I’M not sure at what point the panic set in. Perhaps it was when Mrs Banks told me that our best-laid plans of going into hospital to have our second baby had gone awry and that, on reflection, our dining room floor was as good as a delivery room.
Or maybe it was when, while on the phone to the ambulance controller, telling her that half an hour was really and awfully, awfully long time to wait for an ambulance, that I had to inform her that the head was crowning and that after a long and varied career in journalism I was about to embark on an adventure in midwifery.
It’s then that you find out why, on the old movies, they always shout for hot water and towels when a woman is about to give birth.
Towels to try to save the carpets, and hot water to start scrubbing them presumably. Perhaps, as he made his way into the world, William Kit Banks had an inkling that having daddy as a catcher was not a good idea, after all his nickname as a rugby player was Teflon, due to the non-stick nature of his hands when catching the ball.
So he held on until the ambulance crew arrived. But you form your opinions of these crews from Casualty and you expect them to have delivered dozens of babies, usually in the midst of some other disaster that has grim-reaped the citizenry of Holby yet again.
It was a good job than that Daniel the ambulanceman, sorry, don’t know his surname – hey, give me a break, it wasn’t a moment to be taking shorthand notes – informed us after William’s arrival that this had only been his second delivery and that he had only had a day’s training in just what was expected of him.
So given the fact that William is our second child I was about as experienced as the man who turned out to be our midwife.
Son Number 1, at three years of age, showed admirable grace under pressure, running in and out with grandma to check if the ambulance had arrived, ie, something useful, unlike dad who confined himself to reminding the mum-to-be to breath, something which given the noise levels in the room at the time, she was perfectly capable of doing unprompted.
Once the ambulance crew arrived Son Number 1 sat across the room with a grandstand view and proceeded to click away with his camera. Fortunately for Mrs B’s dignity he did this without the benefit of film, but a promising career as a photojournalist beckons methinks.
Quite what he made of it all I’m not sure, but he didn’t seem quite as traumatised about it as dad who was a blubbing fool when presented with his new son. Safe to say junior’s theory that the baby would emerge ‘through mummy’s tummy button’ was well and truly shattered that day.
I’m informed that he looks like me, but what people are basically saying when they tell you that, is that you’re a bit chubby, your hair is thinning and your toilet habits leave a lot to be desired.
William is, of course, a bundle of unadulterated joy, which is a good job given his ability at not one week old to deprive both parents of a wink of sleep.
And it’s only in the aftermath that you get an inkling of the mysterious ways in which women’s minds move. Bear in mind that Son Number 1 was born after an ambulance trip between hospitals with mum and unborn son hooked up to monitors. Son Number 2 lays waste to the dining room lovingly renovated over a year by his mum and dad.
Not 24 hours later, having cleared what Grandad told us ‘looked like a field hospital’, Mrs Banks in all seriousness turned to me and said: “You can see why people have three.”
Anyway, despite the drama, both mum and son, 8lbs 13½ozs for those of you who keep score, are doing fine. Dad’s still a wreck.
A MONTH or so ago I wrote about an event in memory of one of my former teachers, Valmai Antrobus, who died of cancer. Delia Bettaney, another of the teachers from my old school, Hawarden High, opened her gardens to the public to raise money for Nightingale House, the hospice that cared for Mrs Antrobus.
I’m very pleased to tell you that Mrs Bettaney’s event raised £1,100. A great contribution to a worthy cause and a fitting tribute to a much-loved teacher.
I CAN’T say the bosses at Burger king will weep to read this. After all, I’m hardly a fan of their products and none of their franchises are going to go bust through my continuing failure to ever darken their doors.
But the way they treated a little Welsh firm that makes flapjacks makes the idea of tasting their flame-grilled monstrosities every more unlikely.
You see the Corwen-based firm, Wholebake, decided to call one of its products a ‘Whopper’. Because that’s what it was, a big flapjack. No, no wrote Burger King, you’ll find that the only Whopper being eaten legally here is the big meaty one in a bun. Cease and desist.
Wholebake, not having the funds to do battle with Burger King has withdrawn from the fray and renamed their product. But you have to wonder at the mentality of whichever of His Highness’s flunkies took this action.
Are they seriously saying that one of their loyal customers, walking down the high street, intent on treating himself to a whopper, with fries, and Coke, hey, make that large fries, large Coke and one of those apple pies as hot as the centre of the Sun, is going to be misled into buying a flapjack instead of a burger?
It might actually do them some good if they were, but despite the damage to your health overindulgence in burgers will inflict, I’ve yet to hear that it renders consumers incapable of distinguishing beef from oats.
But hey, maybe they’re telling us something about the taste of their product, or lack of it. Anyway, my advice next time you want a Whopper, buy the one that’s better for you, buy the one that’s made by Wholebake
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Column, July 11, 2006
THE future of small schools in Gwynedd hangs in the balance. As with any of these things there are lots of options on the table, but no-one seems to be talking about actually keeping small schools open.
It seems inevitable that some will close their doors to become pricey conversions for the well-to-do, no doubt prompting protests about incomers undermining the very communities that the schools used to serve.
Of course there’s a consultation exercise going on to try to find a solution, and no doubt much hand-wringing going on at meetings.
The sad thing is that small schools do a very good job. Every study you see of pupil achievement confirms that children thrive in smaller classes where they get more individual attention. No great surprise there, but they also cost more.
And as the pupil rolls fall the cost per head goes up until finally the council bean-counters can be contained no longer and the close their doors.
There is, of course, another solution to this problem, but in Wales we tip-toe round it as if it where some great taboo.
And the solution goes back to those dratted incomers buying up the converted schools. We need more people to join our communities. And a lot of those people are going to need to be English. As long as Liverpool, Manchester, London and even Cardiff continue to generate the huge number of jobs that they do, Wales will always see a net migration away of young people.
Let’s face it, what would you do? You’re straight out of school or university, you’ve got qualifications and the choice is stay in Wales where there are no jobs or what jobs there are are poorly paid, or look over the border to a big city where you can take your pick, find a house and get a start in life.
I know that educational standards are slipping but believe me, young people are not that stupid. Of course they are moving away from Wales and who can blame them for that, they have to live.
So we either fiddle while Rome burns, or should that be while Gwynedd empties, or we accept what is happening and try to find ways to remedy the situation.
One way is to recognise that after 10 or so years of living in and around cities, sometimes people tire of the crowds, crime and congestion and hanker after a simpler life. The constant talk nowadays is quality of life and work life balance.
Families would actually like to live in Wales. Some of those families are English. The big barrier to living in Wales, particularly the West of Wales has always been communications. The A55 on a Friday is a great disincentive to those who might think of commuting.
But more and more people are able to work from home now thanks to broadband computer links that make it as easy for them to be there as in an office.
Where would you rather work every day, in an office in city-centre Liverpool, or with a view of the Menai Straits. North Wales undersells itself as a place to live and work because it has become politically awkward to talk about inviting inward migration.
Instead we fiddle round the edges trying to come up with ways of tempting young people to stay, rather than accepting they are going to leave.
What we should be doing is making sure that when they want to return and start a family they are able to do so. Instead of bemoaning the fact that young people can’t afford a home in the community they were born in – which is frankly a bit unhealthy anyway – we should celebrate the fact they’re off into the wide world and welcome them when they want to come home.
Communities need new blood and it matters not a jot to me whether that’s English, Welsh or any other nationality for that matter.
Once you’ve convinced people that Wales is a good place to live, then you can concentrate on the argument about the language. Not the other way round.
At present the message being given to people who think of coming to Wales is that they’re not welcome because they are a threat to the continued existence of the language.
So you can review the future of schools all you want, but remember, a school is just a building, the important thing are the children who pass through it. Without them it may as well be a house for the well-heeled.
Until we accept that on the present model of Welsh society our traditional communities are dying, we will do nothing to halt their decline.
Unless they change they are truly doomed and more schools will close their doors.
MY poetic correspondent D Evans, the Laureate of footballing verse, has put pen to paper once more.
“From Swansea’s own DVLA,
I’ve had a letter just to say,
That drivers with a low IQ,
Are dangerous to me and you,
So, to avoid an accident,
The following was sent,
They fly a flag and so beware,
When first you see the flag take care,
Don’t lose you cool, be at a loss,
It’s a big white flag, with a big red cross.”
Spot-on once again Mr Evans. Always like a spot of the old poetry in the column. He is Pam Ayres to my, erm, Esther Rantzen. An analogy I will proceed with no further.
I’VE written here before about the irresponsibility of the chattering classes who whipped up fears about the MMR vaccine.
On the basis of no scientific evidence whatsoever they perpetuated the myth that there was a link between MMR and autism when there was none.
As a result of their selfish stupidity we now have measles outbreaks in this country where before there were none. Now it emerges there is an even greater threat resulting from the claptrap they propagate. The rumours of MMR’s link to autism have reached developing countries, as a result MMR uptake is dropping. Measles may not be the killer in the West it once was, but in the Third World it kills 1,000 children every single day.
Those who have given credence to the lie that there is a link between autism and MMR ought to think about how many of those lives would have been saved but for their superstitious nonsense.
It seems inevitable that some will close their doors to become pricey conversions for the well-to-do, no doubt prompting protests about incomers undermining the very communities that the schools used to serve.
Of course there’s a consultation exercise going on to try to find a solution, and no doubt much hand-wringing going on at meetings.
The sad thing is that small schools do a very good job. Every study you see of pupil achievement confirms that children thrive in smaller classes where they get more individual attention. No great surprise there, but they also cost more.
And as the pupil rolls fall the cost per head goes up until finally the council bean-counters can be contained no longer and the close their doors.
There is, of course, another solution to this problem, but in Wales we tip-toe round it as if it where some great taboo.
And the solution goes back to those dratted incomers buying up the converted schools. We need more people to join our communities. And a lot of those people are going to need to be English. As long as Liverpool, Manchester, London and even Cardiff continue to generate the huge number of jobs that they do, Wales will always see a net migration away of young people.
Let’s face it, what would you do? You’re straight out of school or university, you’ve got qualifications and the choice is stay in Wales where there are no jobs or what jobs there are are poorly paid, or look over the border to a big city where you can take your pick, find a house and get a start in life.
I know that educational standards are slipping but believe me, young people are not that stupid. Of course they are moving away from Wales and who can blame them for that, they have to live.
So we either fiddle while Rome burns, or should that be while Gwynedd empties, or we accept what is happening and try to find ways to remedy the situation.
One way is to recognise that after 10 or so years of living in and around cities, sometimes people tire of the crowds, crime and congestion and hanker after a simpler life. The constant talk nowadays is quality of life and work life balance.
Families would actually like to live in Wales. Some of those families are English. The big barrier to living in Wales, particularly the West of Wales has always been communications. The A55 on a Friday is a great disincentive to those who might think of commuting.
But more and more people are able to work from home now thanks to broadband computer links that make it as easy for them to be there as in an office.
Where would you rather work every day, in an office in city-centre Liverpool, or with a view of the Menai Straits. North Wales undersells itself as a place to live and work because it has become politically awkward to talk about inviting inward migration.
Instead we fiddle round the edges trying to come up with ways of tempting young people to stay, rather than accepting they are going to leave.
What we should be doing is making sure that when they want to return and start a family they are able to do so. Instead of bemoaning the fact that young people can’t afford a home in the community they were born in – which is frankly a bit unhealthy anyway – we should celebrate the fact they’re off into the wide world and welcome them when they want to come home.
Communities need new blood and it matters not a jot to me whether that’s English, Welsh or any other nationality for that matter.
Once you’ve convinced people that Wales is a good place to live, then you can concentrate on the argument about the language. Not the other way round.
At present the message being given to people who think of coming to Wales is that they’re not welcome because they are a threat to the continued existence of the language.
So you can review the future of schools all you want, but remember, a school is just a building, the important thing are the children who pass through it. Without them it may as well be a house for the well-heeled.
Until we accept that on the present model of Welsh society our traditional communities are dying, we will do nothing to halt their decline.
Unless they change they are truly doomed and more schools will close their doors.
MY poetic correspondent D Evans, the Laureate of footballing verse, has put pen to paper once more.
“From Swansea’s own DVLA,
I’ve had a letter just to say,
That drivers with a low IQ,
Are dangerous to me and you,
So, to avoid an accident,
The following was sent,
They fly a flag and so beware,
When first you see the flag take care,
Don’t lose you cool, be at a loss,
It’s a big white flag, with a big red cross.”
Spot-on once again Mr Evans. Always like a spot of the old poetry in the column. He is Pam Ayres to my, erm, Esther Rantzen. An analogy I will proceed with no further.
I’VE written here before about the irresponsibility of the chattering classes who whipped up fears about the MMR vaccine.
On the basis of no scientific evidence whatsoever they perpetuated the myth that there was a link between MMR and autism when there was none.
As a result of their selfish stupidity we now have measles outbreaks in this country where before there were none. Now it emerges there is an even greater threat resulting from the claptrap they propagate. The rumours of MMR’s link to autism have reached developing countries, as a result MMR uptake is dropping. Measles may not be the killer in the West it once was, but in the Third World it kills 1,000 children every single day.
Those who have given credence to the lie that there is a link between autism and MMR ought to think about how many of those lives would have been saved but for their superstitious nonsense.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Column, July 4, 2006
WE need to discriminate against women. I know that we do already, but during an afternoon spent in the company of a bunch of teenagers it became apparent that it's a good job that we do.
I was their 'business adviser' for the afternoon and yes, you might be thinking who in their right mind would engage me to give them the lowdown on commerce unless they were intent on a life of crippling penury, but hold your horses until you've read the results, alright?
Well, the Doubting Thomases among you will be relieved to learn that I was not let anywhere near real money, or for that matter a real business. No, it as all an exercise in which the Year 10 pupils (Fourth Year in old money) were competing in a day-long business project.
To assist them in the task assorted people from the real world were drafted in to assist and that's were yours truly comes in. I'm not entirely sure how I got involved, but safe to say that if someone calls you at short notice and asks if your diary is free the best answer is always no.
Anyhow, I pitched up on Friday morning to find a lot of men in suits were also there, most of the high street banks had sent in their business advisers, even the Army was there. And me.
So things were not looking promising for Team 5 when they drew the shortest of straws and got me to guide them through the day's task.
The task was to come up with a new, healthy, bread-based snack and then work out how to advertise, market and distribute it across Europe.
It was at that point that my young team might have been forgiven for casting envious glances at their competitors who had been teamed up with men in sharp suits who looked like they knew vaguely which way up to hold a spreadsheet.
While they had drawn the short straw, I had not. My team was made up of five girls and two boys and it was soon after being introduced that I began to conclude that women are to be suppressed at every opportunity.
Unless you have one in residence you soon lose touch with teenagers, and quite right too, there is nothing sadder that a middle-aged man trying to convince you that he is 'down with the kids.' my teenage years are lost in the mists so I will not pretend for an instant that I understand their musical tastes, their fashion, their slang or their love affair with, like, the word like.
It soon became apparent though that teenage boys are little more than barely-house-trained monkeys, whose one function in life, it would seem, is to impress other monkeys. They also believe that this will impress teenage girls too. They are mistaken.
“I hate him,” one of my young protegés informed me as a monkey capered past, not breaking once from her concentration on her task.
“I really hate him,” she added moments later as he gibbered past again. “Now do you see why I hate him?” she inquired as the young ape gambolled by for a third time. I have to say she had a point and he has to count himself fortunate we don't live in and age where we still carry swords, for if my team member had had access to bladed weapons I think he would have been flapping about headless on the floor, never to interrupt a girl's concentration again.
But back to my thesis as to why we need to discriminate against women. Well, given minimal intervention from me, my team set about their task with a will and it soon became apparent that the two boys on the team were surplus to requirements, confining themselves to fetching and carrying materials for the girls to carry out their job.
I nipped out for a coffee break – by the time I got back they'd named their company, named their product, devised a concept for it, identified its unique selling points and were busy building a 3-D mock-up of their packaging.
“Do you think this is a good idea,” one of them asked. Summoning up all my commercial gravitas I said, “Looks good to me, erm, carry on.”
While the boys seemed intent on outdoing each other, mostly in the field of larking about, the women were quite happy to work as a team, playing to each other's strengths, offering and accepting constructive criticism of each other, all for the common good.
I went for lunch and by the time I got back the hive-mind of the girls had devised an advertising campaign that would work on TV and billboards...and they'd translated it into French, German and Spanish. The boys had nicked two felt-tip pens from opposing teams.
And I thought, if they're like this when they're just 15, they should own the world by the time they're 30, so how come they don't?
And this is where the monkeys pull of their master-stroke. You see, because the girls are happy working in their little collective, none of them wanted to assume the mantle of managing director of their company. So while they all politely demurred, one of the boys took the top spot. Leaving the team to wonder for the rest of the day just what it was their managing director did.
