where art collides philosoperontap

7.30am. Still dark out but it feels as if I should be getting up. However it is still dark out so I am being offered no encouragement. 

Eventually made it downstairs to a bit of toast, half a grapefruit and a cuppa. The simple things in life. Good job I bought some more marmalade yesterday as we are now down to less than a scoop and that will have to be scraped from the bottom of the jar. #importanthingsinlifeyouneedtoknow

We did make marmalade once, some years ago now. I remember it taking ages to reduce to a state where it would set and then we made the mistake of putting it in large kilner jars. It would dry out before we finished it. Not made any since. They sell it in Waitrose. Marmalade.

Now waiting while the wind blows. Waiting for the storm to move on. We need to set a mainsail. Foreign lands to explore. Islands to discover. Flags to flutter. Fish to catch. Rum to drink. 

A sailor’s life is supposed to be a hell of a lot of fun, but when you’re a sailor take it from me you work like a son of a gun.

The wind today is largely WSW. Near enough prevailing. I have no particular use for this information. In the days of sail the wind direction was important. It feels right to know what the prevailing wind direction is. I learnt it in primary school in Wales.

In those days it rained every Sunday afternoon. Probably other days as well. Don’t remember it snowing much, even at Christmas. Those Christmases have shaped how we celebrate the occasion today. I chose the word ‘occasion’ rather than festival, or birthday of Christ. Whilst the purpose nowadays is indeed to celebrate the birthday I doubt many people dwell on the religious aspect. It’s a story that has always been there. We eat and drink too much and give each other presents.

Silent night! holy night!

Silent night! holy night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child;
Holy Infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace!
Sleep in heavenly peace!

Silent night! holy night!

Shepherds quake at the sight;
Glories stream from heaven afar,
Heavenly hosts sing: ‘Alleluia!
Christ the Saviour, is born!
Christ the Saviour, is born!

Silent night! holy night!
Son of God, love’s pure light,
Radiant, beams from thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth!
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth!

It’s ten to five, it’s dark, and I’ve only just started putting pen to paper. The use of that phrase seems appropriate even though neither pen nor paper are involved. Everyone understands. I assume. I guess there could be gen z types who have never picked up a pen who will remain ignorant but they are not the target readership.

In reality I don’t have a target readership 🙂I write this stuff for meself and post on Facebook and philosopherontap just as “well someone might want to read it” kind of thing. No idea whether anyone reads philosopherontap. I don’t monitor site visits. It is my legacy that will eventually disappear, like we all do. The wayback machine may preserve it.

Things like visitor numbers used to be important to me but they ain’t no more. Not since a long time ago. trefor.net peaked at 27k unique visitors a month. It was of its time. You might ask why did I stop writing the blog when it attracted that level of readership. Reality is I kind of retired and figured that poetry and creative writing was far more important than packets. Still do. It is really a diary with a few bits thrown in just for kicks.

I’ve kind of retired at least twice. Now I just do stuff I like doing. At the mo I’m drinking a gin and tonic in the shed and listening to The Clash. Might watch a bit of Band of Brothers before going in and cooking the curry that’s in the freezer. 

THG would approve. Of the curry that is. From the freezer. She thinks I’m far to wasteful and is probs right.  I bought the Waitrose Chichen Jalfrezi because it was reduced so cheap, ish. It isn’t as good as the Charlie Bigham Chichen Jalfrezi but like I said it was cheap. We all like a barg. 

Note the Liverpudlian accent on the pronunciation of the word chicken. That’s THG’s influence. She is from around there.  Eermknowworrameanlike. Lob scouse, Anfield, Liverbuilding, Ferry across the Mersey, The Beatles.

Ten to midnight and we were back in our hotel room. What an evening! Planned for months. He didn’t disappoint. 

The Beatles and subsequently Paul McCartney have provided the musical backdrop of our lives. I recall listening to them on the wireless with mam at the age of about seven or eight when we lived in Cardiff. When I was at school I bought the complete set of singles. Might have been the number ones. John Lennon died during my first year at university. I woke up on the morning of my 19th birthday to the news and took the day off classes to listen to the back to back Beatles broadcast all day. 

I have most of the albums and many by Wings and have now seen Macca four times. Might be five. This gig will probably be the last we will see. At the age of 82 he has outlived most of his contemporaries. A real feat of longevity considering the sex and drugs and rock and roll age in which he flourished. There is hope for us all.

