JIGGERY POKERY and HUMBUG !
Those Capitalist Pigish Monopolizing capitalist pigs! Just because I didn't pay my bill from February they doggon cut me off from internet.
Okay they had every right to I suppose. But what pissed me off was when I DID pay, they said it would take "up to 72 hours to get re-connected" so I waited. After 72 hours had passed, no signal on my modem, so I phoned THEN they said they'd have to send the technician round to reconnect me. So THAT took another 2 days before I could be at home for a guy (two guys as it turned out) to come round and click on their home page, enter a code and get reconnected. Weird thing was, even the guys that came round were baffled as to WHY they had to come round.

UPDATING (seeing as I've been off air for a few days)
The Evan Evans show was...erm. interesting. Didn't see many Welsh people there. In fact didn't see ANY Welsh people there. And the band didn't even have Y Ddraig Goch.
What struck me were two things: Black t-shirts: not unusual, had a vast collection of black t-shirts meesel way back when. YOUNG people: kids infact. Girls, teenage girls. Loads of 'em. Mobile phones: in my day we held up ciggy lighters, this bunch held up mobile phones. Not to look beautiful, thousands of waving faint blue lights around the stadium. Nah, it was just to film and take photos.

Okay that's THREE things.

Does "pigish" have one g or two?

Welsh Rock Band : Evan Evans

In the 80s I went to a lot of rock shows, I'm a veteran of Castle Donnington Monsters of Rock, don't do it so much nowadays though mainly because GOOD bands don't come round too often to PoA. My step daughter is a great fan of Evan Evans, she says, must be a new Welsh rock band methinks. Evan Evans are HERE in PoA tonight, and coz she's only 13 and Must be Accompanied by Adult, I'm going! Should I take along my Y Ddaig Goch flag?

Look at these pictures of bulls and dogs.















Now look at that there Red Dragon. THERE. Up the top, on the left.
Isn't there something missing?

I'm not crazy about sport.
Playing; for fun, I used to a long time ago and I would now if I had the time and / or oportunity, I mean to meet up with a bunch of people once or twice a week to have a kick around or whack a volleyball back and forth, then go for a few beers afterwards, but when it gets competitive, play against other teams from the neighbourhood for some kind of championship or whatnot, nah. Watching; only rugby. However, 1. I don't have a tv. and 2. if I did have, can never get rugby on any channel here anyway, 'cept for some satellite channel maybe then it would cost me megabucks. If I did watch any sport I would probably nevereverever watch CRICKET.
ANYWAY, despite all of the above, I was quite surprised and pleased to hear that Ireland have won the cricket world cup, no doubt beating giants (from what I gather) such as India, Pakistan, Australia, West Indies and ...erm Wales?
Well done Ireland!

I have a student who I suppose by his fellow school persons, would be called a "nerd". Compulsory piano lessons, zitty, skinny and thick glasses. In the first class I thought he would be a pain in the arse as he answered almost every question with "depends", I couldn't draw him out, he seemed uninterested in learning English, especially as it was an obligatory class - his folks make him, like the piano. In an initial interview his dad was present and answered all the questions for him, when I directed a question at the boy, the dad jumped in with an answer.
In the class without the parental influence, however, get him talking about history and the kid's away! He's one smart dude and now one of my fave students. He told me today that the battle of Agincourt wasn't won by the Welsh Longbow men at all, well it was but they apparently waded in with farm implements when the French were all a-Higgledy Piggledy in the mud and advancing into a bottleneck. He reads Bernard Cornwell and knows the entire history of Star Wars from BEFORE Episode I to AFTER Episode VI. I give him "research" homework, a word, name of something or person and he finds out as much as possible through internet, reads up then tells me all about it next class. Last week it was Edward I, this week it's Owain Glyndwr. Nerds are great dudes!

A Word or Two on Celtic Peoples

Some of my Foreign Readers may have been led to believe that the persons in the photograph published in the previous post were in fact Welsh Men in Kilts. This is not so, point of fact is they are Cornish Men in Kilts at an annual "Tossing the Pixie" tournament held annually every, erm, year, in the wee Cornish town of Dunfermline, pronounced "Moussel".
Welsh Men do not drink Carlsberg (which is probably the best Lager in the World) and have much bigger sporrans.