What he did do, when they won, was take centre stage when they were presented with their winners' cheque. Yes they won, oh ye of little faith, read it and weep, hacks 1, high-street bank business advisers, a big fat nil.
But women need to be discriminated against as a form of positive action for the buffoons that are boys, and men. If they ever work out a way of reproducing without us we are doomed.
And if you want a bit of business advice, for free, from an award-winning business adviser – staff your firm with women and nothing but, it doesn't matter how much maternity leave they need, give it them and more. Let them get on with it and they'll make you millions.
THERE'S no joy to be had from England's departure from the World Cup, particularly to a team like Portugal who threw themselves to the ground at every opportunity in their quest for the free kick.
And their goading of Wayne Rooney into what was never a red card offence hardly befitted a team that wants to be crowned best in the world.
One or two letter writers mistook my failure to support England as an antipathy to the team and the country. Nothing could be further form the truth, I merely objected to the assumption we should all support England because they're next to us.
But those who sat and cheered 'Anyone But England' continue to allow themselves to be defined not by who they are, but by who they dislike. You would think that we are grown-up enough to make positive statements about what it is to be Welsh, rather than displaying negative attitudes to England.
But who to support next? Well, it's got to be France, because commentators insist on calling them old men, when their average age is a positively ancient 30.
30 – old? That makes me decrepit, so go on the greybeards of France, win it for middle-aged men everywhere.
I was their 'business adviser' for the afternoon and yes, you might be thinking who in their right mind would engage me to give them the lowdown on commerce unless they were intent on a life of crippling penury, but hold your horses until you've read the results, alright?
Well, the Doubting Thomases among you will be relieved to learn that I was not let anywhere near real money, or for that matter a real business. No, it as all an exercise in which the Year 10 pupils (Fourth Year in old money) were competing in a day-long business project.
To assist them in the task assorted people from the real world were drafted in to assist and that's were yours truly comes in. I'm not entirely sure how I got involved, but safe to say that if someone calls you at short notice and asks if your diary is free the best answer is always no.
Anyhow, I pitched up on Friday morning to find a lot of men in suits were also there, most of the high street banks had sent in their business advisers, even the Army was there. And me.
So things were not looking promising for Team 5 when they drew the shortest of straws and got me to guide them through the day's task.
The task was to come up with a new, healthy, bread-based snack and then work out how to advertise, market and distribute it across Europe.
It was at that point that my young team might have been forgiven for casting envious glances at their competitors who had been teamed up with men in sharp suits who looked like they knew vaguely which way up to hold a spreadsheet.
While they had drawn the short straw, I had not. My team was made up of five girls and two boys and it was soon after being introduced that I began to conclude that women are to be suppressed at every opportunity.
Unless you have one in residence you soon lose touch with teenagers, and quite right too, there is nothing sadder that a middle-aged man trying to convince you that he is 'down with the kids.' my teenage years are lost in the mists so I will not pretend for an instant that I understand their musical tastes, their fashion, their slang or their love affair with, like, the word like.
It soon became apparent though that teenage boys are little more than barely-house-trained monkeys, whose one function in life, it would seem, is to impress other monkeys. They also believe that this will impress teenage girls too. They are mistaken.
“I hate him,” one of my young protegés informed me as a monkey capered past, not breaking once from her concentration on her task.
“I really hate him,” she added moments later as he gibbered past again. “Now do you see why I hate him?” she inquired as the young ape gambolled by for a third time. I have to say she had a point and he has to count himself fortunate we don't live in and age where we still carry swords, for if my team member had had access to bladed weapons I think he would have been flapping about headless on the floor, never to interrupt a girl's concentration again.
But back to my thesis as to why we need to discriminate against women. Well, given minimal intervention from me, my team set about their task with a will and it soon became apparent that the two boys on the team were surplus to requirements, confining themselves to fetching and carrying materials for the girls to carry out their job.
I nipped out for a coffee break – by the time I got back they'd named their company, named their product, devised a concept for it, identified its unique selling points and were busy building a 3-D mock-up of their packaging.
“Do you think this is a good idea,” one of them asked. Summoning up all my commercial gravitas I said, “Looks good to me, erm, carry on.”
While the boys seemed intent on outdoing each other, mostly in the field of larking about, the women were quite happy to work as a team, playing to each other's strengths, offering and accepting constructive criticism of each other, all for the common good.
I went for lunch and by the time I got back the hive-mind of the girls had devised an advertising campaign that would work on TV and billboards...and they'd translated it into French, German and Spanish. The boys had nicked two felt-tip pens from opposing teams.
And I thought, if they're like this when they're just 15, they should own the world by the time they're 30, so how come they don't?
And this is where the monkeys pull of their master-stroke. You see, because the girls are happy working in their little collective, none of them wanted to assume the mantle of managing director of their company. So while they all politely demurred, one of the boys took the top spot. Leaving the team to wonder for the rest of the day just what it was their managing director did.
What he did do, when they won, was take centre stage when they were presented with their winners' cheque. Yes they won, oh ye of little faith, read it and weep, hacks 1, high-street bank business advisers, a big fat nil.
But women need to be discriminated against as a form of positive action for the buffoons that are boys, and men. If they ever work out a way of reproducing without us we are doomed.
And if you want a bit of business advice, for free, from an award-winning business adviser – staff your firm with women and nothing but, it doesn't matter how much maternity leave they need, give it them and more. Let them get on with it and they'll make you millions.
THERE'S no joy to be had from England's departure from the World Cup, particularly to a team like Portugal who threw themselves to the ground at every opportunity in their quest for the free kick.
And their goading of Wayne Rooney into what was never a red card offence hardly befitted a team that wants to be crowned best in the world.
One or two letter writers mistook my failure to support England as an antipathy to the team and the country. Nothing could be further form the truth, I merely objected to the assumption we should all support England because they're next to us.
But those who sat and cheered 'Anyone But England' continue to allow themselves to be defined not by who they are, but by who they dislike. You would think that we are grown-up enough to make positive statements about what it is to be Welsh, rather than displaying negative attitudes to England.
But who to support next? Well, it's got to be France, because commentators insist on calling them old men, when their average age is a positively ancient 30.
30 – old? That makes me decrepit, so go on the greybeards of France, win it for middle-aged men everywhere.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Column, June 27, 2006
IF any accident victims deserve a memorial then surely it is those who lost their lives when out on their bikes with Rhyl Cycling Club.
Plans are still in hand for what form that memorial might take and the club is, quite rightly, consulting the families of those who were killed to take into account their wishes.
The deaths of Maurice Broadbent, Dave Horrocks, Wayne Wilkes and 14-year-old Thomas Harland has understandably united cyclists across the country and the club has received donations from far and near for the fund set up in their memory.
The precise details of why this accident happened remain to be probed by an inquest and a trial, but one thing it has shown is the fragility of cyclists who take to the roads.
This week we have learnt that the UK government is not on course to meet its target of trebling the number of trips made by bike by 2010. In fact since the government made that commitment, cycle use has actually fallen.
It’s easy to see why that is, after all, if you are a parent, how happy are you to see your kids go out on a bike nowadays?
And let’s face it, it’s not the weather that’s worrying you, or the fear that your child might develop a tendency to dress in dayglo lycra.
No, the thing that worries you is what might happen to them on the roads. No matter how careful they are, no matter how well versed they are in the rules of the road, you cannot account for how safe those roads are.
Cycling any distance opens your eyes to just how appalling the standards of driving are in this country. In fact it might be an idea, before you allow anyone to even have a provisional driving licence, to require them to cycle everywhere for a year, just to show them how terrifying it can be when confronted by drivers oblivious to anything other than other car drivers.
It might do something to improve driver behaviour if they have an awareness of what it is to be vulnerable. Part of the problem is that modern cars are so comfortable, sound-proofed, air-conditioned and powerful that the driver loses touch with the outside world, cocooned in a metal cage.
This creates a sense of security which is only ever punctured in an accident that shows them just how little protection that steel cage affords them.
And if a car affords little protection, imagine how vulnerable you are on nothing more than a few steel tubes and a couple of wheels.
It’s going to take more than the leader of the Tory party cycling to and from Westminster to make this country fall back in love with the bike, especially when we learn that ‘Dave’ Cameron has a car following on, carrying his shoes, briefcase and a change of shirt.
Many journeys made by car could equally well be made by bike – better for the environment and better for the cyclist’s health and wallet. But it’s hard convincing people of those benefits when they know that a trip to the shops will be a white-knuckle ride worthy of Alton Towers.
So a memorial to the riders of Rhyl Cycling Club would be well worthwhile. Firstly as a focus for those who knew them and as a mark of respect. But secondly as a reminder to those passing that cyclists are just about the most vulnerable of our road users.
The French memorialise those who lose their lives on the road more anonymously. If you travel any of the country roads there you will see silhouettes of men women and children dotted here and there – indications of victims of crashes on the particular stretch of road. Macabre, but very effective.
If a memorial to the Rhyl cyclists makes more motorists take more care then it will truly serve their memory well.
I DO enjoy the occasional contribution from readers, especially when they are moved to write in verse. David Evans puts pen to paper on the subject of the England team, following the revelation that unlike bandwagon jumping politicians with their eye on Number 10 Downing Street, I am not supporting England in their forlorn attempt to win the World Cup.
Mr Evans writes: “Ingerland, Ingerland It’s the same old story, Surely you have little hope, And certainly no Glory.” Masterful, Mr Evans, masterful, and all the more appropriate when we hear that 100 England fans were arrested for racially abusing other fans and hurling chairs from the balcony of a restaurant at them.
It was, of course, inevitable given previous form and you only have to wonder at the news coverage of their behaviour which greeted their beer-sodden antics with relief as long as they weren’t knocking lumps out of other fans or one another. It comes to something when you’re grateful that your countrymen are merely behaving like boorish louts and not boorish, violent louts.
Classy behaviour, and little wonder that the German authorities are wondering if they behave this badly when they win, albeit unconvincingly, what are they going to be like when England lose a match?
BUT to return to happier World Cup matters, my chosen team, Ghana, continue their march to glory with a supreme performance against the USA who were duly sent home humbled.
Now the Black Stars have only the small matter of …erm…Brazil, to get past this evening. But look, the Brazilians have hardly been firing on all cylinders have they and anything is possible. Keep the faith. If they pull off a sporting miracle then they face France or Spain in the quarter finals and then, oh so sweet, England in the semis, that is making the rather large assumption that England will beat Portugal in their quarter final.
POST SCRIPT
Trounced by Brazil and out they go. Still, good while they lasted.
So, now, who to support next?
Plans are still in hand for what form that memorial might take and the club is, quite rightly, consulting the families of those who were killed to take into account their wishes.
The deaths of Maurice Broadbent, Dave Horrocks, Wayne Wilkes and 14-year-old Thomas Harland has understandably united cyclists across the country and the club has received donations from far and near for the fund set up in their memory.
The precise details of why this accident happened remain to be probed by an inquest and a trial, but one thing it has shown is the fragility of cyclists who take to the roads.
This week we have learnt that the UK government is not on course to meet its target of trebling the number of trips made by bike by 2010. In fact since the government made that commitment, cycle use has actually fallen.
It’s easy to see why that is, after all, if you are a parent, how happy are you to see your kids go out on a bike nowadays?
And let’s face it, it’s not the weather that’s worrying you, or the fear that your child might develop a tendency to dress in dayglo lycra.
No, the thing that worries you is what might happen to them on the roads. No matter how careful they are, no matter how well versed they are in the rules of the road, you cannot account for how safe those roads are.
Cycling any distance opens your eyes to just how appalling the standards of driving are in this country. In fact it might be an idea, before you allow anyone to even have a provisional driving licence, to require them to cycle everywhere for a year, just to show them how terrifying it can be when confronted by drivers oblivious to anything other than other car drivers.
It might do something to improve driver behaviour if they have an awareness of what it is to be vulnerable. Part of the problem is that modern cars are so comfortable, sound-proofed, air-conditioned and powerful that the driver loses touch with the outside world, cocooned in a metal cage.
This creates a sense of security which is only ever punctured in an accident that shows them just how little protection that steel cage affords them.
And if a car affords little protection, imagine how vulnerable you are on nothing more than a few steel tubes and a couple of wheels.
It’s going to take more than the leader of the Tory party cycling to and from Westminster to make this country fall back in love with the bike, especially when we learn that ‘Dave’ Cameron has a car following on, carrying his shoes, briefcase and a change of shirt.
Many journeys made by car could equally well be made by bike – better for the environment and better for the cyclist’s health and wallet. But it’s hard convincing people of those benefits when they know that a trip to the shops will be a white-knuckle ride worthy of Alton Towers.
So a memorial to the riders of Rhyl Cycling Club would be well worthwhile. Firstly as a focus for those who knew them and as a mark of respect. But secondly as a reminder to those passing that cyclists are just about the most vulnerable of our road users.
The French memorialise those who lose their lives on the road more anonymously. If you travel any of the country roads there you will see silhouettes of men women and children dotted here and there – indications of victims of crashes on the particular stretch of road. Macabre, but very effective.
If a memorial to the Rhyl cyclists makes more motorists take more care then it will truly serve their memory well.
I DO enjoy the occasional contribution from readers, especially when they are moved to write in verse. David Evans puts pen to paper on the subject of the England team, following the revelation that unlike bandwagon jumping politicians with their eye on Number 10 Downing Street, I am not supporting England in their forlorn attempt to win the World Cup.
Mr Evans writes: “Ingerland, Ingerland It’s the same old story, Surely you have little hope, And certainly no Glory.” Masterful, Mr Evans, masterful, and all the more appropriate when we hear that 100 England fans were arrested for racially abusing other fans and hurling chairs from the balcony of a restaurant at them.
It was, of course, inevitable given previous form and you only have to wonder at the news coverage of their behaviour which greeted their beer-sodden antics with relief as long as they weren’t knocking lumps out of other fans or one another. It comes to something when you’re grateful that your countrymen are merely behaving like boorish louts and not boorish, violent louts.
Classy behaviour, and little wonder that the German authorities are wondering if they behave this badly when they win, albeit unconvincingly, what are they going to be like when England lose a match?
BUT to return to happier World Cup matters, my chosen team, Ghana, continue their march to glory with a supreme performance against the USA who were duly sent home humbled.
Now the Black Stars have only the small matter of …erm…Brazil, to get past this evening. But look, the Brazilians have hardly been firing on all cylinders have they and anything is possible. Keep the faith. If they pull off a sporting miracle then they face France or Spain in the quarter finals and then, oh so sweet, England in the semis, that is making the rather large assumption that England will beat Portugal in their quarter final.
POST SCRIPT
Trounced by Brazil and out they go. Still, good while they lasted.
So, now, who to support next?
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Column, June 20, 2006
HORLICKS is running and ad campaign at the moment depicting the UK’s least popular professions, asking how they sleep at night.
You may have seen them, they depict a traffic warden slapping a ticket on a car moments after its meter time elapses and poses the question, "How do they sleep at night." Cue film of the warden, mug of Horlicks in hand, thus answering the question.
But this week we’ve found one profession, which surely plumbs even greater depths of unpopularity than traffic wardens, estate agents, and politicians – car clampers.
Journalists, strangely enough, don’t even make an appearance in the bottom 10.
Ask yourself how you would sleep at night if you were the clamper who immobilised the car of district nurse Virginia Williams, of Queensferry.
Here I should declare an interest, because Virginia Williams was my neighbour for many years. Not that that makes a difference, if you clamp nurses on their way to patients then you’re going to have some answering to do in the great hereafter as far as I’m concerned.
So what you may say, why should a nurse get special treatment?
A nurse who was on her way to a patient, and who was calling at a pharmacy to pick up medication for the patient who was in considerable pain.
A district nurse who was then delayed 45 minutes in getting to that patient because she had to come up with £75 to pay the clamper before her vehicle was released.
"I tried to appeal to his better nature but he didn’t have one," said Mrs Williams, in a neat piece of understatement.
So, how does someone like that sleep at night, and how do the people who have since rejected her appeal against the charge?
I would think they are single-handedly keeping the malty night-time drinks industry in business.
I wonder what that particular clamper said to his children when they inquired: "What did you do today dad?" How did he spin what he did to make his son proud of his dad clamping a nurse on her way to a pain-ridden patient?
"This evil nurse son, she was cruelly and wantonly occupying a parking space while buying drugs, but I taught her, she won’t put patients before parking any time soon, ha ha ha ha."
It will make for an interesting morning when the lad share with his friends just what dad does for a living won’t it? The sons of doctors, lawyer, MPs, bank robbers and estate agents are going to be well impressed with his boats about his dad’s prowess in immobilising nurses on their way to treat patients aren’t they?
Quite why these legalised bandits have not been run out of town by our legislators is anyone’s guess, they often promise crackdowns on their behaviour, but Virginia Williams’s case shows that it’s all talk and no action.
