The Incredible Shrinking Man

Bob tro dwi'n dychwelyd i Gaerdydd ar ôl treulio amser yn gwahanol rannau o Gymru dwi'n teimlo fel 'The Incredible Shrinking Man'. Mae e'n dechrau'r eiliad dwi di ddod i ffwrdd o drofa'r M4, Cardiff West a dwi'n mynd lawr yr A4232, mae teimlad o anesmwytho yn dod drosta’i. Mae rhaid i mi fod yn was bach y Brifddinas eto, dyn tawel sydd yn troi ei gefn ar y gymdeithas ddinesig byddent nhw’n Gymru nei beidio. Mae'r ymarferiad yr un peth bob tro, parcio'r car mor agos i’n tŷ sydd yn bosib ac wedyn adael o yna tan y tro nesaf mae rhaid i mi ffoi i'r Gorllewin neu'r Gogledd oherwydd yn eiriau Kenny Rogers fi ydy 'The Coward of the County' neu 'Incredible Shrinking Man'. Dwi'n nerfus iawn dreifio o gwmpas y ddinas ac fel person mewn oedran dwi'n cynllunio bob taith, faint o gloch fydd cyn lleied o draffig o bobol ar hyd y lle i mi gael y siawns gorau posib o daith di ffwdan. Mae rhywbeth mawr yn crynhoi yn fy nghorff os fydd rhaid i mi stopio mewn jam traffic neu oherwydd bod 'na gymaint ar hewl. Felli yn y ddinas fawr hyll yma ble rwyf wedi bod yng ngwystlon am bum mlynedd ar hugain dwi'n cerdded i bob man neu dwi'n seiclo. Anaml fyddai yn dal y bws, gormod o bobol. Dwi'n sylweddoli fy mod i yn hoffi sefyllfaoedd a phobol mi allai rheoli! Mae hwnna yn swnio yn rhyfedd ond os dwi'n teimlo fod person yn mynd i grynhoi mi neu fy mygwth yn emosiynol, dwi'n osgoi nhw, dyna pam fod gweithio mewn meysydd confensiynol yn gymaint o her. Mi fydd na digwyddiadau a phobol ni allet ti reoli.
Dwi'n ceisio cadw proffil isel yn y stryd, peidio mynd allan os fydd na lot o bobol neu gymdogion yn mynd a dod. Dwi'n osgoi'r amseroedd brysura'r dydd. Ofn, rhwystredigaeth, arferiad, y zone 'cyfforddus'. Mae rhaid newid lleoliad ond i ble a pham! Mi wnes i symid i Lundain yn 2000 i ddechrau bywyd newydd, well dyna oedd y gobaith ond yr un hen fywyd oedd o, yr un hen feddylfryd ond mewn lleoliad wahanol. Maent yn deud galla’u chi ddim dysgu triciau newydd i hen gi ond yn fy achos i ddwi'n gobeithio nad ydy hwnna yn wir.

One Summer

Letter to Breshnev

Did a Welshman discover America?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/guides/z2q22hv

 

 

 

The Darkness of Davies

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-politics-28132774

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept.

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,

And Brutus is an honorable man.

Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare

Act 3 Scene 2

It's called Karma or 'kick a man when he's down' and that's exactly what Alun Davies did to me in 1994. At the time he was a member of Plaid Cymru's National Executive. He lived in a flat near the Coops public house in Aberystwyth. I was a common and garden member of the Federation of Plaid Cymru Students and very often we would congregate in the confused seaside town for conferences and piss ups. After one particular conference/piss up a gang of us all ended up back at Davies's flat. It was late and we were noisy. His neighbours from downstairs came out and asked us to be quiet and allegedly I told them where to go. Inside his flat we all took up our pissed positions and I knelt behind the sofa looking at the television feeling comfortably numb. He, allegedly, having spoken with his neighbours, came raging up the stairs and he ran and took a flying kick at me, landing his boot in my ribs. He screamed and I shouted back. I didn't hit him but walked passed him and out. My ego had been bruised.
Twenty years ago now and he is no longer 'Plaid Cymru' but has taken the ambitious Politician's route and is now the tenuous member for the environment as a Labour Minister within the Grey Lady's (Carwyn Jones) administration at the Welsh Assembly Building also known affectionately as the Senedd. I thought  I would publish this now to call into question his temperament as a human being first and foremost let alone as a Minister. 
It is time for the Overlord of Darkness to resign.  He could always get a job as one of the adversaries of  Dr Who.