Having only visited Britain twice in the past 15 years of living in Brazil, I haven't really got a sense of what's going on on the street (on on? I assure you, correct grammatically be it), from all accounts (well okay then, from the accounts of my old man and occasional e-mails from people) PC is going beyond the pale face with people being awarded thousands for "hurt feelings". An advantage of living here is still a kind of freedom to say what you will and, yes, to TOUCH PEOPLE! Brazilians are very touchy, not sensitive touchy, but touchy touchy, they like to touch. It's fun, try it. Or maybe not, in Britain you'd get done up for "sexual harassment" I guess. Of course there's touching and there's touching and sometimes that goes on too and appropriate action is taken. However, Brazilian girls (or guys for that matter) don't mind being touched casually on the shoulder, they don't scream RAPE! at an occasional informal friendly touch. And consequently guys aren't afraid of being accused just because of a touch, so things are much more relaxed in, perhaps, an office environment.

In their homes of course people are touching all the time. OOOOOOOO! S'luvly so'tiz.

I hear in Iran they don't wear ties because it "contributes to the spread of western culture", so why do they bother with suits? Aren't suits culturally western? I don't have much poke with suits or ties anyway.

From one silly culture dictated by fools* (at great risk of calling down a jihad upon my turnip, now that would HURT) to another. A reporter from the bbc from a US aircraft carrier upon hearing the roar of a F somethingorother taking off, hears this from a crewmember: "Listen to that, that's the sound of FREEDOM!" OH PLEEEEEEASE! C'mon dongo! That's the sound of an asshole, sorry, an arsehole. Who DO these people think they are?

*I believe that the Iranian culture must be wonderfully rich, diverse and splendid indeed, with regards to arts, music, history and ...well CULTURE. But I cannot truck with stupid rules, LAWS even, that say, you cannot do such and such because it corrupts your mind or it's too "westernlike" whatever, what the fuck! So "a culture dictated by fools" here just refers to THAT aspect of the culture, an aspect that perhaps the people themselves find slightly irritating. Do we NOT eat Arabic food 'coz it's too "Easternlike"? Borrucks. (Do they have fish 'n' chip shops in Tehran?) Actually that's given me an idea..I'm calling all you Welshmen out there, at home and expats, to BOYCOTT fish 'n' chips 'coz it's too ENGLISHY! Boycott everything English as a matter of fact. What about clothes, aren't the clothes we wear very English? Let's go naked, or wear Welsh wooly tweedy things, don't we have a Welsh kilt? C'mon lads, get yer kilts on, just the thing for a hot summer's day to air yer ballocks.
Carsberg is, apparently, probably the best lager in the world.



That's it I think.

My life's getting back to normal (what normal life for me is though, I'm still not quite sure) after the recession I went through from January to March, my folks being here didn't help even though they paid a lot for outings etc. I still had to fork out for more than I usually do during this period. Galloping Shrumkin's! but I don't want to go through that again and I'm looking for counter measures for next year and I'll have to haul my ass together and get my Welsh Folks tales written in Portuguese, hopefully to get published and make quantrillions here. My major problem is not so much translating but conveying the humour, or perhaps the writing itself. The kind of thing that flows from me (and I'm not talking about after a night of Biriani and 8 pints of Old Farty Bum Best Ale) in English just does not flow from me in Portuguese, though writing in Portuguese is not difficult for me writing in Portuguese is. The above parenthesis is an example, that just does not come out of me naturally in Portuguese and thus it takes a lot longer to write.

Spent yesterday NOT eating fish as tradition and religion dictate, but eating, yes my fave, barbecued red meat, chicken hearts and pork ribs. Being of pagan ilk I refuse to follow the "Good Friday" society rule of having to eat fish, at least here in Brazil that be the case, somebody tell me, is it the same in Wales? "Good Friday", I shall from now on call, Not So Bad Friday, or Crap Friday or Amazingly Brilliant Friday, according to what happens on the day.