Of course the clampers will argue they are just providing a service and the parking space belonged to someone.
Quite true, but clamping doesn’t exactly free up the space does it? In fact in this case it kept the car there for 45 minutes while she got the cash to free it.
But you can only hope what goes around comes around, one day the clamper might require treatment from someone like Virginia Williams, when he does he better hope his mates aren’t too busy that day.
ONE of the nicest compliments, alright, one of the very few compliments, writing this column has garnered for me was an invite back to my old school to speak at the Year 11 leaving ceremony.
It was nice to see some of my old teachers, many of whom have weathered the years better than yours truly – columnism, it’s a hard life.
But inevitably one or two were missing and sadly missed.
One of them was Valmai Bayliss, later Valmai Antrobus, my first year French teacher, the fact I can still conjugate the verb etre is a testament to her teaching skill. I remember her as a kind, gentle teacher, who put up admirably with the manglings of what can be a very beautiful language by her young pupils.
One of her colleagues, and another of my former teachers, Delia Bettaney, promised herself that when she retired she would open her garden in Valmai Antrobus’s memory to raise funds for Nightingale House, where she received such excellent care.
This Saturday, June 24, she is doing just that, at Rose Cottage, Rockliffe Lane, Oakenholt, from 10am to 5pm.
I hope that she gets a good attendance for what is a very worthy cause.
CALL it superb sporting acumen, comprehensive footballing knowledge, or, erm, blind luck, but my chosen team, Ghana, have set the World Cup alight.
After a disappointing, but predictable, defeat by Italy, they then turned the competition on its head by lashing the Czech Republic 2-0.
James Mossop, of the Sunday Telegraph, described their performance thus: "Ghana were the entertainers. They improvised so instinctively, their play was like peacocks dancing."
If they beat USA and Italy just draw against the Czech Republic then they’re into the next stage.
Go the Black Stars.
You may have seen them, they depict a traffic warden slapping a ticket on a car moments after its meter time elapses and poses the question, "How do they sleep at night." Cue film of the warden, mug of Horlicks in hand, thus answering the question.
But this week we’ve found one profession, which surely plumbs even greater depths of unpopularity than traffic wardens, estate agents, and politicians – car clampers.
Journalists, strangely enough, don’t even make an appearance in the bottom 10.
Ask yourself how you would sleep at night if you were the clamper who immobilised the car of district nurse Virginia Williams, of Queensferry.
Here I should declare an interest, because Virginia Williams was my neighbour for many years. Not that that makes a difference, if you clamp nurses on their way to patients then you’re going to have some answering to do in the great hereafter as far as I’m concerned.
So what you may say, why should a nurse get special treatment?
A nurse who was on her way to a patient, and who was calling at a pharmacy to pick up medication for the patient who was in considerable pain.
A district nurse who was then delayed 45 minutes in getting to that patient because she had to come up with £75 to pay the clamper before her vehicle was released.
"I tried to appeal to his better nature but he didn’t have one," said Mrs Williams, in a neat piece of understatement.
So, how does someone like that sleep at night, and how do the people who have since rejected her appeal against the charge?
I would think they are single-handedly keeping the malty night-time drinks industry in business.
I wonder what that particular clamper said to his children when they inquired: "What did you do today dad?" How did he spin what he did to make his son proud of his dad clamping a nurse on her way to a pain-ridden patient?
"This evil nurse son, she was cruelly and wantonly occupying a parking space while buying drugs, but I taught her, she won’t put patients before parking any time soon, ha ha ha ha."
It will make for an interesting morning when the lad share with his friends just what dad does for a living won’t it? The sons of doctors, lawyer, MPs, bank robbers and estate agents are going to be well impressed with his boats about his dad’s prowess in immobilising nurses on their way to treat patients aren’t they?
Quite why these legalised bandits have not been run out of town by our legislators is anyone’s guess, they often promise crackdowns on their behaviour, but Virginia Williams’s case shows that it’s all talk and no action.
Of course the clampers will argue they are just providing a service and the parking space belonged to someone.
Quite true, but clamping doesn’t exactly free up the space does it? In fact in this case it kept the car there for 45 minutes while she got the cash to free it.
But you can only hope what goes around comes around, one day the clamper might require treatment from someone like Virginia Williams, when he does he better hope his mates aren’t too busy that day.
ONE of the nicest compliments, alright, one of the very few compliments, writing this column has garnered for me was an invite back to my old school to speak at the Year 11 leaving ceremony.
It was nice to see some of my old teachers, many of whom have weathered the years better than yours truly – columnism, it’s a hard life.
But inevitably one or two were missing and sadly missed.
One of them was Valmai Bayliss, later Valmai Antrobus, my first year French teacher, the fact I can still conjugate the verb etre is a testament to her teaching skill. I remember her as a kind, gentle teacher, who put up admirably with the manglings of what can be a very beautiful language by her young pupils.
One of her colleagues, and another of my former teachers, Delia Bettaney, promised herself that when she retired she would open her garden in Valmai Antrobus’s memory to raise funds for Nightingale House, where she received such excellent care.
This Saturday, June 24, she is doing just that, at Rose Cottage, Rockliffe Lane, Oakenholt, from 10am to 5pm.
I hope that she gets a good attendance for what is a very worthy cause.
CALL it superb sporting acumen, comprehensive footballing knowledge, or, erm, blind luck, but my chosen team, Ghana, have set the World Cup alight.
After a disappointing, but predictable, defeat by Italy, they then turned the competition on its head by lashing the Czech Republic 2-0.
James Mossop, of the Sunday Telegraph, described their performance thus: "Ghana were the entertainers. They improvised so instinctively, their play was like peacocks dancing."
If they beat USA and Italy just draw against the Czech Republic then they’re into the next stage.
Go the Black Stars.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Column, June 13, 2006
IT must be an odd job being a copper sometimes. If you take a softly, softly approach, then if things blow up you’re accused of doing nothing, hiding your head in the sand, plodding.
Then if you take a proactive approach and ask people to use a bit of common sense, you’re accused of over-reaction, overstepping the mark and not knowing your place.
Clive Wolfendale has probably been a copper long enough to shrug off the less temperate reactions to his remarks last week about England fans flying their multiplicity of flags in Wales.
Let’s look at what, exactly, he said shall we? Well, he said that he wished people would reflect before festooning their vehicles in St George flags and driving them through Wales.
Note, he didn’t tell them not to, he didn’t say it was against the law, he even said he would fly a flag himself when England were playing.
No, as someone whose job it is to keep the peace he asked people minded to deck themselves in red and white to think a little about the sensitivities of the communities in which they were planning to do that.
There are parts of Wales were such displays will not raise an eyebrow – my own backyard of Deeside for instance, where English and Welsh rub along together because geography and economics have forged a mixed community over generations.
But further west where communities see their character as being under threat from holiday homes and house prices, such flying of what they see as a foreign flag might not be greeted so kindly.
That doesn’t make it right, of course, you should be able to fly whatever flag you want whenever you want. But Clive Wolfendale isn’t charged with policing some mythical Xanadu where the lion lies down with the lamb and fans of opposing sides cheer one another on, full of the Corinthian spirit.
He has to look after the policing of North Wales where some people won’t blink at a St George flag, while others will see it as an act of antagonism.
As for the outrage at his suggestion that flag-waving is a prelude to violence and racism. Well, again, in an ideal world this would not be the case. And the vast majority of England fans flying the flag are perfectly law-abiding, gentle souls who would not dream of becoming violent or racist.
But once again, let’s deal in reality shall we? If any set of fans have got form for racism and violence it is a tiny minority that support England.
Now, the police have done a good job of stopping them going to Germany by confiscating their passports well ahead of the tournament. But that does mean they’re stuck in this country where they are a problem for the police here.
And the other thing you ought to note about the outraged reaction to what Mr Wolfendale said is that most of it came from politicians.
Politicians will do anything they can to hitch their clapped out old wagons to sporting success stories, witness them falling over each other to sign an early day motion urging the England team to bring the World Cup back to the UK.
An early day motion is sometimes a valid means by which a politician can bring to the attention of the Commons a matter of concern.
They cost £2,500 a pop of taxpayers’ money and so putting you name to one that supports England in the World Cup might be seen as a waste of and MP’s time and our money. Take note Albert Owen (Ynys Mon) and Mark Tami (Alyn and Deeside).
The Tories have shown no more sense on this issues with David Jones fatuously commenting that flying a little flag on your way to Colwyn Bay isn’t going to spark any violence. And of course, that is what Clive Wolfendale was aiming his remarks at wasn’t it, people flying one flag, not idiots draping themselves, their cars and their bull terriers in the flag and then getting lagered up in the Welsh resorts before letting everyone one know where they were from as if we hadn’t all guessed already.
And Clive Wolfendale had a wider message to give out – the rise in domestic violence and racism during football tournaments, often linked with increased alcohol consumption.
The politicians so quick to condemn him were strangely silent on that topic. But then, they may be the very politicians who voted through 24-hour opening for pubs. Wouldn't want to be accused of hypocrisy now would we?
Coming up with a political solution to domestic violence and racism is a bit of a big ask for politicians more comfortable signing early day motions.
Best leave it to the police to deal with stuff like that eh?
I’M a sad, racist, bigot. Well, so I’m told in an e-mail that arrived last week after I declared my support for Ghana. Bit of a blow really, as I regarded myself as such a sunny chap.
Apparently this is because I don’t default to supporting England when Wales aren’t in a competition. It’s odd this assumption that underneath we’re all English, and our Welshness is just an add-on option. Like we’re a fundamentally English car with a bit of Welsh trim.
Anyway, my correspondent dropped that one line bombshell and followed it up, when questioned, to say that it was because I assumed all Welsh people would not be supporting England.
I don’t think that’s what I wrote, I just said I wouldn’t. What other Welsh people do is entirely up to them and if they want to support England that’s absolutely fine. But a lot of Welsh people I know won’t be and they’ve chosen other teams to shout for.
A lot are behind Trinidad and Tobago because of the Wrexham link, but I went for Ghana because I learnt about the country in school and that’s as good a reason as any (one devout Welshman I used to work with was a die-hard Spurs fan for no better reason that some Londoners who moved to his village gave him a Tottenham strip when he was five – out of such random events lifetime devotions are born)
If I had genuinely wanted to wind up England fans then I’d have chosen a team from their group to support, but I didn’t.
As I write this Ghana are preparing to take on the mighty Italy. Let’s hope an upset will have set the competition alight by the time you read this.
POST SCRIPT. No such luck. A 2-0 drubbing. Played well, and one or two penalties ought to have gone their way.
Then if you take a proactive approach and ask people to use a bit of common sense, you’re accused of over-reaction, overstepping the mark and not knowing your place.
Clive Wolfendale has probably been a copper long enough to shrug off the less temperate reactions to his remarks last week about England fans flying their multiplicity of flags in Wales.
Let’s look at what, exactly, he said shall we? Well, he said that he wished people would reflect before festooning their vehicles in St George flags and driving them through Wales.
Note, he didn’t tell them not to, he didn’t say it was against the law, he even said he would fly a flag himself when England were playing.
No, as someone whose job it is to keep the peace he asked people minded to deck themselves in red and white to think a little about the sensitivities of the communities in which they were planning to do that.
There are parts of Wales were such displays will not raise an eyebrow – my own backyard of Deeside for instance, where English and Welsh rub along together because geography and economics have forged a mixed community over generations.
But further west where communities see their character as being under threat from holiday homes and house prices, such flying of what they see as a foreign flag might not be greeted so kindly.
That doesn’t make it right, of course, you should be able to fly whatever flag you want whenever you want. But Clive Wolfendale isn’t charged with policing some mythical Xanadu where the lion lies down with the lamb and fans of opposing sides cheer one another on, full of the Corinthian spirit.
He has to look after the policing of North Wales where some people won’t blink at a St George flag, while others will see it as an act of antagonism.
As for the outrage at his suggestion that flag-waving is a prelude to violence and racism. Well, again, in an ideal world this would not be the case. And the vast majority of England fans flying the flag are perfectly law-abiding, gentle souls who would not dream of becoming violent or racist.
But once again, let’s deal in reality shall we? If any set of fans have got form for racism and violence it is a tiny minority that support England.
Now, the police have done a good job of stopping them going to Germany by confiscating their passports well ahead of the tournament. But that does mean they’re stuck in this country where they are a problem for the police here.
And the other thing you ought to note about the outraged reaction to what Mr Wolfendale said is that most of it came from politicians.
Politicians will do anything they can to hitch their clapped out old wagons to sporting success stories, witness them falling over each other to sign an early day motion urging the England team to bring the World Cup back to the UK.
An early day motion is sometimes a valid means by which a politician can bring to the attention of the Commons a matter of concern.
They cost £2,500 a pop of taxpayers’ money and so putting you name to one that supports England in the World Cup might be seen as a waste of and MP’s time and our money. Take note Albert Owen (Ynys Mon) and Mark Tami (Alyn and Deeside).
The Tories have shown no more sense on this issues with David Jones fatuously commenting that flying a little flag on your way to Colwyn Bay isn’t going to spark any violence. And of course, that is what Clive Wolfendale was aiming his remarks at wasn’t it, people flying one flag, not idiots draping themselves, their cars and their bull terriers in the flag and then getting lagered up in the Welsh resorts before letting everyone one know where they were from as if we hadn’t all guessed already.
And Clive Wolfendale had a wider message to give out – the rise in domestic violence and racism during football tournaments, often linked with increased alcohol consumption.
The politicians so quick to condemn him were strangely silent on that topic. But then, they may be the very politicians who voted through 24-hour opening for pubs. Wouldn't want to be accused of hypocrisy now would we?
Coming up with a political solution to domestic violence and racism is a bit of a big ask for politicians more comfortable signing early day motions.
Best leave it to the police to deal with stuff like that eh?
I’M a sad, racist, bigot. Well, so I’m told in an e-mail that arrived last week after I declared my support for Ghana. Bit of a blow really, as I regarded myself as such a sunny chap.
Apparently this is because I don’t default to supporting England when Wales aren’t in a competition. It’s odd this assumption that underneath we’re all English, and our Welshness is just an add-on option. Like we’re a fundamentally English car with a bit of Welsh trim.
Anyway, my correspondent dropped that one line bombshell and followed it up, when questioned, to say that it was because I assumed all Welsh people would not be supporting England.
I don’t think that’s what I wrote, I just said I wouldn’t. What other Welsh people do is entirely up to them and if they want to support England that’s absolutely fine. But a lot of Welsh people I know won’t be and they’ve chosen other teams to shout for.
A lot are behind Trinidad and Tobago because of the Wrexham link, but I went for Ghana because I learnt about the country in school and that’s as good a reason as any (one devout Welshman I used to work with was a die-hard Spurs fan for no better reason that some Londoners who moved to his village gave him a Tottenham strip when he was five – out of such random events lifetime devotions are born)
If I had genuinely wanted to wind up England fans then I’d have chosen a team from their group to support, but I didn’t.
As I write this Ghana are preparing to take on the mighty Italy. Let’s hope an upset will have set the competition alight by the time you read this.
POST SCRIPT. No such luck. A 2-0 drubbing. Played well, and one or two penalties ought to have gone their way.
Friday, June 09, 2006
A sad, racist, bigot
That's me, seemingly. So I'm told by pjh.eccles@virgin.net who sent me a one-line e-mail to drop this bombshell.
It appears that my support of Ghana over, presumably, England, makes me sad, racist and a bigot.
There are of course, a lot of teams in the competition, and so, by Mr/Ms Eccles' logic, supporting any of them over England is an act of sad, racist, bigotry.
So people of Wales, know your place, if you're not in the finals yourselves, then fall into line and give your full-throated support to Sven's men, lest you be tarred with the same brush as me.
Me, I'm still supporting Ghana. Gooooo on the Black Stars.
It appears that my support of Ghana over, presumably, England, makes me sad, racist and a bigot.
There are of course, a lot of teams in the competition, and so, by Mr/Ms Eccles' logic, supporting any of them over England is an act of sad, racist, bigotry.
So people of Wales, know your place, if you're not in the finals yourselves, then fall into line and give your full-throated support to Sven's men, lest you be tarred with the same brush as me.
Me, I'm still supporting Ghana. Gooooo on the Black Stars.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Column, June 6, 2006
WE are an island race, and our culture has been shaped by the fact that we are surrounded by the sea. It has been our defence, a source of commerce and now it is a place of leisure – if you can get at it that is. Large sections of coastline in Wales and England are denied to the public because they are owned by the Crown, or private landowners, and there is no right of access.
But not for much longer. A proposal has been made to open up the coast to give people a right to roam the 2,733 miles of coastline in England and Wales – they’ve already got it in Scotland.