You can see why he still does it. Firstly he recognises a real clamour from his fans to see him perform. There was a bloke in the crowd at his 134th PM gig.  Then there is the huge outpouring of love from the audience directed directly at him on stage. Twenty three thousand people singing his songs. Cheering. He was visibly affected. I was affected. Everyone was affected. 

We had great tix. Row 12. Maybe 25m away. Just over the length of a cricket square. The sound was fantastic. The visual presentation amazing. I wish I could offer better adjectives. All a work of art. The fireworks and pyrotechnics for Live And Let Die had to be seen to be believed. You couldn’t have imagined it possible on an indoor stage. 

That’s enough gough. Nananananananaa. Let it be. We went back to our hotel tired but happy.

THG and I go our separate ways this morning. She heads west to Liverpool to visit family and I east to recover from five full on days of partying. Truth be told, when left alone at home it is unlikely that I’ll be having quiet nights on the sofa. There will probably be wine…

Before then, stopping off at the field of Sheff for a spot of lunch with Andy and Will. Catch ya later.

…

The sound of the trams. Clank n hoot.

…

I suppose before the advent of the laptop I’d probably have sat on a train reading the paper, or conversing with fellow passengers, were they amenable or interesting. Both. In the 1st Class carriage on the Liverpool Lime Street to Cleethorpes Trans Pennines Express there is nobody else to talk to. I do have a book but I’ve already read it a few times and can’t be bothered for the moment

Earlier, coat clad commuters scurried by the window of the hotel breakfast room bound unsmiling for their place of indenture. Inside the restaurant I passed a table a few times where two businessmen discussed, business: “clear brief to the RMs”, “ready to launch in January”. On another pass a laptop was open with an upside down pyramid on show with the word BRAND jumping out of the page. Curiosity peaked, I glanced momentarily in their direction at which point the talker paused in his stride before momentum took him forward.

Johnnies in the basement mixing up the medicine.

The slow train trundles. Picking up speed seems to be a gradual thing. No sudden jerks pushing passengers back into their seats in coach G for G Force. My seats reservation is for coach C but there is no coach C. The train network around here seems to have a certain sadness to it. A malaise that contrasts with the model sheep filled countryside through which the engines roar. Church spires command drystone hillsides. Evidence of industry through  valleys veins.

The anonymous hamlet of Chinley rolls effortlessly by, briefly in our thoughts but long forgotten.

We’ll meet again someday, on the avenue, tangled up in blue.

Tiny walkers step steadily along the river meadow below.

…

Sat at an out of the way table in the Sheffield Tap. Near enough to the bar to make it convenient. The train news is not so convenient. The next two trains to Lincoln have been cancelled. This means that the 16.38 will be heaving. The one after that is also cancelled. I have no choice although there is a transport of last resort called taxi. At least I’d be able to kip in a taxi.

Not getting a good vibe about trains in this part of the world. Makes me think LNER are actually quite good.

I am drinking Virtuous beer. This is the name of the brew and not an adjective suggesting it has high moral standards. An example of a virtuous person suggested by google is  “she considered herself very virtuous because she neither drank nor smoked”. Doesn’t seem consistent with beer but tbh google is just an algorithm. You should make up your own minds on the subject. I have. I’m on my second pint.

It’s quite interesting to watch people coming in to the ub. Most of them are en route somewhere though the occasional local makes an appearance. There is a large selection of ales and to watch an individual bloke walk up to the bar and order a specific beer feels culturally important. It’s what blokes do. Not all blokes. Just the generic bloke. Feels right. Certainly in a real ale pub in Sheffield. If this was a wine bar or a trendy bar in the South that would be different.

Bloke just walked in carrying one of those short woolly jacket/coats. It probably has a name but I know not. Girlfriend with him. They are smiling and having a good time.

Good job this is not Christmas Eve. Would be a nightmare trying to get home then. Stranded in Sheffield railway station. Someone would definitely have to bite the bullet and drive over to pick me up. THG I guess. She would be happy!

Anyway this is not Christmas Eve and I am not yet stranded. There is at least one train that will get me home. Wouldn’t be quite so bad if I was a little more mobile and able to cope with the push and shove of fighting my way on the train, barging little old ladies aside, to secure a seat, trampling over kids etc.

Feels as if the light is starting to fade outside. 4pm. 16:00hrs. Yanow. Thirty more minutes sat in the pub before I’ll look to moving to the platform. Will defo be dark by then. Deep midwinter. As long as I get a seat I’ll be ok.

