Too Posh for Wales?
560 miles, 3 days and a mild headache not bad for a Monday morning. So what to tell, HW and I headed down on the Friday scudding merrily round the M25 and then along the M4 corridor, around 4 hours journey time, so not bad at all. Arriving in Swansea to a rather overcast grey Wales, no change from normal really. Met up with the in laws and then settled down to basically doing bugger all that evening.
Saturday all up and rolling ready for the funeral at a small church in Fforestfach and then the trek began. One hearse, two limousines and an entourage of other cars meandering up from the South Gower to the North Gower. And hence the entertainment for the day. I got stuffed into the car with HW and the other associated grandchildren and their offspring. Thank God for the front seat. Sat next to the driver who was a JP, and had previously been an Ambulance man we chatted happily on the way to the graveyard and then back to the wake. From what I could hear of the conversation behind us the anecdotes about missing testicles and barbed wire were far more entertaining. I can only assume that sitting in the front, behind a slightly opened glass screen must be like sitting next to a confessional box. Every now and then the occasional word filters through and you spend a couple of moments trying to link the comment with any previous things you’ve heard. I guess the acoustic version of a cryptic crossword designed by some random word generator.
The best word to filter through was “posh” followed by HW’s indignant tones. I’m guessing she was accused of being such, akin in irritant value I suppose to saying that a certain dark rabbit out there is a deconstructed Trot. Either way it rather set the tone for the day. So we buried the relative, threw some earth in the hole and headed back to the wake.
Now unsurprisingly I was not what could ever be described as part of the “Cool Kids Club”. This manifests itself at most social gatherings were I tend to loom like a malevolent piece of wallpaper. The wake was incredibly funny. People who obviously new me, had spoken to me previously, quietly failing to make eye contact and engage in conversation. Perhaps word had gotten round, could it be that I’m “posh”. That must be it . Fun how the word is so entertainingly misused by some. Now if by “posh” you mean part of the nobility, given unreasonable advantage by dint of chance of birth, perhaps pretensions of grandeur and belief of being better than someone (I promise you all it ai’nt pretensions, I am actually better than most) then on the whole you’re wrong. If however you mean worked hard still do so and have some belief in aspirations of change for the better then guilty as charged. I get the feeling that from those down in the valleys all of the above may well have been used as defining factors.
The wake went on and quietly at around 3 in the afternoon a small group of POW’s managed a daring break away. Whilst the camp commandant was arranging the guard, myself, HW, one of the uncles and his wife slowly slid down the pub with a few other internees. Later to be followed by HW’s dad we watched for about 20 minutes the first half of the Wales v France match in the local before deciding that firstly we couldn’t see a damn thing, secondly the uncles house (10 doors down or so) had better booze and thirdly. There was a thirdly but buggered if I can remember it now. Anyway several of us tottered out of the pub (glasses in hand) wearing dark suits and black ties. Landlord didn’t care, police car going past didn’t care and so on the whole neither did we. Anyway watched the rest of that match and a much better performance than previous from Wales and something tells me that a Mr. Sidoli had better watch out for his life. Then next and final nail in the coffin for England. After this Six Nations with Ruddock leaving Wales and perhaps Robinson may just leave. Wouldn’t it be suitably fitting if after the WRU and associated chaps have managed to push Ruddock out that he quietly walks across the Severn and joins as England coach.
So back from Wales on Sunday, no problems really until we hit Chiswick and then the new layer of Hell also known as the South circular. The warning sign for me is drivers wearing hats. Why are these people driving? I can understand wearing a hat if your roof is down in the car, but with a perfectly solid roof, why a hat? If you are so unsure of the protective value of the roof of your car what else is wrong wit it? Actually after watching the deranged hat wearers dribble around like incontinent hamsters I think I have the answer. Honestly, truly, shoot them, shoot them all. These are the sort of people who have been driving for 30 years and will no doubt proudly inform you how safe they are. They’ve never been in an accident you know, sure but they probably saw loads and caused more than one by their erratic driving patterns. The slow bimbling uncertainty of driving in a Brownian motion at speeds between one third of a mile an hour and somehow 110 miles an hour over a space of several metres in a random direction.
So Monday morning and the Mother of all Parliaments is gearing itself up for a 3 line whip on Wednesday as the ID card legislation gets shown to a pack of determined shrews. Let us all watch in awe as alleged socialists vote for more pointless public money to be poured down the vast corporate hole of IT projects mis-managed by the Private sector. Whilst they still vote for Foundation hospitals in towns that can never affect their constituents. So all in all a bunch of lying, thieving Scottish and Welsh MP’s with the moral rectitude of a flaccid turd floating amidst the flotsam and jetsam of a constitutional monarchy. “Flog ‘em I say”, and they said “Yes we already have along with the air you breath.” But then they thought I meant something else.