But wouldn’t you know it as soon as the word public access is muttered, landowners start grumbling at the prospect of urban hordes making their way out to picnic on sites of special scientific interest.
Because that’s what you would do if you were given a right to roam the coastline isn’t it? You’d get up of a morning, turn to your lovely wife and say: “Darling, today I’m going to exercise my right to roam the coastline by plonking my fat behind on a tern’s nest while enjoying a pork pie and a glass of dandelion and burdock out in the sunshine.”
I would be more inclined to believe their portents of doom if this had happened in Scotland, but it hasn’t. Where are the stories of wanton destruction of rare habitats north of the border due to a right to roam the coastline? There are none.
Furthermore, we’ve had a right to roam the countryside in England and Wales now, and when that happened there was a right commotion from landowners who warned it spelt disaster for farming/the environment/civilisation as we know it.
Where are the stories of right to roam causing any such damage? Any reports of hooligan ramblers trampling crops in an orgy of red-socked vandalism? No I can’t recall them either.
Where are the charabancs loaded with sink-estate youths descending upon areas where previously sheep safely grazed? None to be seen.
The idea that people are going to make their way to the areas involved in any significant numbers is sheer fancy. Getting people to walk any significant distance from their B&B is a major achievement and it would be a sea-change in national character if we suddenly became a nation of hikers, seeking out the roads less travelled just because the government opened up the coastline. It’s a nice thought though.
Firstly there won’t be any of the facilities many people want when they go to the seaside – car parking, toilets, somewhere to buy a bucket and spade. Secondly those who would dedicate themselves to walking in these hitherto restricted areas are hardly the kind of people who would wantonly ignore restrictions placed to protect wildlife.
In fact anyone who was intent on trampling birds’ nesting grounds is going to do it anyway, right to roam or not. Landowners are talking about ‘managed access’ with warden-controlled areas. But that’s not a right to roam is it, if you’ve got some warden breathing down your neck warning you where you can and cannot walk.
In Wales the coastline is one of the main reasons people visit us and opening up mor of it to public access can only bring in more visitors, more money, more jobs. I’m looking for a downside and I can’t see one.
The present government’s troubles over sleaze, an oversexed deputy prime ministers and the war in Iraq make it all too easy to forget its real achievements since 1997 and the right to roam was one of them.
ALUN Pugh’s call to language campaigners to put down their paint brushes may seem a sensible one. He wants to spend cash on the language, he says, and cash is being wasted cleaning public buildings of their daubed slogans.
I’ve said before that some of the campaigns launched by language protesters have been counter-productive, particularly those aimed at tourists who are coming here to spend money and should be made to feel welcome, not like a gatecrasher at chapel.
But Mr Pugh seems to have forgotten that civil disobedience and non-violent protest has a long and honourable record in British politics.
If he doubts this he might want to inquire of the present Welsh Secretary as to what can be achieved by such tactics. As a leading light in the anti-apartheid movement ( his parents were ‘banned persons’ under the South African apartheid regime) he led the campaign which disrupted the South African rugby and cricket tours of the UK.
An honourable record indeed. If young people are prepared to go to prison for what they believe, and this has been the case recent with Gwenno Teifi, then Alan Pugh ought to talk to them rather than lecture them on wasting money.
FINALLY, just to ratchet up the excitement as the World Cup approaches, a little more about my chosen team – Ghana. Well, their nickname is the Black Stars – from the country’s tricolor flag which bears a black star in the centre – and under the visionary leadership of coach Ratomir Dujkovic they qualified top of their group and have notched up victories against Jamaica and the Korean Republic in their warm-up games.
The shining lights of the Black Stars (see what I did there) are skipper, Stephen Appiah, and Chelsea’s Michael Essien – who was Africa’s most expensive player.
Their first match is on June 12 against Italy. I’ve yet to find out what their fans chant, but you’ll be the first to know when I do
But not for much longer. A proposal has been made to open up the coast to give people a right to roam the 2,733 miles of coastline in England and Wales – they’ve already got it in Scotland.
But wouldn’t you know it as soon as the word public access is muttered, landowners start grumbling at the prospect of urban hordes making their way out to picnic on sites of special scientific interest.
Because that’s what you would do if you were given a right to roam the coastline isn’t it? You’d get up of a morning, turn to your lovely wife and say: “Darling, today I’m going to exercise my right to roam the coastline by plonking my fat behind on a tern’s nest while enjoying a pork pie and a glass of dandelion and burdock out in the sunshine.”
I would be more inclined to believe their portents of doom if this had happened in Scotland, but it hasn’t. Where are the stories of wanton destruction of rare habitats north of the border due to a right to roam the coastline? There are none.
Furthermore, we’ve had a right to roam the countryside in England and Wales now, and when that happened there was a right commotion from landowners who warned it spelt disaster for farming/the environment/civilisation as we know it.
Where are the stories of right to roam causing any such damage? Any reports of hooligan ramblers trampling crops in an orgy of red-socked vandalism? No I can’t recall them either.
Where are the charabancs loaded with sink-estate youths descending upon areas where previously sheep safely grazed? None to be seen.
The idea that people are going to make their way to the areas involved in any significant numbers is sheer fancy. Getting people to walk any significant distance from their B&B is a major achievement and it would be a sea-change in national character if we suddenly became a nation of hikers, seeking out the roads less travelled just because the government opened up the coastline. It’s a nice thought though.
Firstly there won’t be any of the facilities many people want when they go to the seaside – car parking, toilets, somewhere to buy a bucket and spade. Secondly those who would dedicate themselves to walking in these hitherto restricted areas are hardly the kind of people who would wantonly ignore restrictions placed to protect wildlife.
In fact anyone who was intent on trampling birds’ nesting grounds is going to do it anyway, right to roam or not. Landowners are talking about ‘managed access’ with warden-controlled areas. But that’s not a right to roam is it, if you’ve got some warden breathing down your neck warning you where you can and cannot walk.
In Wales the coastline is one of the main reasons people visit us and opening up mor of it to public access can only bring in more visitors, more money, more jobs. I’m looking for a downside and I can’t see one.
The present government’s troubles over sleaze, an oversexed deputy prime ministers and the war in Iraq make it all too easy to forget its real achievements since 1997 and the right to roam was one of them.
ALUN Pugh’s call to language campaigners to put down their paint brushes may seem a sensible one. He wants to spend cash on the language, he says, and cash is being wasted cleaning public buildings of their daubed slogans.
I’ve said before that some of the campaigns launched by language protesters have been counter-productive, particularly those aimed at tourists who are coming here to spend money and should be made to feel welcome, not like a gatecrasher at chapel.
But Mr Pugh seems to have forgotten that civil disobedience and non-violent protest has a long and honourable record in British politics.
If he doubts this he might want to inquire of the present Welsh Secretary as to what can be achieved by such tactics. As a leading light in the anti-apartheid movement ( his parents were ‘banned persons’ under the South African apartheid regime) he led the campaign which disrupted the South African rugby and cricket tours of the UK.
An honourable record indeed. If young people are prepared to go to prison for what they believe, and this has been the case recent with Gwenno Teifi, then Alan Pugh ought to talk to them rather than lecture them on wasting money.
FINALLY, just to ratchet up the excitement as the World Cup approaches, a little more about my chosen team – Ghana. Well, their nickname is the Black Stars – from the country’s tricolor flag which bears a black star in the centre – and under the visionary leadership of coach Ratomir Dujkovic they qualified top of their group and have notched up victories against Jamaica and the Korean Republic in their warm-up games.
The shining lights of the Black Stars (see what I did there) are skipper, Stephen Appiah, and Chelsea’s Michael Essien – who was Africa’s most expensive player.
Their first match is on June 12 against Italy. I’ve yet to find out what their fans chant, but you’ll be the first to know when I do
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Column, May 30, 2006
IT’S that time again – we’re not in the World Cup and I approach the vexed question of whom it is that we should support.
You may not have noticed this yourselves, given our usual non-attendance at this competition, but surely you will have seen the rash of flags of St George fluttering from car windows these days.
Strange business this, because they are usually to be seen hanging from the windows of hot hatchbacks, driven by baseball-capped youths who tear around so fast that the flag is reduced to tatters within days, or else removed completely in their slipstream as they rip through any applicable speed limit.
I suppose we should be grateful that the flag has at least been reclaimed from the likes of the BNP and is now flown by any old idiot as opposed to being flown exclusively by racist idiots.
We could of course take Scot Gordon Brown’s advice and support England. Excuse me a moment……sorry, just had to go off for 10 minutes hysterical laughter there. Yes, and there’s no ulterior motive for that bit of wisdom from the Chancellor is there? He’s not got his eye on his chances of moving in next door has he?
Yes, well, support England. Where do I start? Firstly it would be breaking the habits of a lifetime. Secondly I believe that a Welsh trachea is genetically incapable of pronouncing the Anglo-Saxon ‘In-ger-land’ chant required if a true fan. Just like any word starting ngh foxes them (mind you, can’t blame them for that, it foxes most of the world and good proportion of us too. You’ve got to love Welsh haven’t you? So bloomin’ complicated it baffles the Welsh as well)
But I digress. Now you have to be diplomatic about this, as some English will get their bottom lip out when you suggest that you cannot in your heart of hearts cheer them on until their inevitable exit in the quarter finals after a lucky break in the group stages.
They will solemnly explain how they would support Wales if the situation were reversed. Really? And just when has this support for Wales in the absence of England ever, ever manifested itself?
What major sporting tournament have we been at that they haven’t where dragon flags have been seen fluttering from car doors as they cheer on plucky little Wales?
Right, I’m casting my mind back and I’m at a loss to recall a display of sporting devotion to our cause coming from over the border.
So that’s England disposed of for our allegiances. No, not now, not ever.
But if not them, then who?
There’s always France, but that would be supporting a team purely to wind up our neighbours, and the idea is to get behind someone we can identify with.
What about Argentina? There’s the Patagonia link isn’t there? Well, it’s a possible, but I can’t get past an illogical revulsion at supporting a country that bombed the Welsh Guards. I know I should be more grown-up about it, but hey, I’m a newspaper columnist, not Kofi Annan.
There’s Iran, and the USA, unlikely bedfellows I admit, but we could support them on the grounds that no-one in the West will be supporting Iran and no-one in the world will be supporting the USA. Even the Yanks themselves won’t be supporting their team because most of them think soccer, which is what they persist in calling it, is a game for girls. Before women footballers write in to complain, I know it’s a game for girls and women as well as boys and men, but in the USA they think it’s only for girls, because their men play manly sports like, erm, baseball, which is basically rounders – and that is a girls’ game.
There’s the Aussies, but they just think they are God’s gift to sport, any sport. Too cocky by half.
We can’t support Germany on the Boardman Rule – our chippy, bombed etc.
So who, who who?
Well, a quick look at the FIFA map reveals a familiar name – Ghana. And I’m supporting them for no other reason than 30 years ago I learnt about the country in second year geography and remembered that Ghana’s Volta Dam is the world’s largest artificial lake – thus proving that senile dementia is still a little way off.
The CIA website says that it’s a democracy that held free and fair elections (ha, like they would know anything about that) so I’m not supporting some tinpot dictatorship either.
There is the small matter of them getting past Italy, the Czech Republic and the USA in the group stages, so come the second round I might be casting round for someone else to support.
But then, if all goes well, so will the hordes flying the flag of St George too.
I DID say last week that venturing into matters theological was probably a mistake and after I criticised the Church’s opposition to the Da Vinci Code I received an 858-word reply apparently proving all sorts of conspiracies involving the Vatican.
That’s more than I actually wrote on the subject in the first place.
I will not even begin to bore you know with the intricacies of this missive, but you'll find it in the messages attached to last week's column. Enjoy.
AS hosepipe bans reduced Home Counties’ lawns to an arid wasteland and the spectre of the standpipe looms, our neighbours cast a greedy eye at our rain-soaked mountains and hatch plans.
Once again the bright idea of moving water along canals from areas where there is plenty to areas where there is none rears its head.
This might make sense to those ignorant of the resonance of using Wales as a water provider for England.
I’ve written in the past about our need to put Tryweryn behind us, but even I baulk at the suggestion that rain that falls on Wales is England’s for the taking.
It’s our resource and if they want it there should be some payback.
And isn’t it odd that the inhabitants of the South East of England, an area where the majority of the nation’s wealth resides, are so keen to share resources when it is they who are short.
I wonder how keen they would be to share other resources on a similar basis – say jobs for a start. As a rule of thumb we could say one job created in Wales for every lawn watered down South.
You may not have noticed this yourselves, given our usual non-attendance at this competition, but surely you will have seen the rash of flags of St George fluttering from car windows these days.
Strange business this, because they are usually to be seen hanging from the windows of hot hatchbacks, driven by baseball-capped youths who tear around so fast that the flag is reduced to tatters within days, or else removed completely in their slipstream as they rip through any applicable speed limit.
I suppose we should be grateful that the flag has at least been reclaimed from the likes of the BNP and is now flown by any old idiot as opposed to being flown exclusively by racist idiots.
We could of course take Scot Gordon Brown’s advice and support England. Excuse me a moment……sorry, just had to go off for 10 minutes hysterical laughter there. Yes, and there’s no ulterior motive for that bit of wisdom from the Chancellor is there? He’s not got his eye on his chances of moving in next door has he?
Yes, well, support England. Where do I start? Firstly it would be breaking the habits of a lifetime. Secondly I believe that a Welsh trachea is genetically incapable of pronouncing the Anglo-Saxon ‘In-ger-land’ chant required if a true fan. Just like any word starting ngh foxes them (mind you, can’t blame them for that, it foxes most of the world and good proportion of us too. You’ve got to love Welsh haven’t you? So bloomin’ complicated it baffles the Welsh as well)
But I digress. Now you have to be diplomatic about this, as some English will get their bottom lip out when you suggest that you cannot in your heart of hearts cheer them on until their inevitable exit in the quarter finals after a lucky break in the group stages.
They will solemnly explain how they would support Wales if the situation were reversed. Really? And just when has this support for Wales in the absence of England ever, ever manifested itself?
What major sporting tournament have we been at that they haven’t where dragon flags have been seen fluttering from car doors as they cheer on plucky little Wales?
Right, I’m casting my mind back and I’m at a loss to recall a display of sporting devotion to our cause coming from over the border.
So that’s England disposed of for our allegiances. No, not now, not ever.
But if not them, then who?
There’s always France, but that would be supporting a team purely to wind up our neighbours, and the idea is to get behind someone we can identify with.
What about Argentina? There’s the Patagonia link isn’t there? Well, it’s a possible, but I can’t get past an illogical revulsion at supporting a country that bombed the Welsh Guards. I know I should be more grown-up about it, but hey, I’m a newspaper columnist, not Kofi Annan.
There’s Iran, and the USA, unlikely bedfellows I admit, but we could support them on the grounds that no-one in the West will be supporting Iran and no-one in the world will be supporting the USA. Even the Yanks themselves won’t be supporting their team because most of them think soccer, which is what they persist in calling it, is a game for girls. Before women footballers write in to complain, I know it’s a game for girls and women as well as boys and men, but in the USA they think it’s only for girls, because their men play manly sports like, erm, baseball, which is basically rounders – and that is a girls’ game.
There’s the Aussies, but they just think they are God’s gift to sport, any sport. Too cocky by half.
We can’t support Germany on the Boardman Rule – our chippy, bombed etc.
So who, who who?
Well, a quick look at the FIFA map reveals a familiar name – Ghana. And I’m supporting them for no other reason than 30 years ago I learnt about the country in second year geography and remembered that Ghana’s Volta Dam is the world’s largest artificial lake – thus proving that senile dementia is still a little way off.
The CIA website says that it’s a democracy that held free and fair elections (ha, like they would know anything about that) so I’m not supporting some tinpot dictatorship either.
There is the small matter of them getting past Italy, the Czech Republic and the USA in the group stages, so come the second round I might be casting round for someone else to support.
But then, if all goes well, so will the hordes flying the flag of St George too.
I DID say last week that venturing into matters theological was probably a mistake and after I criticised the Church’s opposition to the Da Vinci Code I received an 858-word reply apparently proving all sorts of conspiracies involving the Vatican.
That’s more than I actually wrote on the subject in the first place.
I will not even begin to bore you know with the intricacies of this missive, but you'll find it in the messages attached to last week's column. Enjoy.
AS hosepipe bans reduced Home Counties’ lawns to an arid wasteland and the spectre of the standpipe looms, our neighbours cast a greedy eye at our rain-soaked mountains and hatch plans.
Once again the bright idea of moving water along canals from areas where there is plenty to areas where there is none rears its head.
This might make sense to those ignorant of the resonance of using Wales as a water provider for England.
I’ve written in the past about our need to put Tryweryn behind us, but even I baulk at the suggestion that rain that falls on Wales is England’s for the taking.
It’s our resource and if they want it there should be some payback.
