Now, in a peninsula of 100% gibbers, not only does one have to define that word, even if utterly pointless, as all my dull life (well from age15ish when the first wave of bluehairs invaded Theatre Clywyd - was that Mold? even then that place on the fringe of the hiils of N Wales full of nasty junky drugs and bovvaboys so we my sweet wholesome underclass pals of youth never ventured there incase ...
So this class of Nutzis who started to roll out the 'culture' of that very very deprived poor scruffclass region back 'to' its indigenous peeps - my neighbours (i say my as my parents hardly had anything to do with them unless transactionally.. )
We literally would laugh about some or other faery tale myth of the 'natural' folk of region even wanting their dinosaur language, 'back' .. the bluehairs (we didnt know then) based their future government pension pots upon all those pots of indigenous gold buried by sweet nice peasants hiding away from some nasty invader who stole their language and .. (the 'public' side - one means the newly arrived lanyard class who colonised a closed old theatre nobody liked or used.... that is...)
when your home territory was unpronouceable LLangynhafal ...unless you were a kid of said parish and said it when directing the Lowlander girls up to your lonely hills... and even the born 'n breds hardly ever used the placename, as they were just fine speaking in the English language their tractor handbooks came in, and sheepdip bottles ...and anyway everyone knew where the farms were by surname, either English Whittingham or Parry or Jones - all the varying variants of them.......well you have all this in perspective.
I never heard the word "Welsh" ever..never...., especially when twice a year the farms around would by ESP as hardly anyone talked to each other the rest of the time too busy surviving, 'gather' to combine their labour and feet to walk ....all several hundred sq km.... a couple of times a year to gather the sheeps...
deliberate dumbed down wording there only cos of boredom
we all were then but....
now.... by happenstance as i doubt he even looked at the ts and cs although we had a house with 20 acres about a km from the 'common' we never used that word, only the mountains, a few of the 40acreish farms right on the edge - meaning fields actually the first fields down from the wall that was the 'mountains' had fallen pretty much into Wasteland and dereliction and property man my father picked them up for very little and my real cross, eyeing them up to be the first one in the UK to REALLY publicise the yuppie barn - one of his things (via RIBA magazine)
which the local farmers he ignored often would gibe wont end well, in fact we were all wrong, as i was shyly on their side " this wont go anywhere ..."
But thats all nothing to do with me,
all i know is what was REAL community..
couple of times a year a ragtag band of sadly only male blokes would sort of by esp sort of park their very old clunky landrovers - the few who could afford them that is, and on foot we would walk the whole of that few hundred sq km....
nobody would risk their essential landrover up the really buggered up mountain tracks as they needed to keep the thing problem free on the road back and forth to get their groceries or take their kids to school and none had a dime to spare ever everyone accepted entirely...
no quads not invented then not even motorbikes as none of the farmers could afford one of them ... and certainly ditto regrading nags...
I hadnt learned to do the dogs...
because in fact the dogs were inadequate in that very upsy downsy hillside topography a dozen sheeps could be blissfully munching away all day with the 'muster' ongoing all around them, and even the dumb dogs couldnt be trained to scout the WHOLE area including all the small hidden away hollows surrounded by steep banks or undulations nearby upland stream, never mind all that towering bracken.. and get them ALL in. (for lowland newgrass 'feasting' or their annual bath or nailbar time) ...so you had to cover every single sq km by....foot...
no walking sticks no map no nothing ... no useless dogs... and certainly no ugly neon....
just like a mountain goat...
and one slip in such hollows and dips you may have to wait days before the extremely small band of us may stumble across some disabled actual mountain shepherd
(yes i was one... a real one for 5ish years which wne you are a teenager is a very very long time...... and there were only about 10 of us who had 'grazing rights' to that whole wilderness likely the same size in reality - actual 'common' as the underwhelming tourist trap of the SW, and we were so thinly spread over that couple of hundred sq km one rarely even knew who was doing the same forever role a few km along that wall....)
anyway ehhh....community: it was brilliant. Most of the year grunt oif you are lucky from your adjoining farmer.... but a couple of days a year without having to be told to or with any complaint about the last 6 mths of weirdo grunts... there would be perfect harmony. Even the odd smile... the maybe 4 or 5 of us at that communal all hands on deck gathering...
And the one word nobody ever ever used was 'Welsh' ... some families obviously English sounding such as Wittinam' perhaps only there 30 or so years maybe had moved in from Shropshire...others, them Parry or Joneses... probably many generation peasant farmers...
