almostwitty: (evil)



Lunchtime in Wrexham

Originally uploaded by almost witty

Many news outlets (including BBC News and Gawker) are showing CCTV images of a man trying to take a pony on a train amongst other places.

But when I was in Wrexham in 2005, I saw a pony moored next to a cash machine, so it’s not that unusual…

Mirrored from almost witty.

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Google Street View has thrillingly – and rather scarily – managed to scan 95% of the homes in the UK. Which means that most of my childhood haunts are finally on Google Maps for an easy trip down nostalgia street.

However, when I try to go down this street in Tywyn and then move forward, I am magically transported through some mysterious blurred tunnel to another place in time and space. Also known as the back alley. Then I’m transported back.

Such a shame I can’t seem to find a way to tell Google how to correct their mistake. Unless there is a teleportation tunnel operating in Tywyn these days…

Mirrored from almost witty.

almostwitty: (Default)

Inspired by Michael Winner’s brief visit to a small boutique seaside resort near my hometown, I’d like to ask:

How would YOU pronounce Aberdyfi?

Please call 03300 600616 (calls cost the same as any normal landline number) – and tell me on my voicemail. Calls will be recorded, edited, and put up on this website :)

(If you’re outside the UK, please join in and call +44 3300 600616, replacing the + with your international dialing code. For USians, that’d be 011)

Mirrored from almost witty.

almostwitty: (Default)

So it would seem, according to the learned judging panel behind the UK’s first ever “City of Culture” competition. 29 locations – including “The Countryside” are nominated.

Not one of them is in Wales. The closest you get is Chester, which is very un-Welsh.

Announcing the list, Ben Bradshaw, Culture Secretary, said that it proves “that cultural life most definitely does not begin and end within the M25″. It seems to end on the Welsh borders, according to the committee…

Mirrored from almost witty.

almostwitty: (Default)

I recently had a work meeting with someone senior who turned out to be from Wales. Thus one small tangent of the conversation involved me saying I was from Wales, and stating that I had a Welsh GCSE certificate. Second language, of course, but who’s counting?

Of course, what happens? I get back a short work email … entirely in Welsh. I can distill the odd phrase or word and get the gist of the email – all but the last sentence.

Now, do I:

- admit defeat, and reveal my inadequateness in using Welsh (after all, I’m not genetically Welsh and haven’t lived in Wales for three years)?
- soldier on, find someone to translate the text for me, and fire off some pithy comeback in Welsh, and keep the illusion going?

Oh, these work dilemmas…

Mirrored from almost witty.

almostwitty: (Default)

I recently had a work meeting with someone senior who turned out to be from Wales. Thus one small tangent of the conversation involved me saying I was from Wales, and stating that I had a Welsh GCSE certificate. Second language, of course, but who’s counting?

Of course, what happens? I get back a short work email … entirely in Welsh. I can distill the odd phrase or word and get the gist of the email – all but the last sentence.

Now, do I:

- admit defeat, and reveal my inadequateness in using Welsh (after all, I’m not genetically Welsh and haven’t lived in Wales for three years)?
- soldier on, find someone to translate the text for me, and fire off some pithy comeback in Welsh, and keep the illusion going?

Oh, these work dilemmas…

Mirrored from almost witty.

almostwitty: (evil)





Pink Hat - Cardiff


Originally uploaded by © Maciej Dakowicz


Maybe this is where my slight fear of Saturday nights started, after I spent five years living in Cardiff City Centre and seeing sights like this most Saturday nights. And Friday nights. And Wednesday nights, for that matter. And, of course, hearing teenagers sobbing and arguing outside my bedroom window at 2am. But I did kinda like it, in the sense there was always life outside my window. So why go any further?



These pics are part of a gallery that a photography student is having exhibited in London. One of my flatmates used to also take random pics of drunk people on the streets of Cardiff. Then he graduated to video - and there's a classic one where he's filming two very drunk women arguing with a bouncer, and then they slowly turn to camera and shout "WHAT THE F**K DO YOU THINK YOU'RE LOOKING AT?"



Also covered in BBC News Wales

almostwitty: (Default)

Ever since I had to spend the summer of 2000 avidly watching and writing about Big Brother 1 (the one with Anna the lesbian nun, Nick the evil Brit and Craig the dumb-but-handsome plumber) for work purposes (oh that glamorous summer), I’ve mostly avoided Big Brother. Especially since it stopped becoming a vaguely interesting look at a cross-section of the British population and became a freak show.

However, this year, interest seems to have really peaked all around me. People keep sneaking into the office with the big TV to watch Big Brother 2006 - because there are two Welsh-language-speaking contestants on it. Although the Welsh gossip network has already informed me that Glyn is actually a nice, quiet and shy boy in real life - then again, I’m not too sure flamboyance would do you much good in Blaenau Ffestiniog.

In a hugely controversial move (well, controversial if you’re in Wales - the rest of the UK couldn’t give a monkeys I’d imagine), Big Brother stopped the two of them from speaking in Welsh (their natural language) to each other.

So there was I, quietly shaking my head at people trooping in and out of the big TV-office just because there happened to be two Welsh-language-speakers on Big Brother. While secretly hating Lea - a former 22-stone woman who’s had multiple plastic surgery, apparently has the biggest boobs in the UK and says she hates fat people.

Then I get home for the weekend, where my sisters gleefully inform me that, of all things, a British-Chinese woman is a Big Brother contestant.

Bloody hell. Now this is progress. I’ve got no idea what she’s like - whether she’s a future Jane Goodey or a future Anna, but by Jove I’ll have to follow her progress, and probably vote for her to stay each time. If I ever find the time. 14 days till I have to move all my worldly belongings into a storage room and a front room!

Originally published at almost witty. You can comment here or there.

almostwitty: (Default)

All week, I’ve been hearing about how we’ll all be drowning in snow come Wednesday. Given the two weeks of emotional trauma my friends have been through, snow is just what we all needed. It brings out the child in you, and anything that can make the urban landscape look clean and pristine has got to be a good thing.

However, it’s 11am in Cardiff, the sun is shining and I can’t see any snow anywhere. This only perpetuates my perception that Cardiff somehow lives in its own parallel universe, where the normal rules of what happens in the rest of the UK and the world, just doesn’t apply. It’s as if I’m trapped in a Twilight Cardiff Zone (cue theme tune). Grrr.

Originally published at almost witty. You can comment here or there.

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