And isn’t it odd that the inhabitants of the South East of England, an area where the majority of the nation’s wealth resides, are so keen to share resources when it is they who are short.
I wonder how keen they would be to share other resources on a similar basis – say jobs for a start. As a rule of thumb we could say one job created in Wales for every lawn watered down South.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Column, May 23, 2006, and not before time too
IT is with a little trepidation that I venture into matters ecclesiastical once more in the space of a month. Not so long ago I defended Jerry Springer – The Opera, and was told, quite firmly, by my theological correspondents, that Satan and all his tiny demons were waiting to give me a good roasting come the day that I shuffle off this mortal coil.
Ah me, so much for that free will business. But, like buses, now along comes another issue about which those who would be the gatekeepers of Heaven are getting themselves in a right froth.
The latest thing causing consternation to the clergy is The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown's magnum opus which bases a, fictional, thriller on the theory that Jesus didn't die on the cross, he lived on, married Mary Magdalene, moved to France and sired a bloodline that survives to this day...in France.
So far, so barmy, if hope you're still with me, and I hoipe those of you who've packed it for the beach this summer haven't had your enjoyment spoilt. I've not actually read it, so I shouldn't be giving anything else away, other than it's a load of old rubbish.
But now it's incurred the disapproval of men of the cloth, including Rev Canon Geoffrey Marshall, Dean of Wrexham, who doesn't want us to be fooled by the Da Vinci Code. Well that's alright then, because I was about to book my holidays to Provence, hoping to find cheese, wine and eternal salvation on the basis of an airport blockbuster. Because that's how stupid I am.
What strikes me as ever so slightly rum is the way that churchmen have been queueing up to rubbish the bestseller because of its fantastic plot, while ignoring the sensationalist storyline they and their ilk have been peddling for the past two millennia.
Let's compare the two shall we? Firstly you have Dan Brown who expects us to believe that Jesus didn't die on the cross, he lived, married Mary Magdalene, and started a bloodline which continues to this day in France.
Or rather, he doesn't expect us to believe that, because the last time I checked, WH Smith and every other shop that stocks it was doing so under 'Fiction' not 'History'.
Now, let us just cast our eye over what Mr Brown's hefty opposition would have us believe – and remember this is not just Canon Marshall who is saying this, the Catholic Church has set about debunking Brown too.
Well, let's look at the claims for Jesus for a start: Virgin birth: water into wine; walking on water; curing lepers; feeding the 5,000 and then ascension into heaven following crucifixion. As to his father, well the claims are even greater: parting of the Red Sea; plagues of Egypt; walls of Jericho (tumbling down of); and creation of Heaven, Earth and all the creatures and plants that live thereon in just six days.
And that's just my faulty memory of primary school RE, as residents of the Chapel Belt out there will tell you, there's a lot more than that they expect us to swallow.
So what they're telling us is not to be too gullible about Brown, while swallowing their own fantasies hook, line and sinker.
Now, I'm no enthusiast for the works of Dan Brown. Of course I envy his ability to turn a little plot and a modicum of writing ability into a multi-million pound bestselling, Hollywood-enthralling fortune, but then what mediocre hack wouldn't? Not bitter, not bitter at all.
But his holiday blockbusters are hardly a thing of beauty and a joy forever are they? Although I suspect that's not entirely what he intended them to be.
But my problem is that if the Vatican has to appoint cardinals to debunk it and every clergyman in Christendom feels the need to denounce it, then perhaps the Da Vinci Code has shown that Christianity is a bit weaker at the knees than we suspected.
NORMALLY if Wales were under-represented at anything I'd be the first to complain, but this is something quite different.
Big Brother House – two out of 14 inmates are Welsh – what gives? Do we represent two out of 14 of the UK population? No we do not, so why so many of us in there to make fools by proxy of the rest of the Welsh nation.
And who have we got? A beauty queen who thinks everyone fancies her and a lifeguard who fancies himself. Glorious, what fine specimens of modern Wales. But you have to say par for the course for the parade of self-promoting dysfunctionals that this programme seems to attract.
And now, we're told the pair have been warned not to speak Welsh to one another in case it's a code. Apparently Big Brother is listening in bilingually in case they contravene the rules.
What a shame to miss the opportunity to show the rest of the UK that Welsh is still a living language.
HAVING cut my teeth as a reporter in Wrexham, where I first met Martyn Jones, I can't think of anyone less likely to have a run-in with the law.
Although this is, reportedly, what happened when the MP was asked to produce his security pass by one of the guards there.
Maybe he felt that his flamboyant bow ties were identification enough, but he declined to comply. Fair enough, he's been there a long time, but what hope has the Government of convincing us to carry ID cards when it can't even gets its own MPs to carry their own.
Ah me, so much for that free will business. But, like buses, now along comes another issue about which those who would be the gatekeepers of Heaven are getting themselves in a right froth.
The latest thing causing consternation to the clergy is The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown's magnum opus which bases a, fictional, thriller on the theory that Jesus didn't die on the cross, he lived on, married Mary Magdalene, moved to France and sired a bloodline that survives to this day...in France.
So far, so barmy, if hope you're still with me, and I hoipe those of you who've packed it for the beach this summer haven't had your enjoyment spoilt. I've not actually read it, so I shouldn't be giving anything else away, other than it's a load of old rubbish.
But now it's incurred the disapproval of men of the cloth, including Rev Canon Geoffrey Marshall, Dean of Wrexham, who doesn't want us to be fooled by the Da Vinci Code. Well that's alright then, because I was about to book my holidays to Provence, hoping to find cheese, wine and eternal salvation on the basis of an airport blockbuster. Because that's how stupid I am.
What strikes me as ever so slightly rum is the way that churchmen have been queueing up to rubbish the bestseller because of its fantastic plot, while ignoring the sensationalist storyline they and their ilk have been peddling for the past two millennia.
Let's compare the two shall we? Firstly you have Dan Brown who expects us to believe that Jesus didn't die on the cross, he lived, married Mary Magdalene, and started a bloodline which continues to this day in France.
Or rather, he doesn't expect us to believe that, because the last time I checked, WH Smith and every other shop that stocks it was doing so under 'Fiction' not 'History'.
Now, let us just cast our eye over what Mr Brown's hefty opposition would have us believe – and remember this is not just Canon Marshall who is saying this, the Catholic Church has set about debunking Brown too.
Well, let's look at the claims for Jesus for a start: Virgin birth: water into wine; walking on water; curing lepers; feeding the 5,000 and then ascension into heaven following crucifixion. As to his father, well the claims are even greater: parting of the Red Sea; plagues of Egypt; walls of Jericho (tumbling down of); and creation of Heaven, Earth and all the creatures and plants that live thereon in just six days.
And that's just my faulty memory of primary school RE, as residents of the Chapel Belt out there will tell you, there's a lot more than that they expect us to swallow.
So what they're telling us is not to be too gullible about Brown, while swallowing their own fantasies hook, line and sinker.
Now, I'm no enthusiast for the works of Dan Brown. Of course I envy his ability to turn a little plot and a modicum of writing ability into a multi-million pound bestselling, Hollywood-enthralling fortune, but then what mediocre hack wouldn't? Not bitter, not bitter at all.
But his holiday blockbusters are hardly a thing of beauty and a joy forever are they? Although I suspect that's not entirely what he intended them to be.
But my problem is that if the Vatican has to appoint cardinals to debunk it and every clergyman in Christendom feels the need to denounce it, then perhaps the Da Vinci Code has shown that Christianity is a bit weaker at the knees than we suspected.
NORMALLY if Wales were under-represented at anything I'd be the first to complain, but this is something quite different.
Big Brother House – two out of 14 inmates are Welsh – what gives? Do we represent two out of 14 of the UK population? No we do not, so why so many of us in there to make fools by proxy of the rest of the Welsh nation.
And who have we got? A beauty queen who thinks everyone fancies her and a lifeguard who fancies himself. Glorious, what fine specimens of modern Wales. But you have to say par for the course for the parade of self-promoting dysfunctionals that this programme seems to attract.
And now, we're told the pair have been warned not to speak Welsh to one another in case it's a code. Apparently Big Brother is listening in bilingually in case they contravene the rules.
What a shame to miss the opportunity to show the rest of the UK that Welsh is still a living language.
HAVING cut my teeth as a reporter in Wrexham, where I first met Martyn Jones, I can't think of anyone less likely to have a run-in with the law.
Although this is, reportedly, what happened when the MP was asked to produce his security pass by one of the guards there.
Maybe he felt that his flamboyant bow ties were identification enough, but he declined to comply. Fair enough, he's been there a long time, but what hope has the Government of convincing us to carry ID cards when it can't even gets its own MPs to carry their own.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Column, May 16, 2006
I EXPECT so little of government in Wales, and yet it never fails to disappoint me.
The latest masterpiece of municipal jiggery-pokery is a land-grab that would make the bloke who bought New York off the Indians for $24 blush with shame.
Denbighshire is, reportedly, planning to sell out the playing field from beneath the skipping feet of the children who live near Marine Road, Prestatyn.
Apparently the land was gifted to the children of the town by an ancestor of Lord Aberconwy, but let’s not let that stand in the way of progress and a plan for flats linked to the unpopular sell-off of the town’s community hospital.
You have to stand back and admire the bare-faced cheek of it all I suppose, and you wouldn’t mind so much if another branch of Welsh government wasn’t trying to move in the opposite direction.
You see, in January last year, the Welsh Assembly Government published a document called ‘Climbing Higher’ - all about fitness levels in Wales. Lots of it is statements of the absolutely bloomin’ obvious, such as "Active people are more healthy", or "medical research has established the link between sport, physical activity and health." Groundbreaking stuff, I’m sure you’ll agree, why its author isn’t up for a Nobel prize is anyone’s guess.
But, to be fair, as well as this the document actually commits the assembly government to a few targets, one of which makes for interesting reading.
"No-one should live more than a six-minute walk (300m) from their nearest natural green space."
Now, I’m unsure whether a playing field counts as a ‘natural’ green space - a loophole through which the burghers of Denbighshire might nimbly leap. But nevertheless, while Cardiff is doing its bit to make us healthier, the councillors on the ground are selling the ground from beneath our feet.
Of course, Denbighshire isn’t the first to realise that playing fields can make a healthy, albeit temporary, addition to council coffers. They are not alone in eyeing up swings and roundabouts and realising they have a greater monetary value when replaced with bricks and mortar.
One playing field is hardly going to save the nation from obesity, but if all councils behave as Denbighshire wants to then the net effect is a bad one for children’s health.
Hardly a week goes by when we aren’t assailed by statistics telling us how unhealthy we are as a nation. One set of figures had six out of ten men in North Wales reporting themselves as overweight or obese - reporting themselves, mind, so you can add a couple more who were sucking their gut in and kidding themselves they were as fit now as they were when they were 14.
Collectively we are eating ourselves into an early grave on a diet of chips, burgers and pizza, consumed while devouring daytime TV.
It’s all very well the assembly government coming up with initiatives and schemes to help us get fitter, but the message has to be delivered before the damage is done.
Part of the problem is that those tackling poor health tend to come up with over-the-top solutions - such as outdoor adventure weekends, windsurfing or kayaking. All very worthy and great to take part in, but you can’t just pick up a kayak and go for a ten minutes kayaking on your nearest river.
Whereas if you’ve got a patch of green space, doesn’t have to be very much, you can play football, or rugby, or if you must, cricket, or you can go for a run, or even a walk.
All very simple, costs not very much at all in the way of equipment or organisation. All it needs is a bit of grass seed, the occasional mow and a sharp slap on the wrist to short-sighted councillors who want to see a For Sale sign on it.
The habit of fitness is picked up in youth - but if kids don’t have anywhere to play they’ll find other, less physical activities to keep themselves amused. It is hard enough to pry them away from their Playstations, but if they genuinely have nowhere else to go then a parent has no chance.
Still perhaps Denbighshire has shown the parents of Marine Road the way - after all, they aren’t the only ones who can grab land.
All they have to do is find another bit of land where nothing very useful is going on, register ownership, call in the demolition men, and grass it over. My tip - county hall, Wynnstay Road, Ruthin.
ARCHDRUID Huw Goronwy wants towns in Wales to twin with each other to promote cultural growth.
How’s that going to work then?
I always thought that twinning involved exposing yourself to another culture, language and way of life in an effort to broaden one’s mind.
Imagine the scene, the first group of twinners from Bangor, arrive, bags in hand, at their twin-town, Porthmadog.
"So, what’s the local speciality to eat here then…..oh….lamb."
"What drinks can you tempt us with then? Ah, bitter…or lager."
"And tonight you’ve laid on traditional folk music for us with…Dafydd Iwan…you’re really spoiling now."
"So tomorrow you’ve got a tour of the local beaches laid on…that’s….fantastic."
"Has anyone got the number of a taxi firm?"
The clichéd view of twinning arrangements is that it is just a junket for councillors. But while I carry no torch for freeloading councillors, I’m always a little wary of criticising junketing, as journalists are the greatest beneficiaries evermore of hospitality at another’s expense. Here I’ll declare my own interest having benefited from trips to Germany, Tunisia, France and the States - and in a couple of years when I must have seriously blotted my copybook with the editor - Bulgaria and the Isle of Man…in winter.
But genuine twin town arrangements, where schools and other community groups forge links with people whose experiences are genuinely different to their own, can only be beneficial.
The danger with Huw Goronwy’s idea is that a nation which already spends too much time looking inward, could become more insular than ever.
The latest masterpiece of municipal jiggery-pokery is a land-grab that would make the bloke who bought New York off the Indians for $24 blush with shame.
Denbighshire is, reportedly, planning to sell out the playing field from beneath the skipping feet of the children who live near Marine Road, Prestatyn.
Apparently the land was gifted to the children of the town by an ancestor of Lord Aberconwy, but let’s not let that stand in the way of progress and a plan for flats linked to the unpopular sell-off of the town’s community hospital.
You have to stand back and admire the bare-faced cheek of it all I suppose, and you wouldn’t mind so much if another branch of Welsh government wasn’t trying to move in the opposite direction.
You see, in January last year, the Welsh Assembly Government published a document called ‘Climbing Higher’ - all about fitness levels in Wales. Lots of it is statements of the absolutely bloomin’ obvious, such as "Active people are more healthy", or "medical research has established the link between sport, physical activity and health." Groundbreaking stuff, I’m sure you’ll agree, why its author isn’t up for a Nobel prize is anyone’s guess.
But, to be fair, as well as this the document actually commits the assembly government to a few targets, one of which makes for interesting reading.
"No-one should live more than a six-minute walk (300m) from their nearest natural green space."
Now, I’m unsure whether a playing field counts as a ‘natural’ green space - a loophole through which the burghers of Denbighshire might nimbly leap. But nevertheless, while Cardiff is doing its bit to make us healthier, the councillors on the ground are selling the ground from beneath our feet.
Of course, Denbighshire isn’t the first to realise that playing fields can make a healthy, albeit temporary, addition to council coffers. They are not alone in eyeing up swings and roundabouts and realising they have a greater monetary value when replaced with bricks and mortar.
One playing field is hardly going to save the nation from obesity, but if all councils behave as Denbighshire wants to then the net effect is a bad one for children’s health.
Hardly a week goes by when we aren’t assailed by statistics telling us how unhealthy we are as a nation. One set of figures had six out of ten men in North Wales reporting themselves as overweight or obese - reporting themselves, mind, so you can add a couple more who were sucking their gut in and kidding themselves they were as fit now as they were when they were 14.
Collectively we are eating ourselves into an early grave on a diet of chips, burgers and pizza, consumed while devouring daytime TV.
It’s all very well the assembly government coming up with initiatives and schemes to help us get fitter, but the message has to be delivered before the damage is done.
Part of the problem is that those tackling poor health tend to come up with over-the-top solutions - such as outdoor adventure weekends, windsurfing or kayaking. All very worthy and great to take part in, but you can’t just pick up a kayak and go for a ten minutes kayaking on your nearest river.
Whereas if you’ve got a patch of green space, doesn’t have to be very much, you can play football, or rugby, or if you must, cricket, or you can go for a run, or even a walk.
All very simple, costs not very much at all in the way of equipment or organisation. All it needs is a bit of grass seed, the occasional mow and a sharp slap on the wrist to short-sighted councillors who want to see a For Sale sign on it.
The habit of fitness is picked up in youth - but if kids don’t have anywhere to play they’ll find other, less physical activities to keep themselves amused. It is hard enough to pry them away from their Playstations, but if they genuinely have nowhere else to go then a parent has no chance.
Still perhaps Denbighshire has shown the parents of Marine Road the way - after all, they aren’t the only ones who can grab land.
All they have to do is find another bit of land where nothing very useful is going on, register ownership, call in the demolition men, and grass it over. My tip - county hall, Wynnstay Road, Ruthin.