But nobody ever used any word to delineate what the obvious accent was...
nor ever really mentioned the completely natural apartheid (as the 'Welsh' girls were kindof prettier in a certain fizzy way and wore more oppressively conformist in the way that say Mandy fabulous sex kitten to the school bullies would personalise her green school dress in a wonderfly slutty as possible way but none of the welsh were allowed to by their mum or chapel [none ever went to!] and thus there was a certain 'something' in their attire the in-your-face Mandies could never replicate in a million years of trying tp be as modern as possible....and it wasnt fair as the 'native' tongue welsh about a thrird of the comprehensive dump school had their own section for most of their lessons in the Welsh language not one ever even mentioned all it meant was one had to wait until breaks to have the true thrill [ no american pornographer could ever understand how less is more and more clothing if its Rhian in her very very Nutzi sharplyironed to perfecting, nonsexual pencil thin skirt her mum will have thought will keep her chaste .... was the only one you REALLY wanted to chase around the yard to where the bikes were left...but it wasnt fair one had to be in the apartheid stream meaning one saw far less of the quite equally 'free love' other lot..... )
Until of course it will have changed now
And by 2008 well my ohh my.... my very toughnut champion ferret breedin, hillwalking lass, 10cm taller than anyone else in her class, came home sometimes in a quite delicate mood over a period and eventually dad alone got her to open up...
(with some trepidation....thinking someone was gangbangin' her in the bogs at breaktime she was genuinely hurting in her soul as i could feel)
" well..... it sounds silly .... but it hurts me.... S**** .. [ the senior Social Workers daughter very popular girl bigging herself up always kindof understood to be school headgirl-in-waiting ] she keeps saying to me all the time ....'Esti we feel SO SO sorry for you.... really sorry ... that you arent ...Welsh'... god it kindof hurts me inside...."
so said that popular main-girl with SW mum who really made it clear she was Mother Theresa too....... the schoolgirl then near ten
they all kindof touched their metaphorical hem,
to... in USA she would be the cheerleader one at the front, of that pervy-porn-parade
i never had the heart to say of course " yea...deliberately.... you were made 3 km inside safety - the county of England, cos they went nuts decades ago...a different 'lore' a completely made up version of Dylan Thomas who couldnt wait to leave the mad dump stuck in the century before last.... in fact he became a thinker/poet only in London... prostituting a fantasy version of his county [not a typo - deliberate, when you roam their hills for your existence as teen....there are no borders] of birth... as he wasnt good enough to be really original and say anything real about anything real... such as how oppressive Rhian's stupid mum was in choice of skirts.... except it failed as you cannot dress 'down' her so wonderfully bright eyes and a sexy smile i would die for to see one more time.... that were ten times sexier than Mandy's rebelliously painted toenails or even Melanie's similarly shaped skirt (but a much darker shade of rebelious green!) with an ironic English freelove girly twist in that you just knew it was saying the exact opposite of Rhian's ....or that was the intention... that failed.
And nobody EVER i knew had ever even heard of...King Arthur... the Managobbyion or whatever it was called...
As in fact our splendid just slightly hippyish history teachers knew even then mid to late 70s...
he never existed except in the minds of.....
and maybe the 'free love' that knew no boarders, nor Rhian's oppressive hem... in my yoof....
was ever present most happily....
a few even made it clear they did love the Parfum...
of freshly mown hay and even lanolin
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
ahh yes 6% battery only...
so ehh...
when you have a whole region - penisnsula ..of gibbers
what you have to do years ago is plan every smallest 5km drive to maximise charging (no cash to run motor..)...and words jotted and...
'issues'
not that anyone actually ever cares about 'issues' they may themselves Fakebook promote.... caring is good for you, especially if it hurts...
cos eventually the hurt phase turns out to be exactly that....
... hmm did i finish that point all these Blakes and that whole gang of private schoolboys.. DeClancy even whatisname Bishe ..never mind Lord Mad BAd....
all of them perhaps starting with Blake created this whole mythology .... its easy to make up 'myth'..or exagerate it for attention...
merely because they werent actually good writers like for instance Silas' mum, Ms Evans
and frankly theyre just trying to out-bad the badboy next door.... so dull, shame they succeeded...
just as the English bluehairs invading Theatr Clywyd way back then (further away from their bnosses and nobody else wanted those jobs so they had 'autonomy' to go mad and invent something never existed) succeeded in creating a myth about the 'welsh' needing more welshness as theyre opressed...
only by the dinosaurs like Rhian's mum as even she had Reggie Perrin or Man Alive or the great 70s tv...
they chose to be what they are...
and no dead language even has words like 'free love'...
or even 'fax machine'
and Nobody oppressed Eleri.... with her 'English' surname
and Eisteddfod fame
to be cont