WELSH LANGUAGE - Dw i ddim yn deall

It seems that some of the people of Carmarthen in South West Wales are concerned that their county council wishes to build over 11,000 new homes to "...meet the needs of the projected growth in population...".

Far from being delighted at the prospect of not having to cram everyone into the existing housing stock, there are objectors. And why? Because of the "huge threat" that will be caused to the Welsh Language by "incomers".

Here is what the local Sherriff (I kid you not - that's his title), Alun Lenny, had to say to underline this threat from non-Welsh speakers arriving in their hoards from such exotic places as England and...oh my!...Cardiff!. "Thousands of people live their lives through the medium of Welsh," he told the Grauniad. I suppose it's preferable to living their lives simply through a medium - now that would be weird. He went on, "People use Welsh when they shop, when they worship, when they socialise. Much of civic life is carried out in Welsh. It's not a superficial, quirky element...".

Good?

What the Sherriff fails to understand is that nobody is trying to stop people living through the medium of Welsh. Roosevelt would have summed up this paranoia  - they have nothing to fear but fear itself. Welsh has been positively encouraged of late, as has Scottish Gaelic and Breton, across the channel in France, where one can find less forgiving adminsistrations than ours. You only have to drive across the "border" into Wales and there is the evidence - all the road signs and road painting is in both Welsh and English; usually with the Welsh first.

Bad?

Sioned Elin, the local chair of the Welsh Language Campaign wants the whole housing improvement thing scrapped beacause "...no thorough assessments have been made on the impacts of the housing...on the language." Elin seems to fear that the houses will be "...grabbed by commuters from Cheshire and Liverpool."

Just a minute, there, Sioned. Chester is 135 miles from Carmarthen and Liverpool 160 miles. Journey times by car are 3.5 and 4 hours respectively - one way. God knows what they'd be by train via Cardiff, Hereford, Shrewsbury and Wrexham, assuming that the Llandridnod branch line doesn't have an half-hourly shuttle. Who the fuck would want to commute from Carmarthen to Liverpool...without a helicopter?

Along with Sherriff Lenny and Sioned Elin, you just knew that the MEP would wade in, didn't you?. Jill Evans of Plaid Cymru is raising these concerns with the European Parliament and is backing the launch of a movement called Waking the Dragon. I'm sure that various knights have tried that in the past - and got fried. Best not, really.

Apart from some wonky extremists, I don't really think anyone can reasonably object to thousands of people wishing to keep alive a language steeped in history and culture. We have so moved on from the Acts of Union that forced populations to abandon mother tongues and plaid.

Indifferent?

The projected growth in population referred to by the Council is on the back of hoped-for economic growth as well as the increases in human longevity and birth rate. That's just how things pan out in the 21st century. What it's not about is some nasty little plan to infest the area with monoglots who will refuse to embrace the heritage of the Welsh language and see its demise over the next few generations.

I have little sympathy with these Welsh Language activists when they react and behave in this manner in the face of a proposed, positive investment from their Council. They do themselves no favours at all and appear as single-issue campaigners.

Doesn't Give Two Twopenny Shits?

Their cause is not helped by some of the indigenous population's attitudes, either. Where the Welsh language is spoken, either as a first, or a close second, English visitors can often be made subject of a rude, linguistic rebuff. This happened to me at a small town called Bala, where, upon enetering a vibrant little cafe where everyone - and I mean everyone, customers and staff alike, - were speaking English when I arrived. I ordered coffee, in English. Seconds later, everyone continued their conversations in Welsh. This does not help, does it? Where was the "Welcome in the Hillsides" I'd heard all about? The coffee was excellent, as was the toffee cake. To be fair, the young girl behind the counter looked embarrassed - both for me and for her fellow Bala residents who had decided, en masse, to snub me and my miserly invisible income for no other reason (that I could possibly deduce) than I was English or, and maybe this is the nub of it, couldn't speak Welsh or was even prepared to attempt to. 