ARCHDRUID Huw Goronwy wants towns in Wales to twin with each other to promote cultural growth.
How’s that going to work then?
I always thought that twinning involved exposing yourself to another culture, language and way of life in an effort to broaden one’s mind.
Imagine the scene, the first group of twinners from Bangor, arrive, bags in hand, at their twin-town, Porthmadog.
"So, what’s the local speciality to eat here then…..oh….lamb."
"What drinks can you tempt us with then? Ah, bitter…or lager."
"And tonight you’ve laid on traditional folk music for us with…Dafydd Iwan…you’re really spoiling now."
"So tomorrow you’ve got a tour of the local beaches laid on…that’s….fantastic."
"Has anyone got the number of a taxi firm?"
The clichéd view of twinning arrangements is that it is just a junket for councillors. But while I carry no torch for freeloading councillors, I’m always a little wary of criticising junketing, as journalists are the greatest beneficiaries evermore of hospitality at another’s expense. Here I’ll declare my own interest having benefited from trips to Germany, Tunisia, France and the States - and in a couple of years when I must have seriously blotted my copybook with the editor - Bulgaria and the Isle of Man…in winter.
But genuine twin town arrangements, where schools and other community groups forge links with people whose experiences are genuinely different to their own, can only be beneficial.
The danger with Huw Goronwy’s idea is that a nation which already spends too much time looking inward, could become more insular than ever.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Column, May 9, 2006
IF I remember rightly it all began with let there be light.
Then came the heavens and the Earth, Eden, the whole plant and animal kingdom.
Then He got to Adam and Eve and it all started getting a bit messy.
But you have to say that creating the Universe and everything there is in it in just six days, was not too shabby a feat. Something to put on your cv while taking a well-earned rest on the Sabbath.
So why then do some people assume that a God powerful enough to create the entire Universe, omnipresent enough to be with every one of us every moment of the day, is so touchy as to be offended by an image of Jesus in a nappy.
Dr Barry Morgan our Archbishop, is not a happy man and the reason he's unhappy is that Jerry Springer - The Opera is showing in Wales.
"Blasphemous and gratuitously offensive" is how he described the show and when you hear that it's got pole dancing, the Ku Klux Klan, Satan and a nappy-obsessed Christ figure, you might think he has a point.
"They'd never get away with saying the same thing about the prophet Mohammed," said Dr Morgan.
Yes, well, having adherents ready to lop off the heads of those who offend against does make you re-evaluate your criticism of a religion, but it's not something that makes me more likely to convert.
It doesn't fill my heart with love of the Lord to be told that I'd better worship Him, because I wouldn't get away with being so cheeky about Allah.
Is Dr Morgan worried about the offence to God, or the offence caused to fellow Christians?Myself, I think God, if He existed, would have broad shoulders and would suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous musicals with the stoicism typical of an all-powerful, all-seeing deity.
I suspect that when people like Dr Morgan shout blasphemy, it is because they are more concerned with their own feelings as Christians. What stings the most is the lack of respect for their faith, not their God.
Do they really believe a God who parted the Red Sea, visited the plagues upon Egypt, caused Noah's Flood and brought the walls of Jericho tumbling down is going to be offended by a theatre show?
And anyway, won't those responsible reap their rewards in the hereafter, where a warm welcome will await them, while those prudes who disapproved will surely enjoy their heavenly reward?
I'm always a little confused by Christianity's insistence that we were born with free will, and yet all around they're very quick to tell you what you can and cannot, do/watch/say.
I would have thought that it's not really enough to arrive at the Pearly Gates to say: "Lord, I've led a good life, but then again, I didn't have much choice in the matter did I? I'd have sinned given half a chance, but my Archbishop was a bit of a spoilsport."
Perhaps the Archbishop is unhappy that there will be more bums on seats at Jerry Springer than on pews in church on Sunday. However, I'm not sure that people, deprived of seeing Springer - The Opera, will be flocking to hear a sermon instead.
I'm not sure which sort of Christian annoys me more, the happy-clappy, beardy hippy who thinks he's down with the kids because he tortures an out-of-tune guitar as they sing the dirges that pass for hymns nowadays - or the po-faced, lemon-sucking priests who disapprove of anything approximating pleasure.
THE case of Vernon Barker will show us just whether the Labour party has forgotten its working class roots.
He was a man who died before his time, poisoned by the asbestos that it was commonplace for so many men like him to work with.
Now the House of Lords has ruled that because he was exposed to asbestos a number of times for different employers, his widow Sylvia is to have her compensation drastically cut. The award was only £153,000 anyway - small enough for the suffering that goes along with a death from mesothelioma, the cancer caused by exposure to asbestos.
The thing is that any reporter attending inquests will tell you that we're seeing more and more men like ex-Shotton steelworker, Vernon Barker. Tucked away at almost every hearing, among the road crashes and suicides, appear men of a certain age, dying of an industrial disease because of a job they did in their youth. Every year the grim toll exacted among men who worked with asbestos decades ago steadily increases.
These men are Labour heartland material - manual workers who worked in heavy industry, shipbuilders, steelworkers and in construction. The people who year-in, year-out kept faith with the Labour party as the party for the working man.
Now they are dying in their thousands and insurance companies are limiting payments to their widows because they can't track every job they did 40 years or more ago.
To tackle this outrageous loophole will require a change in the law. The test of character for the party of working people is whether they can deliver it.
Then came the heavens and the Earth, Eden, the whole plant and animal kingdom.
Then He got to Adam and Eve and it all started getting a bit messy.
But you have to say that creating the Universe and everything there is in it in just six days, was not too shabby a feat. Something to put on your cv while taking a well-earned rest on the Sabbath.
So why then do some people assume that a God powerful enough to create the entire Universe, omnipresent enough to be with every one of us every moment of the day, is so touchy as to be offended by an image of Jesus in a nappy.
Dr Barry Morgan our Archbishop, is not a happy man and the reason he's unhappy is that Jerry Springer - The Opera is showing in Wales.
"Blasphemous and gratuitously offensive" is how he described the show and when you hear that it's got pole dancing, the Ku Klux Klan, Satan and a nappy-obsessed Christ figure, you might think he has a point.
"They'd never get away with saying the same thing about the prophet Mohammed," said Dr Morgan.
Yes, well, having adherents ready to lop off the heads of those who offend against does make you re-evaluate your criticism of a religion, but it's not something that makes me more likely to convert.
It doesn't fill my heart with love of the Lord to be told that I'd better worship Him, because I wouldn't get away with being so cheeky about Allah.
Is Dr Morgan worried about the offence to God, or the offence caused to fellow Christians?Myself, I think God, if He existed, would have broad shoulders and would suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous musicals with the stoicism typical of an all-powerful, all-seeing deity.
I suspect that when people like Dr Morgan shout blasphemy, it is because they are more concerned with their own feelings as Christians. What stings the most is the lack of respect for their faith, not their God.
Do they really believe a God who parted the Red Sea, visited the plagues upon Egypt, caused Noah's Flood and brought the walls of Jericho tumbling down is going to be offended by a theatre show?
And anyway, won't those responsible reap their rewards in the hereafter, where a warm welcome will await them, while those prudes who disapproved will surely enjoy their heavenly reward?
I'm always a little confused by Christianity's insistence that we were born with free will, and yet all around they're very quick to tell you what you can and cannot, do/watch/say.
I would have thought that it's not really enough to arrive at the Pearly Gates to say: "Lord, I've led a good life, but then again, I didn't have much choice in the matter did I? I'd have sinned given half a chance, but my Archbishop was a bit of a spoilsport."
Perhaps the Archbishop is unhappy that there will be more bums on seats at Jerry Springer than on pews in church on Sunday. However, I'm not sure that people, deprived of seeing Springer - The Opera, will be flocking to hear a sermon instead.
I'm not sure which sort of Christian annoys me more, the happy-clappy, beardy hippy who thinks he's down with the kids because he tortures an out-of-tune guitar as they sing the dirges that pass for hymns nowadays - or the po-faced, lemon-sucking priests who disapprove of anything approximating pleasure.
THE case of Vernon Barker will show us just whether the Labour party has forgotten its working class roots.
He was a man who died before his time, poisoned by the asbestos that it was commonplace for so many men like him to work with.
Now the House of Lords has ruled that because he was exposed to asbestos a number of times for different employers, his widow Sylvia is to have her compensation drastically cut. The award was only £153,000 anyway - small enough for the suffering that goes along with a death from mesothelioma, the cancer caused by exposure to asbestos.
The thing is that any reporter attending inquests will tell you that we're seeing more and more men like ex-Shotton steelworker, Vernon Barker. Tucked away at almost every hearing, among the road crashes and suicides, appear men of a certain age, dying of an industrial disease because of a job they did in their youth. Every year the grim toll exacted among men who worked with asbestos decades ago steadily increases.
These men are Labour heartland material - manual workers who worked in heavy industry, shipbuilders, steelworkers and in construction. The people who year-in, year-out kept faith with the Labour party as the party for the working man.
Now they are dying in their thousands and insurance companies are limiting payments to their widows because they can't track every job they did 40 years or more ago.
To tackle this outrageous loophole will require a change in the law. The test of character for the party of working people is whether they can deliver it.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Column, May 2, 2006
I'VE always hated those stories of suicidal parents who choose to take their children with them when they kill themselves.
It seems to me the supreme act of cruelty. Fine, if you cannot take this life any longer, then free yourself of it, but to deny your children their chance of one is despicable.
That was my reaction when, recently, there was news that Alison Davies threw herself and her son, Ryan, off the Humber bridge.
It was only after that initial, awful, story though, the details emerged of Ryan's autism - fragile X syndrome - and the strain that it had put on her and her family. A strain that she apparently could no longer cope with and was not prepared to leave her family to deal with when she was gone. Her last message in a 999-call, was to tell her family not to worry.
So it's not as simple as a solitary act of cruelty by a deranged parent. It makes you wonder what parents who have such children go through and how much support they actually get.
And then, a few days later, a message arrived from a parent in just such a situation. She was moved by Alison Davies's story, to write in order to give some insight into the dreadful strain parents coping with an autistic child can find themselves enduring.
This is her story:
"Our son has autism.
I've admitted this a thousand of times, and by now the word itself holds no more terrors for me. When he was first diagnosed, the word seemed to reverberate in my head in multicolour glory whenever I sat down. It governed every conversation, made friends eyes glaze over in boredom, brought chats on the phone to a grinding halt. In short, it was taking over our life as a family.
There is no quick fix for autism. You can go down the path of checking for food allergies and introducing supplements to the diet until the cows come home. Some people do get some success, but the cases of miraculous improvement are sadly few and far between. And many of these supplements are expensive. Side effects can make a normally placid child hyperactive.
There is only one course you can take to ensure a better future for your child. You can begin fighting. On the way, you will develop the hide of a rhinoceros and the deviousness of a politician. Diagnosis needs to be as early as possible.
We were lucky: a caring health visitor spotted the signs while on a routine visit to a sibling, - just one of a few people to whom we owe an immense debt of gratitude. When you get over the shock, you begin asking what needs to be done.
You automatically turn to the supposed experts around you, and hopefully a school placement will be made for your child. Being of what I have to admit is a singularly pig-headed nature, we refused what we were offered, and now at least we are not amongst the desperate parents still fighting to get any form of one-to-one help for their children.
Diagnosis magically opens up several doors, not least of which are the various benefits to which you are entitled if you have a disabled child. But that is not to say that life has been plain sailing.
Autism is not an obvious physical ailment. Children I know who have the condition are invariably extremely good-looking. You will know IF a child with autism looks you directly in the eye. There is an innocence and trust there at every age that you normally only see in very young children.
Sadly, poor eye contact is one of the first signs of the condition A child with autism can blend into a crowd, until you suddenly realise that people are giving you funny glances. They are not used to behaviour - a sudden squeal, hand-clenching, funny walk, inordinate interest in somebody else's business - which you see every day of your life.
Apart for one occasion when I must admit I flipped at the crass remarks of a teenager, I have relied on my rhinoceros hide. Once again, we are lucky. The odd behaviour I have just described is minor to say the least when compared to what some families go through.
Picture this scenario : the child comes home from school on Friday, the hatches are battened down, and the family disappear until Monday morning. That is during school term. Many families take the option of leaving their autistic child in residential care during school holidays, torn apart by their love for the child and the need for a relatively normal family life for any other children and to preserve their own sanity.
There is official help available, - from Education, Social Services or charitable organisations. When you can get it. Social Services suffer from staff shortages, due as I understand from staff falling ill through strain at work. (I nod and tut in sympathy, while the thought races through my head : have they ever tried living with a child who has even moderate disabilities?) Education will take you through the mill as you teeter from initial gratitude to downright distrust.
And why is it that everyone in authority seems to think that they know your child's needs better than you? In the end, however well-meaning outside agencies might be, they cannot possibly be there for you all the time. Responsibility ultimately falls to you.
I have been moved to write this because of the tragic story of Alison Davies and her son, Ryan. I could have written more or less the same thing 4½ years ago with the case of Helen Rogan and her son. Both these mothers were in despair because they were let down by the very people who should be helping them."
You read that, and you begin to understand what drove Alison Davies to that bridge that awful day.
THE flags in Welshpool do no go up and down like yo-yos we are told.
This was the reason given for failing to have it fly at half-mast when local soldier, Lance Corporal Paul Thomas, died in Iraq in 2004.
So his parents are understandably looking askance at an honour heaped upon then man who helped make that decision, town clerk Ken Fletcher, who is to have his name included in the mayoral roll of honour on his retirement after 40 years' service.
This is not to denigrate those who slog in the trenches of local government, and whose efforts deserve recognition - 40 years is a long time to be dealing with councillors. But it hardly compares to giving your life for your country, no matter how much some people might disagree with the reasons we went to war in the first place.
If clerks get their name in gilt letters for evermore, then a fallen soldier deserves his home town's flag to be lowered as a mark of respect.
It seems to me the supreme act of cruelty. Fine, if you cannot take this life any longer, then free yourself of it, but to deny your children their chance of one is despicable.
That was my reaction when, recently, there was news that Alison Davies threw herself and her son, Ryan, off the Humber bridge.
It was only after that initial, awful, story though, the details emerged of Ryan's autism - fragile X syndrome - and the strain that it had put on her and her family. A strain that she apparently could no longer cope with and was not prepared to leave her family to deal with when she was gone. Her last message in a 999-call, was to tell her family not to worry.
So it's not as simple as a solitary act of cruelty by a deranged parent. It makes you wonder what parents who have such children go through and how much support they actually get.
And then, a few days later, a message arrived from a parent in just such a situation. She was moved by Alison Davies's story, to write in order to give some insight into the dreadful strain parents coping with an autistic child can find themselves enduring.
This is her story:
"Our son has autism.
I've admitted this a thousand of times, and by now the word itself holds no more terrors for me. When he was first diagnosed, the word seemed to reverberate in my head in multicolour glory whenever I sat down. It governed every conversation, made friends eyes glaze over in boredom, brought chats on the phone to a grinding halt. In short, it was taking over our life as a family.
There is no quick fix for autism. You can go down the path of checking for food allergies and introducing supplements to the diet until the cows come home. Some people do get some success, but the cases of miraculous improvement are sadly few and far between. And many of these supplements are expensive. Side effects can make a normally placid child hyperactive.
There is only one course you can take to ensure a better future for your child. You can begin fighting. On the way, you will develop the hide of a rhinoceros and the deviousness of a politician. Diagnosis needs to be as early as possible.
We were lucky: a caring health visitor spotted the signs while on a routine visit to a sibling, - just one of a few people to whom we owe an immense debt of gratitude. When you get over the shock, you begin asking what needs to be done.
You automatically turn to the supposed experts around you, and hopefully a school placement will be made for your child. Being of what I have to admit is a singularly pig-headed nature, we refused what we were offered, and now at least we are not amongst the desperate parents still fighting to get any form of one-to-one help for their children.
Diagnosis magically opens up several doors, not least of which are the various benefits to which you are entitled if you have a disabled child. But that is not to say that life has been plain sailing.
Autism is not an obvious physical ailment. Children I know who have the condition are invariably extremely good-looking. You will know IF a child with autism looks you directly in the eye. There is an innocence and trust there at every age that you normally only see in very young children.
Sadly, poor eye contact is one of the first signs of the condition A child with autism can blend into a crowd, until you suddenly realise that people are giving you funny glances. They are not used to behaviour - a sudden squeal, hand-clenching, funny walk, inordinate interest in somebody else's business - which you see every day of your life.
Apart for one occasion when I must admit I flipped at the crass remarks of a teenager, I have relied on my rhinoceros hide. Once again, we are lucky. The odd behaviour I have just described is minor to say the least when compared to what some families go through.