Bespectacled young woman in combat trousers and a backpack enters, strides purposefully to the bar and studies the beer selection, leaning forward eyes slightly focussed. A man tries a sample of a beer and then orders a half pint. Fair enuff.

White haired old geezer in red and black lumberjack jacket has come in. He is either wearing a flat cap or beret. Can’t quite make it out and he has taken it off now that he is inside.

…

Sheffield to lincoln train rammed but I have a seat with a table and an empty seat next to me

Big crowd of people stood on platform but I asked member of staff where was best to stand and he pointed at an empty 15 m at the front. I was first on the train. It’s what you know innit.

Now tucking in to a (small) can of Thornbridge Jaipur 5.9% with a (small) packet of Pipers Cheddar and Onion crisps and listening to Sting Sending Out an SOS. Police. Seems unlikely I’ll be abel to make it to the on train toilet near term so I’ll have to take that into consideration when deciding on how many cans to open. No idea how many of these travellers are going all the way to Lincoln and therefore how busy the train will continue to be.

Sbeen a different to normal day. I will survive. 

When you are on a train from Sheffield to Lincoln all life is here. If only I could take a pic of everyone. Girl with false eyelashes, fake fur coat and a pink shopping bag with “LOVE” on the side. No idea who most of these people are or what their lives are like. What is a good life? Couple of musicians got on at Shireoaks. One with a guitar hard case and one with two soft jobs – one on his back and one in his hands.

The next station is Worksop. Fwiw. Enormous woman getting off here. She looks neither comfortable nor happy.

…

We went to see a musician. His songs represented what he was doing in life at different stages of his life.

Sunday morning sans Sunday Service. Switched it off without bothering to see how it sounded. Up earlier than might be considered normal on the Sabbath but we have things to do and places to go. 

Our journey across the Pennines takes in Sheffield where we change trains. I quite like the bit between Sheffield and the outskirts of Manchester. V pictureskew. The bit from Lincoln to Sheffield is boring and suburban Manchester itself quite unattractive.

Fortunately our hotel in Manchester Piccadilly is nobbut a short stroll from the station and a ten minute cab ride from the Coop Live Arena. As “commercial” hotels go, the Piccadilly Doubletree ain’t too bad. It has a handy enough bar and the breakfast is not as ordinary as some. I am fussy about hotel breakfasts. The Soho Hotel last week was top notch.

This will be my last time in a Hilton as a HHonors Diamond member. Another era come to a close. There have been a string of these era closures, my slide from gold to silver to bronze with BA being a notable one and the expiry of my US Global Entry status. Sokay. I have no plans to enter the USA again and have an emerging preference for ground transportation. I wouldn’t even think about a USA trip without Global Entry. It is a game changer.

Really could do with a few early nights following four big nights out on the trot. Snorrapnin today as we have tickets to see Macca and are unlikely to get back to the hotel before midnight. There’s always next Tuesday.

…

Not v comfortable the seats on this trane. A big sign opposite the platform says KEEP OFF THE TRACK. There is a penalty of £1,000 if you don’t comply with their wishes which have, as you can see, been expressed in no uncertain terms. The seats don’t recline and there is no table for me to rest my laptop. The laptop is therefore sat on my red bag on my knees which in itself is not that comfy. Hey…

My phone has lots of Paul McCartney and Beatles songs downloaded to keep me entertained on the journey. Ready for when THG and I have exhausted our conversation. This may never occur. I can always listen to them another time. I am a big fan. THG is an all.

We are on the 11.14 originating at Lincoln Central bound for Huddersfield via Sheffield. The Liverpudlian across the aisle has cracked open a Carlsberg just peeled from a four pack. The other three cans have been replaced in a Coop carrier bag alongside his other supplies intended to make the journey more bearable. I saw a bit of cake in there. Crisps. Our provisions are some home made cheese and pickle sandwiches and a bottle of water. Simple folk really. 

For clarification, the cheese isn’t home made. The pickle is and the sandwiches were assembled at home by THG herself. I’ve never made cheese although in the course of my life I have made bread, plum chutney (the pickle) and, when I was at infant school in Dolgellau, butter. 

That was almost before time began, in the days when we lived near the centre of the village. Mam and I would nip to the shop and buy a packet of crisps and a plastic cup full of lemonade. At home I would stir the milky coffee on the stovetop until it just boiled. Can’t imagine a four year old being given coffee nowadays.