Stop Press

8th July 2014

Coch Bach y Bala

 

http://www.bbc.co.uk/cymru/gogleddorllewin/hanes/pages/cochbach.shtml

 

 

 

 

 

 

After my absurd and ridiculous idea about a Welsh Army, I called in to see a former prisoner and inmate of the school that I had attended. He still lives in the town that incarcerated us within its education system. The picture above is not of the school but the former prison where the Welsh Folk Hero 'Coch Bach y Bala' escaped from in 1913. I had just finished reading a book about him and on my journey South, called by the graveyard where he is buried. He escaped from the above prison when he was 60 years of age. This was not his first escape but his third having spent most of his adult life in prison.  His nickname was the Welsh Houdini. I had not visited the graveyard before but had heard of the village so turned off on my route. I like to do these 'spur of the moment' things, mini adventures with a spiritual meaning. Coch Bach has become a hero to me because we have both spent time behind prison walls and he was like a Welsh Don Quixote, forever charging at windmills. It appears from reading his history that it was 'Give a dog a bad name' and that if there had been a robbery or burglary in the area then 'John Jones' was the first suspect that the police apprehended. The sentences were stiff in those days and he spent two seven year stretches in Dartmoor. Crimes against peoples' possessions were considered at the top of the heinous list. So all property is theft eh?  His previous was always taken into account. When the Judge announced the sentence he would rant and rail against the police and the authorities but once in prison would behave like a model prisoner and would be let out on licence (which was unusual) It appears that either he could not or would not stop goading the authorities and after his last escape in 1913, he was a free but feral man for six days. The son of a local (unpopular) landowner, Reginald Jones Bateman caught up with him on the Nantclwyd estate and shot him in the leg. The shock and loss of blood was too much for the 60 year old. John Jones is a folk hero to the Welsh 'Werin Datws' who have fought a war of insolence against the British Establishment for centuries.    

It was the only gravestone in Llanelidan churchyard that had flowers on it. 



Welsh Army

Readers of this 'Boutique Blog' can decide for themselves whether this particular post is a spoof or whether the Shark Fisherman of Wales does seriously believe in what he propounds here.

Yesterday as I travelled from Manchester into North Wales I couldn't tell where England stopped and Wales began. I missed the sign that told me and other pilgrims, that we were moving at speed from one country to another. I did notice a Welsh Dragon on a bridge and presumed that this was the border. It appears to be one land mass, Deeside fuses into Merseyside.  I had an idea, an idea that had its formation in my own life experience. I passed my old school yesterday. I looked over at the building and institution which oppressed me as a teenager. It was here every Wednesday afternoon that we would march up and down as members of the CCF. The Clwyd Cadet Force. We were required to bull our boots and have our Green uniform in impeccable order. Sometimes we would go on manoeuvers to Kinmel Camp near Bodelwyddan or to Sealand Ranges to fire guns, Lee Enfield 202s and SLR Machine Guns. I fired both these weapons as a 15 year old. I don't look back fondly on these experiences and as an adult I am very anti-military perhaps because of these experiences. I am anti-the British Army but in this post I will propound the argument for a 'Welsh Army'. If Scotland votes Yes on September 18th it will have a Scottish Army. In Wales, Independence is a far off, unrealistic, romantic dream but if a Welsh Army was created, then this utopia might become a reality. There are many thousands of 16-19 year olds out of work. Recruit them into the 'Welsh Army' for 3 years National Service. Now this would be a Welsh Army as opposed to a Regiment of the British Army. So it would be a Homeland Army and it would not get sucked into the Wars of Westminster. The sons and daughters of the geographical area known as Wales would not get involved in Iraq, Afghanistan or the Falklands. Their primary duty would be to March up and down similar to the French Foreign Legion above, singing songs in Welsh rather than French. We would then have a critical mass of young people who at least could sing in Welsh. Apparently you can brainwash people between the ages of 16 and 19, they will accept orders and if the orders are barked in Welsh rather than English there might be a chance that they will take the mantle and the social ownership and responsibility of the language once their period of National Service is over. Another major responsibility would be to attend the sentry boxes which will be sited on every single entry road into Wales. Travellers and tourists into Wales will be required to show their Passports. This act alone will remind people that they are travelling into an ancient and different culture to their own and they might have a little bit more respect for the areas that they drop their litter in, both literal and metaphorical. English is the language of the towns and cities in Wales. It is the language of commerce and capitalism, Welsh survives in the rural and country areas protected by hill, forest and woodland. If a critical mass of young people have been alienated by the language in school by not seeing the point in it, then 3 years of National Service where the language of Military Service will be Welsh, might just ease them into a different mind-set when they come to leave the 'Welsh Army' and enter the world of unemployment and badly paid work.