Picture this scenario : the child comes home from school on Friday, the hatches are battened down, and the family disappear until Monday morning. That is during school term. Many families take the option of leaving their autistic child in residential care during school holidays, torn apart by their love for the child and the need for a relatively normal family life for any other children and to preserve their own sanity.
There is official help available, - from Education, Social Services or charitable organisations. When you can get it. Social Services suffer from staff shortages, due as I understand from staff falling ill through strain at work. (I nod and tut in sympathy, while the thought races through my head : have they ever tried living with a child who has even moderate disabilities?) Education will take you through the mill as you teeter from initial gratitude to downright distrust.
And why is it that everyone in authority seems to think that they know your child's needs better than you? In the end, however well-meaning outside agencies might be, they cannot possibly be there for you all the time. Responsibility ultimately falls to you.
I have been moved to write this because of the tragic story of Alison Davies and her son, Ryan. I could have written more or less the same thing 4½ years ago with the case of Helen Rogan and her son. Both these mothers were in despair because they were let down by the very people who should be helping them."
You read that, and you begin to understand what drove Alison Davies to that bridge that awful day.
THE flags in Welshpool do no go up and down like yo-yos we are told.
This was the reason given for failing to have it fly at half-mast when local soldier, Lance Corporal Paul Thomas, died in Iraq in 2004.
So his parents are understandably looking askance at an honour heaped upon then man who helped make that decision, town clerk Ken Fletcher, who is to have his name included in the mayoral roll of honour on his retirement after 40 years' service.
This is not to denigrate those who slog in the trenches of local government, and whose efforts deserve recognition - 40 years is a long time to be dealing with councillors. But it hardly compares to giving your life for your country, no matter how much some people might disagree with the reasons we went to war in the first place.
If clerks get their name in gilt letters for evermore, then a fallen soldier deserves his home town's flag to be lowered as a mark of respect.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
What city do you belong in?
| You Belong in Amsterdam |
 |
What European City Do You Belong In?
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Column, April 25, 2006
IF there's a case which sums up the depths to which the NHS has sunk it is that of the nurse fined for parking at her own hospital.
The Victorian mill owners missed a trick there didn't they? They paid their staff in tokens to spend in the company shop, giving with one hand and taking with another, but sadly internal combustion and mass production came a little late for them to take advantage of their workers' need to park somewhere.
No matter, Ysbyty Glan Clwyd and Denbighshire County Council are keeping the spirit of Thomas Gradgrind alive and well and it's hard times for anyone who dares to park on a grass verge, well a £60 fine fixed penalty at least.
Now with even more staff heading for the hospital the staff car park is going to be a target-rich environment for the attendants who hand out the penalties isn't it?
But it's just a symptom of the malaise that afflicts a health service which is meant to be free at the point of delivery, but which is being pushed to fleece its users, and its staff, in any other way possible.
The car parks have long been coveted by private enterprise who see them as a way of making a fast buck. You've got patients, people have to come and visit them, sometimes for a long time, well why not make them pay for the privilege. OK you might have to put up a swanky new bit of building to pay for the privilege of having the car park, but once you've got your greedy mitts on the parking, you can start steadily putting up the fees and employing wardens to ticket and clamp togett you even more hard cash.
Then there's the charming invention of bedside TV consoles. An impressive-looking bit of kit, resembling for all the world one of those bleeping monitors on Casualty, hovering over the beds in lots of hospitals nowadays. They even have a phone attached too, so the patients can call out without even having to get out of bed.
Of course, there's no such thing as a free lunch, or a free TV and time and calls have to be paid for, in advance, with tokens from a machine.
You're not going to let your nearest and dearest while away their convalescence without a telly, and so invariably relatives spend what's left of their change after they've been mugged by the car park machine on buying some TV time.
And here's the clever bit. You can't turn the TV off, because it carries ads, which are also being paid for, to a physically, if not quite literally, captive audience. All you can do with these infernal machines is turn the screen to the wall, volume off, and hope that its glow doesn't disturb your much-needed sleep.
Want a picture of the scan of your baby-to-be? That'll cost you too.
Food, drink - why visit the supermarket concessions in the foyer.
How old people manage to die of malnutrition in hospital is anyone's guess when there's enough to feed the 5,000 sitting in shops in hospital reception areas that are beginning to resemble shopping malls.
The NHS may still be free at the point of delivery, but if you're planning on using it any time soon, best keep you wallet handy, you'll be needing it.
I SHOULD have guessed that I hadn't heard the last of the Blacks saga - you remember the store that was target of a demo after one of its assistants suggested a customer was rude for assuming she spoke Welsh.
Aran Jones, chief exec of Cymuned, whose numbers swelled (if that's the right word, there were after all only 20 of them) the Cymdeithas yr Iaith Gymraeg demo, writes in to set me straight in a few matters. Well, he wrote 700 words originally so it's more than a few.
Firstly, a simple factual point - far from being a single shop, Blacks is in fact part of a reasonably hefty chain - over 350 shops in Britain, as I understand. No, it's not as hefty a target as government (a battle which the Cymdeithas have yet to win, by the way) - but it's a long way from the Mom'n'Pop store idea that comes across in your latest article!
Secondly, and more importantly, I genuinely think that you are underestimating the social importance of the kind of attitude that was revealed by this incident. You say that one or two people in a small town are of negligible importance, particularly when compared with government and big businesses - but language planning research over the last fifteen years shows that this simply isn't true.
As you know we state at Cymuned (and, incidentally, eight of the protesters at Blacks were Cymuned members acting in support of the Cymdeithas), community is the key issue in language planning. One of the most damaging aspects of language shift in Welsh-speaking communities is the enormous impact on social confidence that even a small amount of hostility has when it is sanctioned and normalised by the society.
It really isn't that different, after all, to our action against Somerfields. We didn't act against Somerfields because the chain was above a certain pre-determined size - we acted against Somerfields because leaving that kind of attitude unchallenged allows it to become the social norm frighteningly quickly.
Against that kind of background, accepting that a shop worker effectively has the right to scold someone for speaking Welsh with them is like a step back into the dark ages (or the 1950s, at any rate!). Such things are symptomatic - if she was the only shop worker in Betws, or in Gwynedd, to speak like that, local social pressure would have cured her ages ago. She's not - she's one of a worryingly large number, and I'm afraid that articles like your latest give confidence to people who are keen to reject any idea that the language is affected by them as individuals.
There's the key point - too many people now follow the line that they're all in favour of the language, as long as they don't have to change anything they're doing.
As Chris Myant, Director for the Commission for Racial Equality Cymru, says - you can't reverse language shift without some people being inconvenienced, and individual responsibility has to be put on the agenda at some point.
If the nicest person in the world moves into a Welsh-speaking community and doesn't learn the language, they are helping to destroy the social fabric it needs to exist. We have to change attitudes at ground level - no Language Act can hope to do that, but it's just possible that making sure that someone points out how shameful such behaviour is, whenever and wherever it happens, will in the end make it socially unacceptable.
As you know, I think your work on language issues is a consistently important, useful addition to the debate. But I think you may have misjudged this one - disagreeing with tactics is one thing (admirable and often useful), but propping up an unhealthy mindset that reversing language shift is a far away, governmental responsibility, and that no individuals need to change their attitudes, is quite a different matter.
The Victorian mill owners missed a trick there didn't they? They paid their staff in tokens to spend in the company shop, giving with one hand and taking with another, but sadly internal combustion and mass production came a little late for them to take advantage of their workers' need to park somewhere.
No matter, Ysbyty Glan Clwyd and Denbighshire County Council are keeping the spirit of Thomas Gradgrind alive and well and it's hard times for anyone who dares to park on a grass verge, well a £60 fine fixed penalty at least.
Now with even more staff heading for the hospital the staff car park is going to be a target-rich environment for the attendants who hand out the penalties isn't it?
But it's just a symptom of the malaise that afflicts a health service which is meant to be free at the point of delivery, but which is being pushed to fleece its users, and its staff, in any other way possible.
The car parks have long been coveted by private enterprise who see them as a way of making a fast buck. You've got patients, people have to come and visit them, sometimes for a long time, well why not make them pay for the privilege. OK you might have to put up a swanky new bit of building to pay for the privilege of having the car park, but once you've got your greedy mitts on the parking, you can start steadily putting up the fees and employing wardens to ticket and clamp togett you even more hard cash.
Then there's the charming invention of bedside TV consoles. An impressive-looking bit of kit, resembling for all the world one of those bleeping monitors on Casualty, hovering over the beds in lots of hospitals nowadays. They even have a phone attached too, so the patients can call out without even having to get out of bed.
Of course, there's no such thing as a free lunch, or a free TV and time and calls have to be paid for, in advance, with tokens from a machine.
You're not going to let your nearest and dearest while away their convalescence without a telly, and so invariably relatives spend what's left of their change after they've been mugged by the car park machine on buying some TV time.
And here's the clever bit. You can't turn the TV off, because it carries ads, which are also being paid for, to a physically, if not quite literally, captive audience. All you can do with these infernal machines is turn the screen to the wall, volume off, and hope that its glow doesn't disturb your much-needed sleep.
Want a picture of the scan of your baby-to-be? That'll cost you too.
Food, drink - why visit the supermarket concessions in the foyer.
How old people manage to die of malnutrition in hospital is anyone's guess when there's enough to feed the 5,000 sitting in shops in hospital reception areas that are beginning to resemble shopping malls.
The NHS may still be free at the point of delivery, but if you're planning on using it any time soon, best keep you wallet handy, you'll be needing it.
I SHOULD have guessed that I hadn't heard the last of the Blacks saga - you remember the store that was target of a demo after one of its assistants suggested a customer was rude for assuming she spoke Welsh.
Aran Jones, chief exec of Cymuned, whose numbers swelled (if that's the right word, there were after all only 20 of them) the Cymdeithas yr Iaith Gymraeg demo, writes in to set me straight in a few matters. Well, he wrote 700 words originally so it's more than a few.
Firstly, a simple factual point - far from being a single shop, Blacks is in fact part of a reasonably hefty chain - over 350 shops in Britain, as I understand. No, it's not as hefty a target as government (a battle which the Cymdeithas have yet to win, by the way) - but it's a long way from the Mom'n'Pop store idea that comes across in your latest article!
Secondly, and more importantly, I genuinely think that you are underestimating the social importance of the kind of attitude that was revealed by this incident. You say that one or two people in a small town are of negligible importance, particularly when compared with government and big businesses - but language planning research over the last fifteen years shows that this simply isn't true.
As you know we state at Cymuned (and, incidentally, eight of the protesters at Blacks were Cymuned members acting in support of the Cymdeithas), community is the key issue in language planning. One of the most damaging aspects of language shift in Welsh-speaking communities is the enormous impact on social confidence that even a small amount of hostility has when it is sanctioned and normalised by the society.
It really isn't that different, after all, to our action against Somerfields. We didn't act against Somerfields because the chain was above a certain pre-determined size - we acted against Somerfields because leaving that kind of attitude unchallenged allows it to become the social norm frighteningly quickly.
Against that kind of background, accepting that a shop worker effectively has the right to scold someone for speaking Welsh with them is like a step back into the dark ages (or the 1950s, at any rate!). Such things are symptomatic - if she was the only shop worker in Betws, or in Gwynedd, to speak like that, local social pressure would have cured her ages ago. She's not - she's one of a worryingly large number, and I'm afraid that articles like your latest give confidence to people who are keen to reject any idea that the language is affected by them as individuals.
There's the key point - too many people now follow the line that they're all in favour of the language, as long as they don't have to change anything they're doing.
As Chris Myant, Director for the Commission for Racial Equality Cymru, says - you can't reverse language shift without some people being inconvenienced, and individual responsibility has to be put on the agenda at some point.
If the nicest person in the world moves into a Welsh-speaking community and doesn't learn the language, they are helping to destroy the social fabric it needs to exist. We have to change attitudes at ground level - no Language Act can hope to do that, but it's just possible that making sure that someone points out how shameful such behaviour is, whenever and wherever it happens, will in the end make it socially unacceptable.
As you know, I think your work on language issues is a consistently important, useful addition to the debate. But I think you may have misjudged this one - disagreeing with tactics is one thing (admirable and often useful), but propping up an unhealthy mindset that reversing language shift is a far away, governmental responsibility, and that no individuals need to change their attitudes, is quite a different matter.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Column, April 18, 2006
WELL now you know. If you were thinking of opening up an outdoor sports store in Betws y Coed employing staff who think speaking Welsh is 'rude' – think again, the mighty Cymdeithas yr Iaith Gymraeg has spoken.
It is with no great pleasure that I recount the depths to which this once noble organisation has sunk. But after the latest escapade when they staged a demo at the Blacks store in Betws I'm afraid to say that CYI has lost the plot.
This was an organisation which once made people sit up and take notice, it picked its targets with care and they had to take notice when it did.
But back in the '70 and '80s Wales was a target-rich environment if you were looking for ignorance of and even hostility towards the Welsh language.
Government, schools, the health service, police and the media sat up and took notice when they had a point to make. If they didn't it wasn't long before they got an not altogether welcome visit by CYI members who would occupy their offices, or worse.
The history of civil disobedience in defence of the Welsh language is a long, colourful and honourable one. But now you wonder whether, having won the argument against many of the big fish – government, police and the school system – that CYI is rather casting about looking for a role and not being altogether successful in finding one.
It hardly becomes the organisation to sully its name with a pointless little demo at a solitary sports shop. What on Earth did they hope to achieve? It's not as if the society is incapable of the sort of action which made its reputation. Only a couple of months agoi Gwenno Teifi did time in a young offenders institute after she refused to pay court-ordered compensation to Radio Carmarthen that was damaged in a protest over its lack of Welsh-language broadcasting.
However, there is a difference between a radio station, which has a franchise to broadcast to thousands of people, and one shop having one ignorant member of staff.
It's not as if Blacks hadn't said sorry, but apparently they hadn't said sorry in a satisfactory way. So Blacks was the target of a sit-down protest by 20 CYI members as a result and they're threatening more unless they get a meeting with bosses there.
The man whose alleged experience while shopping at Blacks, Dilwyn Llwyd, said: “My complaint is that the assistant called me rude for speaking to her in Welsh and assuming that she spoke Welsh.
After taking part in the protest he said: “It's not for me but for the language – to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen again. I know that I'm in the right, there's no argument over that.”
No argument over that? I beg to differ. Firstly what is 'this kind of thing'? As far as I can see if what is alleged to have happened did happen, and remember we have yet to hear the shop assistant's version of events, then all CYI have proved is that Blacks have one assistant who behaved in an ignorant way.
That's regrettable, but I'm not sure what principle CYI are defending in staging a sit-down protest at Blacks. Is it their right not to be confronted by ignorance while shopping? Because if it is the there are a lot of shops out there and I suspect they'll be doing a lot of sitting in future before they eliminate it from Wales.
You will always get people whose appreciation of the language and its survival is not what it should be. You will always get individuals who even display hostility towards the language too.
As long as those people are not in positions of power then their effect on the everyday life of Welsh -speakers is minimal.
Fundamentally though, I think CYI needs to rethink its policy in relation to situations like this. While direct action undoubtedly has its place in bringing powerful bureaucracy to heel, it's an over-reaction to deploy the same tactics in the case of one small shop.
If you want to be taken seriously then there needs to be a proportionality to your actions, unfortunately the Blacks protest was totally disproportionate.
When they invade mob-handed for such an isolated case they run the risk of people forming the view that they are, well, a bunch of nutters.
It has been suggested in some quarters that my questioning of CYI policy over this issue makes me 'anti-Welsh'. If you think I'm anti-Welsh then you've not ben paying attention for the past seven years (and admittedly no-one would entirely blame you for that). But I would just say you can be in favour of the fight, while questioning the tactics.
It would be a sad day for the Welsh language if future valid protests are taken less seriously because of this over-reaction.
In the past when Cymdeithas yr Iaith Gymraeg spoke, people had to listen. The sad thing is, I wonder if many people are listening any more.
I FELT for Jesus this Easter, we were both martyrs to large pieces of wood. He was nailed to the cross, I was strapped to a sander doing the floor. Before you have me excommunicated (and does the Welsh Presbyterian church do excommunications I wonder) I'm not actually against a return to a stricter observance of Easter.
When did it become a festival of DIY and shopping? It was once the holiest festival of the year, of far greater significance than Christmas in the religious calendar. Now it's an excuse for consumption on a grand scale. The shops on Thursday were packed as people stocked up as if it was a famine approaching, not sa couple of bank holidays.
But what I truly object to is the way that some store are depicting it as yet another reason to buy toys. TV ads, blatantly aimed at kids, suggested that parents should go out and but their children toys – for Easter.
Never mind chocolate eggs, oh no, your child's happiness this Easter apparently depends on their having a walking, talking robot, a snip at £80.
What happened to just going out for the day with your kids? Have we become so devoted to consumerism that a Puppy In My Pocket or some other plastic monstrosity is actually preferable to a day at the seaside?
