A Wale of a time

So, as I was saying, the Welsh have a curiously strong belief in their ability to speak a language entirely different from the rest of Britain, or the rest of humanity for that matter.

Now, in the complicated world of international relations it's rare for a claim of cultural independence to be rebutted solely through the use of pictures, but in view of Welsh standards of education one ought to at least try:
















Careful readers, up to and including the Welsh (one hopes), will note that the Welsh "language" contains some inconsistencies, and that, in particular, the Welsh have not, as yet been able to agree on the word for "Wales". This, needless to say, is pretty fatal to the claim that "Welsh" represents anything more than a linguistic theme-park attraction - and one that's more Cockington Green than Big Thunder Mountain.

This gentleman at least has taken an admirably firm stance on the whole "so what are we calling our country today then?" controversy, but when your attempts at nationalism have all the permanence of Johnny Depp's relationships, actual independence is going to leave some unsightly scars.



Distinguishing features part two: Cardiff

And speaking of unsightly scars... Cardiff bills itself as "Europe's youngest capital" and, circa 1950, this was probably true. Today though, Cardiff relies on the complex strain of geographical, historical and literal illiteracy signalled by those who choose to visit it in favour of its newer and prettier rivals. All twenty eight of them.

From its catch phrase to its vast, unpopulated waterfront, Cardiff is a city out of time. People amble about without urgency, roads are blocked without explanation, and huge billboards exhort consumption of the local ale and support for the local team who are, unsurprisingly one and the same:

"Brains".

The irony here is too cheap a shot even for the Paulisario Front, so I'll simply note that, combined with the absent and inactive population, the ever present demand that one consume more brains gives Cardiff the feel of a literal zombie capital. Perhaps that ought to have been the slogan.

As part of England's ongoing efforts to underwrite Wales' dissatisfaction with the English, Cardiff's waterfront has been extensively redeveloped - the centrepiece of post millennial Cardiff is an enormous national culture hall or something similarly oxymoronic.


It's big, certainly, and it has welsh poetry on it, which must have gone over a treat with the Welsh nationalists and their English paymasters. What no one, apparently, had the heart to point out though is that the "poetry" in question is, in fact, an acrostic.

So when handed the enormous blank canvas that is Cardiff, the best Wales' finest could come up with was a form of poetry whose artistic validity lies somewhere between that of limericks and haiku. I can only assume Rolph Harris wasn't available. (That's one member of the Paulisario Front standing in the front there)

And another thing... Karaoke:

It's always dangerous to make fun of a nation on the basis of its karaoke. It's a standard that would make the Japanese the most ridiculous people on earth, (they're actually third, behind Yemen and Bulgaria, according to most reputable rankings) and we've all got some karaoke skeletons in our closets, perhaps in the form of an otherwise laudable attempt to impress some Japanese school girls with a rendition of Sir Mixalot's "Baby got back".

You can, however, tell a lot about a people from how they behave once they've sunk a couple of Brains, had dinner at a pub whose name apparently translates as "the homosexual" and eaten a couple of slices of a cheese inexplicably known as the Stinking Bishop.

You can't blame a liquored-up Welsh person for wanting to go to a seedy bar and crank out some old favourites into a battered microphone. What was surprising, to the members of the Paulisario Front at least, was that the "old favourites" they chose to reproduce were drawn exclusively from the oeuvre of Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Now I have nothing against Alvin, though I always thought the other Chipmunks were holding him back somewhat. The Paulisario Front's old housemate (who will be pleased to learn there's a Welsh pub named after him) once owned a copy of their album (or it may have been their old rivals, the smurfs) and it was greatly enjoyed by all. But even the most ardent Chipmunk fan has to concede that they make a poor choice for karaoke in anything but the most helium-rich environment.

The result, as you will see below, was awkward silence on the part everybody but the Welsh, which is the closest this post will come to a unifying theme.

The Criteria

(a) Population - It's life Jim, but not as we know it. I suspect rescue is more appropriate that recognition here. Keep an eye on your Brains and speak nonsense in a slow, lilting voice as you back away slowly.

(b) Territory - Actually quite beautiful, once you decode Cardiff's not-so-carefully concealed message about running for your life. Abandoned abbeys, abandoned coal mines, abandoned country roads. It's consistent if nothing else.

(c) Government - It's there, but given that the seat of parliament appears to be an abandoned office block (there's that word again) you get the sense that even they're not entirely convinced. They're probably waiting to build the real thing until they can agree how it's spelled - a wise strategy but one lacking in the signature passion of successful secessionists.

(d) Diplomacy - Given that no one's called them on the whole "Europe's youngest capital" thing in the three decades since it ceased to be accurate, I'm guessing not.

(aa) Delicious or hilarious food - I'll spot them the stinking bishop, but take those marks back for a failure to produce Caerphilly, the famous cheese of Caerphilly, anywhere near the eponymous Caerphilly. After that we're left with leeks, sausages of dubious originality and the apocryphal but hilarious limpet stew (take a sack of limpets and a rock and boil them very slowly for at least 24 hours. Then eat the rock.)

(bb) Fauna - Dragons, which don't exist, and badgers, which might not. Cool at least in theory though, and we did spot an owl.

(cc) National customs - Well there's Alvin, and the Brains, and the "language" and "poetry". I think they've got this one sown up.

(dd) Three hours in a hire car via Slough and Swindon, which more or less justify the trip by themselves.

The verdict

I count four from eight, the sort of narrow failure which is neither spectacular nor cause for congratulations. Croeso i Gymru.