Amazingly Brilliant Friday yesterday, we took a day trip to "Grandpa Rangel's Enchanted Forest". Unfortunately Grandpa Rangel's Enchanted Lake had shrunk somewhat, apparently due to Global Warming according to Grandma Rangel, and we could only dip up t'knees in luke warm murky waters while I had been looking forward to a full body spullunge off Grandpa Rangel's Floating Peir. Not to be wet blanketted however, I placed a few pieces of dead animal over hot coals and quaffed flagons of Grandpa Rangel's Fine Ale. Point of fact was we were obliged to quaff Grandpa Rangel's Fine Ale ("NovoSchin", crap Brazilian lager) as Grandma Rangel wouldn't allow us to take our own in order for her to make large proffits from inflated bar prices. I did however manage to sneak in a few cans of FBA in the cool box and Grandma Rangel didn't notice.

PHEW! I can breath the sigh of proverbial relief (or is that....? Oh never mind) My pa and step mum and niece have gorn after a tense two week stay. To say that my old man is a difficult person would be quite an understatement, he doesn't continually WHINGE in a whingey whiney way, he continually COMPLAINS and everyone has to know about it. Here's an example: night at Simon's, after being served: "I don't like the way they pile up the plates (...) a lot goes to waste."; the following day, we went to another bar for lunch: "They don't serve much on the plates here do they." And so on ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
Also a great number of his conversational phrases start with, "When I was in the Gulf..." (in the 50's).
On the other hand my niece was a wonder, 13 years of energy and naughtyness. I learned some new English vocab which I shall be passing onto my students, such as:
"Wowoza?" normally (but not necesserally) followed by another word such as "noise".
e.g. "Wowoza noise?"
to which a possible reply could be "Dunno, probably a car back-firing"

On the day WALES BEAT ENGLAND, please to be assured I'm talking about RUGBY, can't get TV coverage here so we followed the progress through the BBC internet site, I had to click the update button every two minutes.

We had already arranged to go to a gaucho touristy barbie restaurant, not having any alternative celebratory venue. Ate lots of big drippin' chunks of dead bulls and watched a guy doing an impressive show swinging his bolas around at a very high rate of knots.

Took 'em to the airport this morning (my folks, not the guy's bolas!), must confess, despite being a might fucking difficult fella, he's me ol' da, and I love him, I felt sad to see them go, don't know when I'll see him again, 2 years, 3, 4, 5, maybe never.
Time for bed now.
Nighty night.

There She Blows!

I've started a discussion group at Book Tribes - spotting porn in classic literature. Apart from that fella, D.H. , Charles wasn't so bad himself, I posted up these ones a last year sometime, well worth bringing up again now. Then of course there's Moby Dick that I'm reading right now which has "Freud explains" overtones which I commented a coupla weeks ago. In fact, if one looks at literature from a Freudian point of view, porn is everywhere - if it's longer than it is wide, it's phallic. Hills and dark damp caves, wossat 'en?

Jiggin's! My folks are coming a-visiting tomorrow. It's not often they come and see me, this is the third time in 15 years in fact, and the first time since my divorce. The last time they came I lived in a large house with a swimming pool, lots of space and bedrooms, they had they're own suite downstairs, with a patio and barbie-area, and we had a maid who cooked and cleaned every day.
This time I'm in a two-bedroom flat, one bedroom is full of boxes and junk, I can touch the walls of the kitchen with outstretched arms, no maid. I've already warned them about this, but still it may come as a bit of a shock. Got the terrace though, they can sit out there under the blazing sun if the flat gets too cramped.
Coming with them is my niece. My step mum, who is in fact English from Brat'fud, many a year ago, had the sense to send her daughter, my halfsis, to a Welsh speaking school, and at the same time went to night classes to learn Welsh, luckily my halfsis continued the tradition and my niece is a native Welsh speaker. Blast me if I can only say "Shwmae, su't y'chi?" and "Bore Da!" every morning!