You'll be pleased to know that I managed to extract myself from the clutches of the sander before the weekend was over and spend the day at the beach.
But if it is the only way we can break the grip of our obsession with shopping and DIY, then I'm all for greater religious observance, but why stop at Easter?
I'm thinking of running it past Mrs Banks as an excuse for downing tools. “Yes dear, much as I would like to paper the walls today, if you consult the calendar you'll find it's the feast of St Boniface so I shall be putting me feet up and remembering his sacrifice.”
Do you think I've got a prayer?
It is with no great pleasure that I recount the depths to which this once noble organisation has sunk. But after the latest escapade when they staged a demo at the Blacks store in Betws I'm afraid to say that CYI has lost the plot.
This was an organisation which once made people sit up and take notice, it picked its targets with care and they had to take notice when it did.
But back in the '70 and '80s Wales was a target-rich environment if you were looking for ignorance of and even hostility towards the Welsh language.
Government, schools, the health service, police and the media sat up and took notice when they had a point to make. If they didn't it wasn't long before they got an not altogether welcome visit by CYI members who would occupy their offices, or worse.
The history of civil disobedience in defence of the Welsh language is a long, colourful and honourable one. But now you wonder whether, having won the argument against many of the big fish – government, police and the school system – that CYI is rather casting about looking for a role and not being altogether successful in finding one.
It hardly becomes the organisation to sully its name with a pointless little demo at a solitary sports shop. What on Earth did they hope to achieve? It's not as if the society is incapable of the sort of action which made its reputation. Only a couple of months agoi Gwenno Teifi did time in a young offenders institute after she refused to pay court-ordered compensation to Radio Carmarthen that was damaged in a protest over its lack of Welsh-language broadcasting.
However, there is a difference between a radio station, which has a franchise to broadcast to thousands of people, and one shop having one ignorant member of staff.
It's not as if Blacks hadn't said sorry, but apparently they hadn't said sorry in a satisfactory way. So Blacks was the target of a sit-down protest by 20 CYI members as a result and they're threatening more unless they get a meeting with bosses there.
The man whose alleged experience while shopping at Blacks, Dilwyn Llwyd, said: “My complaint is that the assistant called me rude for speaking to her in Welsh and assuming that she spoke Welsh.
After taking part in the protest he said: “It's not for me but for the language – to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen again. I know that I'm in the right, there's no argument over that.”
No argument over that? I beg to differ. Firstly what is 'this kind of thing'? As far as I can see if what is alleged to have happened did happen, and remember we have yet to hear the shop assistant's version of events, then all CYI have proved is that Blacks have one assistant who behaved in an ignorant way.
That's regrettable, but I'm not sure what principle CYI are defending in staging a sit-down protest at Blacks. Is it their right not to be confronted by ignorance while shopping? Because if it is the there are a lot of shops out there and I suspect they'll be doing a lot of sitting in future before they eliminate it from Wales.
You will always get people whose appreciation of the language and its survival is not what it should be. You will always get individuals who even display hostility towards the language too.
As long as those people are not in positions of power then their effect on the everyday life of Welsh -speakers is minimal.
Fundamentally though, I think CYI needs to rethink its policy in relation to situations like this. While direct action undoubtedly has its place in bringing powerful bureaucracy to heel, it's an over-reaction to deploy the same tactics in the case of one small shop.
If you want to be taken seriously then there needs to be a proportionality to your actions, unfortunately the Blacks protest was totally disproportionate.
When they invade mob-handed for such an isolated case they run the risk of people forming the view that they are, well, a bunch of nutters.
It has been suggested in some quarters that my questioning of CYI policy over this issue makes me 'anti-Welsh'. If you think I'm anti-Welsh then you've not ben paying attention for the past seven years (and admittedly no-one would entirely blame you for that). But I would just say you can be in favour of the fight, while questioning the tactics.
It would be a sad day for the Welsh language if future valid protests are taken less seriously because of this over-reaction.
In the past when Cymdeithas yr Iaith Gymraeg spoke, people had to listen. The sad thing is, I wonder if many people are listening any more.
I FELT for Jesus this Easter, we were both martyrs to large pieces of wood. He was nailed to the cross, I was strapped to a sander doing the floor. Before you have me excommunicated (and does the Welsh Presbyterian church do excommunications I wonder) I'm not actually against a return to a stricter observance of Easter.
When did it become a festival of DIY and shopping? It was once the holiest festival of the year, of far greater significance than Christmas in the religious calendar. Now it's an excuse for consumption on a grand scale. The shops on Thursday were packed as people stocked up as if it was a famine approaching, not sa couple of bank holidays.
But what I truly object to is the way that some store are depicting it as yet another reason to buy toys. TV ads, blatantly aimed at kids, suggested that parents should go out and but their children toys – for Easter.
Never mind chocolate eggs, oh no, your child's happiness this Easter apparently depends on their having a walking, talking robot, a snip at £80.
What happened to just going out for the day with your kids? Have we become so devoted to consumerism that a Puppy In My Pocket or some other plastic monstrosity is actually preferable to a day at the seaside?
You'll be pleased to know that I managed to extract myself from the clutches of the sander before the weekend was over and spend the day at the beach.
But if it is the only way we can break the grip of our obsession with shopping and DIY, then I'm all for greater religious observance, but why stop at Easter?
I'm thinking of running it past Mrs Banks as an excuse for downing tools. “Yes dear, much as I would like to paper the walls today, if you consult the calendar you'll find it's the feast of St Boniface so I shall be putting me feet up and remembering his sacrifice.”
Do you think I've got a prayer?
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Column, April 11, 2006
WHAT on God's good Earth is a Welshy?
I only ask because I want to know whether to take umbrage or not.
It has been said that this was a term used by a Question Time panellist about us, Inspector Knacker of North Wales Police has become involved and now national newspapers are asking whether we are the touchiest nation in the world.
All very messy, and even the H-bomb of racial debate has been deployed - it has been dubbed, wait for it, political correctness gone mad.
And I haven't even had me two penn'orth yet. Do you ever get the feeling you've just arrived in a bar after everyone's had a good scrap?
Anyway not wanting to miss my chance to saddle up my high horse if Ms Odone had cast even the slightest aspersion in our direction I did a little research into what she actually said.
I've found out, and I have to say I could have saved a lot of police time as well as a couple of acres of rainforest in newsprint if they'd all just come to me for a proper interpretation.
In fact, I'm thinking of offering it as a media service from now on - Banksychecker - if you're worried that you're insulting the Welsh, run it by me first, I'm on a hair trigger, if I respond with a string of expletives and a month of columns you know you've overstepped the mark.
But back to what Ms Odone actually said, and let's put it in context shall we, because having heard her before I suspected that she hadn't just leapt onto the Question Time panellists' panel and started shouting 'Little Welshies' at the shocked audience.
Here is what she said, when asked one of those easy-peasy questions at the end, this was about Wales's chances of hosting the 2012 Olympics after the latest Wembley setback:
"The Welsh, I can tell you, are whooping it up already," said Odone. "They are saying 'We are going to have a whole English football extravaganza up here.' And from now on, they [the English] are not going to be talking about the 'leeks', and they are not going to be talking about the 'little Welshies'. They are going to be saying 'Excuse me, could we come in here, could we please?' "
So, she did utter the words 'little Welshies' didn't she? But for heaven's sake, will you look at the rest of the sentence?
If you've got half a brain you can work out she wasn't insulting us, in fact quite the reverse, she was saying that any English people who have patronised us in the past with talk of leeks and little Welshies won't be doing so any more because we've nicked the FA Cup from under their noses.
So, let's be clear, there's is absolutely nothing wrong with anything that she said, other than the fact she clearly doesn't know some of the names we get called.
Leeks and little welshies, I'm telling you, if that was all I'd heard over the years from grunting neanderthals who don't like us I'd count myself a very lucky man.
I've never heard anyone use the term welshy and if they did I'd be more likely to think them a bit odd than any sort of racist.
But that's all by-the-by, the fundamental point is that Cristina Odone was not calling us little Welshies, she was saying that is what some people have called us, but they won't be able to any more because we host lots of English football finals.
That's it. It might be a tad short on the logic side, I'm not sure I'm entirely convinced that the Millennium Stadium is going to halt all anti-Welsh jibes nationwide, but it's a nice thought.
So North Wales Police should have saved their resources on this one. They've got bigger fish to fry...like Tony Blair.
Now, if they can spin that investigation out a bit longer I'm all for it. It might have no merits, but if it's getting up the nose of Alastair Campbell then they can do no wrong as far as I'm concerned.
Can they not arrange for him to be taken in for a bit of questioning? You know, in the custody suite, remove his shoelaces and tie for his own safety, and a little chat with a grim-faced DI.
You wouldn't be so brave then Tony, without your backbench mates behind you. Five minutes of good cop, bad cop and he'd be singing like a canary.
And by the way, it was The Guardian newspaper that asked if we were the touchiest nation in the world, while deploying the Alf Garnett defence - where's your sense of yoomah - to what was said about us.
The answer is of course that yes, we are the touchiest nation in the world, just as every Guardian reader is a sandal-wearing beardy lefty who knits his own yoghurt.
AND talking of birds, can we just take a deep breath and calm down about bird flu? Please?
Two things have got to happen before this becomes any sort of threat to human life in this country.
So before you think about despatching you pet budgie in a pre-emptive cull, you might want to consider the following.
To spread to humans in any numbers the bird flu has to mingle with human flu in order to mutate into a virus than can be passed from human to human instead of bird to human.
To do this you need large numbers of humans with human flu in contact with large numbers of birds with bird flu.
We don't have that in this country, we tend not to live with flocks of hens around our ankles at the breakfast table.
Even in the Far East, where people live in far closer contact with large poultry populations, H5N1 has still not mutated into a pandemic human flu virus.
So worry more about the traffic outside your door, as a speeding driver is far more likely to hurry you off into the hereafter than any swan with sniffles.
I only ask because I want to know whether to take umbrage or not.
It has been said that this was a term used by a Question Time panellist about us, Inspector Knacker of North Wales Police has become involved and now national newspapers are asking whether we are the touchiest nation in the world.
All very messy, and even the H-bomb of racial debate has been deployed - it has been dubbed, wait for it, political correctness gone mad.
And I haven't even had me two penn'orth yet. Do you ever get the feeling you've just arrived in a bar after everyone's had a good scrap?
Anyway not wanting to miss my chance to saddle up my high horse if Ms Odone had cast even the slightest aspersion in our direction I did a little research into what she actually said.
I've found out, and I have to say I could have saved a lot of police time as well as a couple of acres of rainforest in newsprint if they'd all just come to me for a proper interpretation.
In fact, I'm thinking of offering it as a media service from now on - Banksychecker - if you're worried that you're insulting the Welsh, run it by me first, I'm on a hair trigger, if I respond with a string of expletives and a month of columns you know you've overstepped the mark.
But back to what Ms Odone actually said, and let's put it in context shall we, because having heard her before I suspected that she hadn't just leapt onto the Question Time panellists' panel and started shouting 'Little Welshies' at the shocked audience.
Here is what she said, when asked one of those easy-peasy questions at the end, this was about Wales's chances of hosting the 2012 Olympics after the latest Wembley setback:
"The Welsh, I can tell you, are whooping it up already," said Odone. "They are saying 'We are going to have a whole English football extravaganza up here.' And from now on, they [the English] are not going to be talking about the 'leeks', and they are not going to be talking about the 'little Welshies'. They are going to be saying 'Excuse me, could we come in here, could we please?' "
So, she did utter the words 'little Welshies' didn't she? But for heaven's sake, will you look at the rest of the sentence?
If you've got half a brain you can work out she wasn't insulting us, in fact quite the reverse, she was saying that any English people who have patronised us in the past with talk of leeks and little Welshies won't be doing so any more because we've nicked the FA Cup from under their noses.
So, let's be clear, there's is absolutely nothing wrong with anything that she said, other than the fact she clearly doesn't know some of the names we get called.
Leeks and little welshies, I'm telling you, if that was all I'd heard over the years from grunting neanderthals who don't like us I'd count myself a very lucky man.
I've never heard anyone use the term welshy and if they did I'd be more likely to think them a bit odd than any sort of racist.
But that's all by-the-by, the fundamental point is that Cristina Odone was not calling us little Welshies, she was saying that is what some people have called us, but they won't be able to any more because we host lots of English football finals.
That's it. It might be a tad short on the logic side, I'm not sure I'm entirely convinced that the Millennium Stadium is going to halt all anti-Welsh jibes nationwide, but it's a nice thought.
So North Wales Police should have saved their resources on this one. They've got bigger fish to fry...like Tony Blair.
Now, if they can spin that investigation out a bit longer I'm all for it. It might have no merits, but if it's getting up the nose of Alastair Campbell then they can do no wrong as far as I'm concerned.
Can they not arrange for him to be taken in for a bit of questioning? You know, in the custody suite, remove his shoelaces and tie for his own safety, and a little chat with a grim-faced DI.
You wouldn't be so brave then Tony, without your backbench mates behind you. Five minutes of good cop, bad cop and he'd be singing like a canary.
And by the way, it was The Guardian newspaper that asked if we were the touchiest nation in the world, while deploying the Alf Garnett defence - where's your sense of yoomah - to what was said about us.
The answer is of course that yes, we are the touchiest nation in the world, just as every Guardian reader is a sandal-wearing beardy lefty who knits his own yoghurt.
AND talking of birds, can we just take a deep breath and calm down about bird flu? Please?
Two things have got to happen before this becomes any sort of threat to human life in this country.
So before you think about despatching you pet budgie in a pre-emptive cull, you might want to consider the following.
To spread to humans in any numbers the bird flu has to mingle with human flu in order to mutate into a virus than can be passed from human to human instead of bird to human.
To do this you need large numbers of humans with human flu in contact with large numbers of birds with bird flu.
We don't have that in this country, we tend not to live with flocks of hens around our ankles at the breakfast table.
Even in the Far East, where people live in far closer contact with large poultry populations, H5N1 has still not mutated into a pandemic human flu virus.
So worry more about the traffic outside your door, as a speeding driver is far more likely to hurry you off into the hereafter than any swan with sniffles.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Me, on the BBC
If any of you are up early enough, I'm on BBC Radio Wales tomorrow (Tues).
I'm talking about an article in today's Guardian which asks whether we, the Welsh, are the touchiest people on Earth. This was prompted by the police talking to Cristina Odone about her Question Time contribution in which she used the term 'little Welshies.'
I should be on at 7.50am.
As I'll explain in my column later she wasn't saying quite what she's accused of saying.
I'm talking about an article in today's Guardian which asks whether we, the Welsh, are the touchiest people on Earth. This was prompted by the police talking to Cristina Odone about her Question Time contribution in which she used the term 'little Welshies.'
I should be on at 7.50am.
As I'll explain in my column later she wasn't saying quite what she's accused of saying.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Hello to visitors from Press Gazette
Some of you might be wondering why the former editor of the Daily Mirror is wibbling on about things North Welsh.
He's not, because I'm not him, though we share the same name.
For some reason as well the Press Gazette has linked here, very kind of them, but perhaps a tad confusing for those of you expecting trenchant comment on the state of British journalism, and instead you get me.
Anyhoo, the site you're looking for is banksysblog.co.uk
But thanks for looking in anyway, do call again soon. Column's in here every Tuesday or Wednesday, depends when I get my arse into gear.
And the other David Banks doesn't get e-votes on whether he's a twat or not does he? Oh no. For that sort of blog excitement this is the place to be.
He's not, because I'm not him, though we share the same name.
For some reason as well the Press Gazette has linked here, very kind of them, but perhaps a tad confusing for those of you expecting trenchant comment on the state of British journalism, and instead you get me.
Anyhoo, the site you're looking for is banksysblog.co.uk
But thanks for looking in anyway, do call again soon. Column's in here every Tuesday or Wednesday, depends when I get my arse into gear.
And the other David Banks doesn't get e-votes on whether he's a twat or not does he? Oh no. For that sort of blog excitement this is the place to be.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Hello to visitors from maes-e
A hearty good afternoon to all those of you finding your way here from the maes-e webchat place.
Apparently there's a bit of a poll going on there as to whether I'm a tw*t or not, and it has to be said that apart from one or two brave souls speaking in my defence the voting is not going entirely my way.
Ah me. Into every life a little rain must fall
The answer is, of course, yes I am. I urge you all to get back there, vote early and vote often.
Cheery-bye.
Apparently there's a bit of a poll going on there as to whether I'm a tw*t or not, and it has to be said that apart from one or two brave souls speaking in my defence the voting is not going entirely my way.
Ah me. Into every life a little rain must fall
The answer is, of course, yes I am. I urge you all to get back there, vote early and vote often.
Cheery-bye.
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