Saturday, 7 May 2016

The Windy Welsh




Standing three long days of hard walking away from the Welsh border at the Dee estuary, Pen-y-Ghent serves to remind us that once upon a time everybody in Britain was Welsh (except that back then there was no Welsh border, and folks had the good sense not to be bothered by nationality). Today our Welsh-est people are almost certainly descendants of those short dark Britons who placed themselves where they were most able to avoid the Romans, the Angles, the Saxons, the Norse, the Normans, etc.
Some people say that Ghent does mean border, but I'm siding with "windy" from the Welsh gwynt, i.e. windy peak, or Windy Mountain (or indeed Mont Ventoux), but for all my ponderings and conjecture I still fail to understand why yesterday the Welsh should have been so fucking stupid as to vote seven UKIPpers into their Assembly.
"Croeso i No-one", is it, boyos?


Wednesday, 4 May 2016

Sunrisings in May

Over a period of what seems like no time at all, the rising sun has leapt around to the back of our house. It must have been at the side for a short while, but being in a terrace we seem to have no sides, and anyway wasn't it only a few days ago that on the last early morning I looked for it the sunrise was definitely at the front? Well, it's definitely at the back now, and I'm wondering what distracted me, how I could drop so far out of contact with daylight's realities? I thought I appreciated every single day, every twist of the seasons, and our whimsical weathers, and that I'd notice the changes of the circling year as they were happening. But I missed this change, and because of its suddenness I am wishing with the fervency of a religious fanatic that the year... would... slow... right... down. To gallop so fast down the steepening slope towards midsummer is to risk missing far too much of what is happening all around.