And in Southeast Wales, a charge is made to cross the Severn into Wales, but it's free to leave. What the fuck is that all about?

While doing some (admittedly cursory) research for this post, I landed on a site that professed to supply some translations in English/Welsh. A Welsh website offered some "Welsh Phrases", one of which was: "Twll dîn pob Sais! Down with the English! (literally ‘an arsehole every Englishman’)" I mean...that's really fucking helpful, isn't it? Although it is funny.

I may be in a minority, but I believe that devolution has, largely, worked in the UK. We can all point to the stupidity of some aspects (as I am doing here), but the reactions from these people in Carmarthen and in Denbighshire (another of Jill Evans's causes celebre) will only serve to alienate the Welsh people further. And I would suggest that that's not what the majority of those Welsh people desire. Maybe I'm wrong.

Hwyl am rwan.

I got this from the Welsh Phrases website too. It's supposed to mean "Bye for Now", but I suspect it might transalate as something rude about the English.

Game Shows for the Modern Age: No. 1:

In this regular series on my blog, I'll be setting out the game show formats that I've been submitting to the Commissioning Editors and Producers of Channel 5 just to see how far they might be prepared to go. I despair of Channel 5 more than I do of BBC3 but, in their defence, all of my ideas have been either ignored or, in one case, was critically rejected, which means that someone actually read it!

No. 1: Can't Cook! Won't Live!

Game Show Scenario:
Culinary Arts-based Contest - Two Contestants - 12 Month Timeline - 24/7 real time web streaming with prime-time terrestrial highlights.

Contestants: Two morbidly obese women (MOWs) with the following attributes:

MOW 1:

• Sink Estate resident from North West or North East England; preferences: Oldham, Burnley, Halifax, Sunderland or Gateshead. 
• Preferred age - 35. 
• Family status: Married once only but separated - five children aged between two and ten from four different fathers. 
• Criminal record for shoplifting. 
• Income stream - state benefit based; minor drug-dealing/prostitution preferred but not essential. 
• Hobbies/Pastimes - Binge-drinking/casual racism preferred. 
• Cooking skills = Zero - Essential. 
• Critical BMI - 40+.

MOW 2:

• Sink Estate resident from London / Home Counties: preferences: Luton, Basingstoke, Enfield, Southend-on-Sea, Croydon. 
• Preferred age - 22. 
• Family Status: Unmarried - four children aged between thee and seven, four different fathers - first child born while MOW aged 15. 
• Criminal record for assault/D&D preferred but not essential. 
• Income stream - state benefit based; e-bay trading/prostitution preferred. 
• Hobbies/Pastimes - Drug abuse preferred/benefit fraud preferred. 
• Cooking skills = Zero - Essential. Critical BMI - 40+.

Set Up:

Two separate apartments in which MOW 1 and MOW 2 live for up to a maximum of one year. They must live alone. Their children are farmed out to relatives / borstals at the expense of the production company.

Apartment 1: (MOW 1) Bedroom, Bathroom, WC, Kitchen / Diner
Kitchen is equipped with state-of-the-art culinary equipment. Refridgerator, Freezer and larders stocked with lean meats, fish, fruit, vegetables; all restocked regularly. Well stocked library of cookery books.

Apartment 2: (MOW 2) Bedroom, Bathroom, WC, Sitting Room.
There is no kitchen. In the sitting room is a pile of cash, a telephone and set of menus from pizza shops, fast food outlets, indian and chinese restaurants that all deliver. Ther apartment door has a slot through which meals can be delivered and cash handed over. There is a fridge stocked with coca-cola and cream cakes, replenished daily.

Cameras fitted in all apartment locations for web streaming.
Daily interview with each MOW, recorded and cut to ten minutes each for primetime network delivery, to include reactions from family members.
Weekly catch-up on Daytime with web highlights and interview highlights

Game Objective:

Over a period of up to one year, MOW 1 must learn how to cook in order to survive and avoid death from starvation. MOW 2 can source food from the outlets available and can choose whether to select healthier options in order not to suffer medical conditions brought on by increasing obesity.

