴᴄᴛᴜʀᴇs ᴄᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ ɪʟʟɴᴇss ʙʏ ʙᴏᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴍᴍᴜɴᴇ ғᴜɴᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀɢᴀɴs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ғᴜɴᴄᴛɪᴏɴs)?

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀs ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs sᴛᴏʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʜʏsɪᴄᴀʟ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴀɴɢᴜɪsʜ, ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ᴄᴀɴ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ sɪɢɴɪғɪᴄᴀɴᴛ ʀᴏʟʟ ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ, ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏᴏʟs ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴇᴀsɪʟʏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴘʜʏsɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ɪʟʟ)?

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀs ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ ʀᴏʟᴇ ɪɴ ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ʟɪᴠᴇs?

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴇᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟs ᴏғ ᴘɪʟʟs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ?

Wʜʏ ᴀʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʜᴇʟᴘᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴡᴇ ɢᴇᴛ sɪᴄᴋ?

Tʜɪs ɴᴇᴇᴅs ᴛᴏ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ!

Hᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ɪs REAL, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴏssɪʙʟᴇ!

Wᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴғᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴜsᴛ!

Work that doesn't need a CV, an interview or references

 

Work that doesn't need a CV, an interview or references

It's a cold, bald morning in Christendom and I have just put the above into the Google Search engine. I have been here many times before and I don't know why I should bother you with it but hey ho, a blogger's life is not always one of champagne and canapes. Sometimes we have to investigate our existential belly buttons and get real. The trouble is, I don't want to get real. Real is conformity, real is 9-5. I have been unemployed for sixteen years. On my CV I would put, served a four and a half month stretch, not for slapping Emmanuel Macron but for threatening to explode an invisible bomb in a bank in Hilversum, the Netherlands. The references I could provide would possibly be my prison guards and my psychiatrist. My Occupational Therapist from that period has just written a note to the DWP telling them that I was being treated for Bipolar Disorder and therefore my judgement could be called 'suspect' when it comes to claiming benefits.

I could go self employed but that means registering with the HMRC and I did that before and got into trouble with late returns and declarations. What is a middle aged man with a paunch to do?

I don't want to sign on for Job Seeker's Allowance because you have to prove that you are looking for work and applying for jobs. I just want a Universal Basic Income to protect my mental health but that is never going to happen in our post industrial revolution world.     

Don't laugh but I even put "What shall I do with the rest of my life" into the Google search engine. The quest and yearning for meaning is the same for an 18 year old as it is for a 55 year old, it's just that the latter has less time to fuck it up again. 37 years wasted. 37 years of handing control and power over to the Medical profession who are as clueless as you and I. They are just flawed human beings like the rest of us. They've just trained longer and harder and earn more.

I'm trying to hand it over to God but what if God doesn't exist as we are barracked by militant humanist and atheists into believing. Spending your life on a couch in a mental health drop in center drinking coffee and munching custard creams has no more value than a life spent in going to church on a Sunday. Both have handed the responsibility of sorting their life out to somebody else. The community mental health team in the first instance and God in the second. Neither have the answers, but both can afford you a bit of relief and respite and there's nowt wrong with that, unless you overdo it.   

When so many people have perished in the pandemic it feels selfish and self obsessed to continually be asking these questions but I would like an answer to the the question 

"Can I get work that doesn't need a CV, interview or references please?"

Longer Poem in Smaller Writing

 

The two kids in the playground are Israel and Palestine.

The rest of the world are the other kids who form a large circle.

Most chant for the bigger boy, the bully, for they have created him.

but they get bored and run indoors on the dinner bell.

But David and Goliath do not hear it and keep slugging it out,

as the afternoon lessons drone on like an air raid siren.

Goliath has got out his flame thrower and his tanks and his bombs.

while David has his catapult.  

The noise is deafening.

Teachers come to the windows followed by the pupils.

The blood trickles down David’s face from ‘the temples.’

The headmaster who looks like Joe Biden makes it halfway across the sandy

quad but then turns back as if he has forgotten something.

The Groundsman is even mowing the grass as the carnage continues.

David will not give up, as parents arrive to pick up their children.

Big beefy Dads have to turn away with sick stomachs.

Goliath is hearing voices from his past telling him he is the chosen one.

and he can do just what he likes because

he knows that most people are scared of God even if they do not believe in him.

The fight continues into the following day, days, weeks, years, decades.

The school has now become a Housing Estate, ‘a settlement’.

and the former pupils and staff now dead.

Nobody learnt a damn thing in that place.

Short Poem in Big Writing

 

She was scared

She had to be told to ask “how people were”

“How are you feeling?”

She had no empathy

She got it from her father

It wasn’t a problem till she got older

Why hadn’t she looked back at the dead body?

instead of stepping over it.

It reminded her of what she would become

and she had no time to waste.

Compete, Compete, Compete does not compute.

You can laugh but the tennis racket above is the exact same model that I used in my short lived tennis career back in the 1970s and early 1980s. In fact it was the racket I was using the day that I had my first official nervous breakdown. Don't tell me I don't know how Naomi Osaka feels. Everybody else has got an opinion on the poor dab. Why can't I have one? 

I never made it to the Press Conference. I drove home after leaving my poor puzzled friend on the court. Who knows? He might still be there to this day. At home there was a wailing and a gnashing of teeth and I was sent to see Dr Davies who sent me to see a Psychiatrist and Psychologist.

Now my problems had nothing to do with the fact that I was shit at tennis but they had everything to do with a seep seated depression that had begun age 13 and was now manifesting itself at age 20. Situational depression linked to being sent from a completely Welsh medium primary to a completely English medium secondary school where I was required to fail Latin for O level. For fuck's sake you don't want to read about my travails but you do want to hear my take on Naomi Osaka don't you?

Competitive sport kills! It kills your spirit because winning is the only thing that matters so much so that if you lose, people with a press card in their hat want to ask you how it feels to have lost? How do you think it fucking feels? lousy.

I am on team Naomi Osaka. At the school tennis courts, where I was playing when I had the first delirium tremens of a nervous breakdown, two or three years previously on the circular athletics track, me and a pal agreed halfway around not to race each other and we jogged in leisurely across the finish line. Did we get a row? It was as if we had committed a blasphemy against the God's of competitive sport. If I remember rightly, the punishment was to be sent on a cross country run with an instruction to make sure we 'COMPETE' whistling around our ears.

It is the culture of competition that destroys the inner confidence of so many people. To become an elite athlete of course you have to compete but what if it's not the competition you get a kick out of. What if it's the love of the game?

What if you are in love with tennis and the winning at all costs regardless of your mental health is what is destroying you inside? She has been a brilliantly brave woman to stick two fingers up to the French Open. 

We've heard all too often about Toxic Masculinity, well what about Toxic Competitivity? What if both are linked? What if both are linked to voyeurism where the spectator/press because they have paid their money demand to see the entrails of the vanquished competitor as if they were on the floor of the Colosseum in Rome.

I wonder if Toxic Masculinity occurs because of the demands of competition on the male of the species? Competing to get the biggest Woolly Mammoth, competing for the best position in the boardroom, competing for that promotion? Compete, Compete, Compete does not compute.   

Competition thrives in Capitalist Societies because there have to be winners and losers because we cannot all be winners under such a structure.

Unfortunately due to the contracts that you sign and the intrusive interruptions  that you must suffer to your mindset, winners are often made to feel like losers also.   

     

 Further Reading

https://sharkfishinginwales.blogspot.com/2013/07/sick-society.html