…

Worra mare. The trains from Sheffield to Manchester. We were supposedly on the 12.41 but the one before that had been cancelled so there were two very busy trains worth of people trying to squeeze onto the one. Wasntapnin. Our ticket was valid for the next train so we retreated to the waiting room to catch the 13.11.

It was clear that the next train too was going to be rammed. Christmas shoppers, Manchester Derby and Paul McCartney gig boppers creating the perfect storm. Being a Liverpudlian THG has a certain attitude towards Manchester anyway and the train service certainly doesn’t help. Certainly not on this occasion.

Tref the experienced traveller instinct kicked in so I figured I’d buy a couple of first class tix for the journey to Manchester. Tref the inexperienced trainline app user accidentally bought two more full fare standard class tix and couldn’t work out how to change. Doh.

I figured I’d get the onboard manager to sort so when the train arrived we hopped on and dived into the first class section. That too was rammed and fully booked although not all the seats were taken. It might perhaps explain why I ended up with standard class tix. We just sat in two of them on the basis we would sort (negotiate 🙂) if the owners came along. They didn’t. What’s more neither did the guard so when leaving the station we just used our original tickets to get past the barriers and I got a refund for the unused full fare standard class. There is a god.

We are now settled into our nice enough large corner room on the fifth floor of the Doubletree sipping a cup of tea and recovering. 

Our Joe is a couple of hours behind us coming up from Laandan so we are chillin in the room awaiting his arrival. We have his room key. We also have some free drinks vouchers which we must surely spend on beer before the afternoon turns into evening and we head to the Coop Live Arena.

The only other negative about our eventual arrival is that we have chosen to stay on the day they finally decided to fix the lift (elevator to readers across the pond) once and for all. No idea what the problem was. Intermittent I think. Fear not, we were shown to the service lift and used that. This included a backroom tour of the never normally seen bits of the hotel.

The first class lounge at Kings Cross Stayshun is busy enough but only one functional coffee machine means there is a permanent queue at the drinks station in front of us. The taxi ride here took ten minutes as opposed to the hour it took getting from the station to the hotel on Wednesday. A heady combination of temporary traffic lights and the knock on effect of protesting farmers clogging up Whitehall with their tractors.

The streets of London this morning were full of people going about their Saturday morning activities. This felt in marked contrast to the previous evening where the brightly lit bars and restaurants thronged with revellers willing to fork out eight pounds fifty for a pint and fifty five quid for a not particularly interesting set meal at a popular curry house. Economic hardship does not appear to be on show here, the invisible homeless aside.

Now on the train and whiling my time away on Facebook. Just had a request to join a group called Trefor. I created this group years ago exclusively for people called Trefor. There are four of us. Every now and again someone whose name is not Trefor asks to join and I turn them down, natch. 

Looking at the membership this morning there seemed to be half a dozen non Trefs amongst the membership. Not sure how this happened. Anyway I’ve systematically banned them. Not sure how they sneaked in or even why they would want to be in the group. I guess it is understandable that people could have Trefor envy. If you know a Trefor you might want to put them in touch.

If you live in Trefor I guess you might want to belong to the group. This I understand. However the name is already bagsied for the aforementioned purpose so you need to think of another name for your community group. “The Group for People who live in Trefor” for example. Or Trefor the place not the Person. 

There isn’t much to Trefor the place. According to the great god google in the 2021 census  it had a population of 1,067. Everyone will mostly know everyone. I wonder if any of them are called Trefor. Trefor from Trefor. A bit like Major Major Major in Catch 22. Trefor Trefor, you know it’s a blast. 

If you’ve never been to Trefor it is worth a quick drive through. On the road between Caernarfon and Pwllheli (That’s Putheley to the ignorant amongst you – don’t admit to it) Take a pic in front of the sign and post it to my timeline 🙂

The confetti has begun to settle on trefbash fifteen. The last trefbash. It took until seven am yesterday to clear it all away. One day later a good night’s sleep will have cleared the mists in fuddled post party brains and today the last revellers should finally straggle north. If home is not in a far northerly direction you may well have made it back yesterday but we like to take some time to recover and make an extended trip of it.

It is hard to consider that this marks the end of a personal era. I’m not a person who looks back. I like to think there is plenty more to come but it will not involve a trefbash. The bash has however been a wonderful journey. The most satisfying aspect of it is that everyone has such a great time and has looked forward to it every year. With excitement even.