The winner is either
1) The MOW with the lowest BMI at the end of 12 months or
2) In the likely event of one MOW dying within the year...the other one wins.


Revenue Streams:


Website advertising: B/C1/C2/D/E targets
Site visitors encourages to "join" as CCWL members - funded email shots from advertisers
TV Advertising: C2/D/E targets only
Prime Time Daily 30 minutes - three breaks
Daytime 11.00-12.00 AM catch-up once per week - four breaks
Network Distribution: Target markets in USA, Australia & Japan

(c) 2011 FourCol TVTrash Inc.

LONDON 2012: THERE IS NO ESCAPE

What "a" I don't give about the Olympics...

I don't give a toss about the London 2012 Olympic Games.

Actually, I don't give a toss about London, come to that, or any Olympic Games whether hosted in the UK or anywhere else; or if it's the Summer or Winter varieties. And I suspect I am not alone. I can't think of a single advantage coming out of the whole fanfarranade, apart from the delightful comedy on the BBC, "2012", that has, as Richard Ingrams would have put it, the "Ring of Truth" about it. In particular, the hapless infrastructure chief, who is unable to see the "carmageddon" nightmare as it approaches like the juggernauts it will disable. As with the original jagannath, London 2012 is now almost unstoppable and will crush supplicants and objectors alike.

Ingrams - Can always be relied upon
to spot the "Ring of Truth"

But it's quite clear that for the next few months until the whole pointless pile of excrement is over, around about the time everyone can go and shoot poultry next year, there will be nothing else to exercise the minds of politicians, editors and the fools who have spent their life savings (or the limit of another credit card) on tickets.

If the royal-fucking-wedding pissed you off then oh, boy, are you in for a year of discontent. 

What we need is an alternative 2012. It's all very well for Olympic-Deniers like me to simply shrug and say to one another, "I'll just leave the telly off for a couple of weeks". That won't work. These games (no, you're right, they're not games, they're a commercial opportunity that would make casino bankers jealous) will infest every medium. There is no escape...?

Well, there just might be, although the alternative is perhaps a little extreme. According to NASA (well-known for its ability with difficult things like rocket science), reckons that we are approaching a Solar Maximum in 2012. This is all to do with cyclical stuff in the Sun's magnetism and there's aslo a thing called a syzygy (good scrabble word) where the Earth will be in a line with Venus and the Sun. 

Our Sun going mental



When the Sun goes a bit nuts...and this syzygy acts like a magnifier, there's a real chance of solar storms of cataclysmic proportion. Those wily ancients, the Aztecs, predicted that 2012/13 would be the end of the current age and pretty much all the worst bits of the bible they'd never read would be visited upon our planet.

Timing, as they say, is everything. The perfect time, therefore, for this Solar Armageddon, would be 20.00hrs BST on 27 July 2012, right slap-bang in the middle of the opening ceremony. If this Venusian magnifier is sufficiently concentrated, then we will witness the involuntary immolation of dignitaries from around the globe, along with athletes and the idiots who took out second mortgages to acquire tickets.


Of course, the chances of this happening are so remote as to be almost non-existant so it remains that either Red Ken or Bo-Jo will still be able to pretend that London 2012 will be the greatest games of all time, leaving a brief legacy for the capital's rioters, looters and scumbags to destroy over the succeeding months.

Not that I have an awful lot of time for him, but it strikes me that it would be a little unfair on Boris Johnson to lose the mayoral election due to take place shortly before his beloved games only to see his nemesis, Ken Livingstone, on various podiums where he thought he should have been, shaking hands with the global great and good. Still, if the hoped-for, localised apocalypse does happen, then the Old Etonian toff will have the last laugh.

I've applied to the Chilean Embassy for my visa. On the basis that the Atacama Desert is a place where absolutely no life exists, it's a pretty fair bet that there'll be no papers or telly either.