Tonight as I quaff a few pints of FBA and eat a raw leek or three I shall remember How Green my Valley was, and as I close my eyes I will be able to hear the Aberbachgenbach Male Voice singing "My Fanny", the FBA will become a full creamy pint of Feelin' Fowl Double Dragon, I'll be transposed to the backroom of the Mochyn Digywilydd Arms where Eli Jenkins, sitting at HIS table is smoking tea bags in his pipe and Dai is stood at the bar extrapolating in a loud voice, Llancunty's chances of winning the match on Sunday what with his brother-in-law being their new loose-head. In walks the man with the basket of cockles and muscles alive-alive-o, after him, the next sober person is Sally Army selling All Along the Watchtower (or was that Jimmy?). The boys from the Bryn are getting pissed again, there'll be trouble soon enough. Is there going to be a lock-in? There's always a lock-in at the Mochyn.
DYDD GWYL DEWI HAPUS!
What's the smell of parsley?

TWENTY SEVEN years ago I was covered in zits and going through a selection process that would determine my future career: Morse code at higher and higher speeds until I was bombarded with 30wpm. And the ALAT, Army Language Aptitude Test which, according to the result obtained, would demonstrate if the candidate had a natural ability in learning a foreign language. Army Intelligence (which, as we say, is a contradictory term) at the time of the Cold War needed Russian "linguists" (in fact, after having studied linguistics for 6 years at university, I'd now say "Speakers of Russian as a Foreign Language, for, as I learned, a linguist is much more than just a bilingual). I got along fine with the morse. The ALAT I failed miserably, showing that I would be a total dumbo at learning any foreign language.

I now speak fluent Portuguese. A result of having lived in Brazil for over 15 years. So you see Army Intelligence got it all wrong, if they wanted Speakers of Russian as a Foreign Language, they should have sent the candidates to Russia for 15 years.

A FEW YEARS BEFORE twenty seven years ago, I was at Y PANT Comprehensive School, Pontyclun. Y Pant, like many schools in Wales at the time, had German, French and WELSH, as languages to learn. Only it wasn't compulsory after 14 years of age. And at 14 years of age, I was in no mood to learn another language, not even my own mother tongue! Dam and Blast, I'm a Welshman living in Brazil who speaks English and Portuguese. There are colonies of Welsh living in Patagonia, a couple of thousand miles south of where I live, that speak Welsh and Spanish and have names like Juan Evans and Dai Gonzalez. I'd love to be able to pop down for a visit and have a good conversation in Welsh. Get learning then butty! (but my ALAT results...)

Does Leek make my Breath Pong?

Next week I'll have to search the supermarket veggie section for that Welshest of vegetables, The Leek! Known here as "Alho Porro", alho is in fact garlick, nobody could supply me with the meaning of porro, so let's just say a leek is a Porro Garlick. The Humble Leek, not a favoured veg in Brazil, but can be found alongside the rocket amongst the greenest of edible plants in the supermarket. Am I to be the only person in PoA to be eating Raw Leek on Thursday? I'm considering wearing one in my hat or maybe sticking one in my button-hole. Point of fact is I don't wear hats and I don't have clothes with button holes, besides which I can't be bothered to explain to every passer by who asks, "Why have you got a porro garlick stuck on your head?"
The PoA Welsh community was once myself and a surfer lass called Kim from Swansea, Kim went back to the Land of Her Fathers (and mine too) and I'm left alone to wave the Red Dragon when we play football against Brazil, which is not very often to be sure.

Did you know that Pelé's first World Cup goal was against Wales?

Don't like football meself.

DYDD GWYL DEWI HAPUS!

Nantucket Sleigh Ride

A good decision to switch to Herman. A very humorously written first few chapters so far. Literary critisism analysts of the Freudian school doubtless have fun over this book, aside from the overtness of sleeping with the Indian Queequeg, it's full of symbolism: Queequeg and his harpoon, The Spouter Inn, hmmm...

"Landlord! I've changed my mind about that harpooner, I shan't sleep with him."! I can quite categorically say that I would also refuse to sleep with a male six foot ten Amer-Indian harpooner who spends most of the night selling shrunken heads. However, the only other choice being a draughty hard wooden bench, poor Ishmael ends up in bed with the harpooner, "Upon waking next morning about daylight, I found Queequeg's arm thrown over me in the most loving and affectionate manner." YOINKS! What passed during the night, Ishmael does not tell. These sailor boys...