It really has been the highlight of the calendar. A finishing off of the year in style. I like the hedonistic approach to the bash. Last night we consumed seventy bottles of Pol Roger champagne. Everyone deserves the good things in life and we are lucky enough to be able to have them at trefbash. Why not? Why not be special? I haven’t yet got the numbers for pina coladas and strawberry daiquiries but I know that Mark Fordyce consumed ten of them on his own.

The club did a wonderful job with setting up the right environment and Jodie Penk from Fuse2 was a fantastic help with graphic design work that gave the evening that little bit extra something. A very talented girl.

The @Jeffrey brown band really makes the bash rock. The music is something that people really look forward to. It isn’t often you’ll find a party where everyone gets up on the dancefloor and bops til they drop.

I don’t think there will be many more posts about trefbash in my timeline. I’ve trailed it enough and need now to move on. The profile pics can stay up for the moment but I daresay there will be something else to replace them. Interesting photos of manhole covers and nice scenic pictures of mists on waters. Back to the mundane things that mostly fill our lives.

I’m writing this in the hotel room whilst THG is out doing a bit of shopping before we flag down a taxi bound for Kings Cross station. Just a few bits from Liberty n stuff like that. Tonight we have a fabulous party to go to in Lincoln. Not a trefbash style party but one with great company and great food.

Tomorrow is going to be different again. Look out for photos of the Paul McCartney gig in Manchester. Life is short. Enjoy it while you can :).

PS don’t worry about trefbash being no more. Something will come along and fill the void.

As dawn considers making an appearance over Soho the day of the bash is upon us. A pot of tea brews dutifully in the room. Interesting concept, the dutiful brew. Drink me. 

All is calm. A news program consumes the attention of THG. Breakfast will be taken around nine in plenty of time for the stroll to Fitzrovia barbers for a ten thirty appointment with a pair of scissors. 

A full monty with all the trimmings is in prospect. On the menu. Didn’t shave yesterday to make sure I got value for money. Make sure he had something to go at. 

Can’t remember the name of the barber but he is their head honcho. Top clipper. Just looked it up. Name of Elias. Figured I should check in case I accidentally ended up in the wrong chair. Snorrapnin. 

Barbouring with Stefan Wahl who has flown in from Berlin especially for the occasion. THG and Stef’s very talented artist wife Katya are taking in an art gallery and later, perhaps a visit to the biggest wool shop in this part of town. What’s not to like?

The Wahl party is here for the bash and not just for haircuts and sheared sheep by products. Today is the day. As you know.

Not going to say any more. Enough has already been said. If you’re going I’m very excited at the prospect of meeting up. If you aren’t coming don’t worry there will be plenty of photos to share the experience with you.

Trefbash 15. The last trefbash.

Observations from the hotel:

Top notch breakfast. This is how I rate hotels.

We have two sinks in the room/bathroom. We both like to use the same one. I note that the soap is in a different spot everything I use the sink.

Last night I was in the loo of cafe pacifico. Guy comes in and cleans the sinks. Fair enough. Then  he stands at an urinal with lodger in left hand and phone in right.

People coming in to hotel lobby saying they are here for a meeting reminds me that it is a working day.

Only one day to go. More or less packed here. Just in the shed doing a  few minute last bits and bobs before putting up the shutters. Printing off the guest list for the door. Retrieving my USB C cable. Stuff like that.

It’s a bit of a strange feeling really. Tomorrow’s bash has been in the planning for a year. Now it is one day to go. Tb minus one. Ridiculous that we can put on a trefbash. It has a vibe that money can’t buy. This is because it is down to the people that come. Everyone is there to have a great time and a great time they have.

Of course it is helped by copious amounts of alcohol, good food and absolutely fabulous music. The venue is unique and the staff wonderful. In fact the staff enjoy the evening so much that past employees ring up to ask if they can come back and just work the trefbash evening. Then during the course of the year people who have attended the bash visit the club and tell them they were there for trefbash.

I feel quite humbled by it all and at the same time v excited. The champagne is being chilled and the decorations are going up. See y’all tomorrow. Don’t be late now.

This year we will have more people than ever before. The bash is oversubscribed on the basis that there is always a dropout. At this time of year people go down with flu and things crop up that force them to make other plans. Sorry if you haven’t been able to get there this year. The waitlist has been disabled.

Busy day ahead. Gotta pack for a trip. Pick up a shirt. Drive to Nottingham to see an orthopaedic surgeon to discuss a hip or two. Nip to the bank. Watch Liverpool wallop whoever they are playing in Yoorp. Not all in that order. Everything is in hand, ish.

London for three nights, back home for a party and then off to Manchester for a popular music concert on Sunday.

The year is approaching its climax. The party season is in full swing. Under way. Heating up. A time of excess.

The excess bit is not necessarily a good thing. It isn’t as if we have to fill ourselves to build stores for the lean months ahead. We do it anyway. Those of us who are lucky enough to be able to.

Presents. Not actually given it any thought as of yet. Don’t need any more socks. Have thought about knitting meself a pair as a bit of a project. I was trawling through nineteenth century census records for Carmarthenshire the other day, as you do, and came across someone whose occupation was stocking maker. Swat gave me the idea.

Where I come from they were mostly farmers or agricultural labourers with the occasional woollen factory worker and minister of religion thrown in. I even saw a butter merchant and a publican or two. I don’t recall seeing a doctor on any of the census entries I read. Interesting. If you had something wrong with you you were probably toast. 

My great great great great grandfather Daniel Davies was born in 1766 and died at the age of seventy seven or thereabouts. The healthy outdoor farming life and, being a Baptist, probably didn’t do excess. I am neither a farmer nor a Baptist but we do have doctors nowadays. Medical science an all that jazz.

Doubt I’ll get around to knitting a pair of socks but the idea is sound 🙂

A simple breakfast. Bacon sandwich (rubbishy sliced white bread and HP sauce), some nice sourdough toast and a pink grapefruit to finish off. I think I prefer the yellow fleshed variety as it seems to be tarter. Unfortunately my grapefruit spoon is still en route from China so didn’t get to use one. All the sharp paring knives seemed to be in the dishwasher and the one I used was a bit on the blunt side but we managed to muddle on through 🙂

Hang on a minute. This post seems to be all about food. So far anyway. There must be other things in life. Wars, revolutions, poverty, recessions, breakthroughs in technology, great achievements, love, battles against disease, sport, family, funny things that make you laugh out loud, inner peace, etc etc.

Meeting @Chris Weston for cawfee in Waitrose this morning. Probs a bit of cayke an all. Push the boat out. Then for lunch I’m having a cheese and onion crisp sandwich and tonight will be a few salady bits, cheeses, meats, small spuds, stuff like that. Plus a glass of red wine.

Hang on a minute. This post seems to be all about food. So far anyway. There must be other things in life. Wars, revolutions, poverty, recessions, breakthroughs in technology, great achievements, love, battles against disease, sport, family, funny things that make you laugh out loud, inner peace, etc etc.

I’m not sure I have a favourite food. It’s different foods for different moods. Sometimes I’ll think hmm it’s ages since I had a good curry, or a steak and chips. At the end of the summer we said it had been ages since we had a good Sunday roast. Picking up some ribs of beef and a turkey crown from Fosters on Monday 23rd. 

Hang on a minute. This post seems to be all about food. So far anyway. There must be other things in life. Wars, revolutions, poverty, recessions, breakthroughs in technology, great achievements, love, battles against disease, sport, family, funny things that make you laugh out loud, inner peace, etc etc.

I’ve already shared the menu for trefbash. There will be other meals. During our annual pub crawl in York which is next week we typically grab something from the Christmas market whilst on the hoof or there is one pub that does pizzas.

Hang on a minute. This post seems to be all about food. So far anyway. There must be other things in life. Wars, revolutions, poverty, recessions, breakthroughs in technology, great achievements, love, battles against disease, sport, family, funny things that make you laugh out loud, inner peace, etc etc. You can add your own.

It’s my 63rd birthday today. Yesterday I was only 62. Doesn’t feel as if it is a big step. A relatively small increment percentagewise. Now only four years before I can pick up my pension. Seems a long time away. It wasn’t so long ago when the retirement age was 65 which seems far more sensible to me.

At the tender age of 63 if I actually had to work until I was 67 it would feel tough. It’s difficult to motivate yourself to get out of bed to go to work at this age. Is for me anyway. Fortunately I don’t have to.

…

Dyaknow I didn’t have lunch until almost three o’clock. Wossthatallabouteh? 

…

The witching hour is nearly upon us. Actually I’ve just looked it up and I am wrong. Definitions vary, and include the hour immediately after midnight and the time between 3:00 am and 4:00 am. So it isn’t anywhere nearly the witching hour, yet. It’s five to four in the afternoon and the light is fading.

The mood lighting is on in the shed but the shed is quiet. Not as silent as the grave but quite quiet. The heater panel occasionally emits a sound as does the fridge. Both giving off heat as it happens. One to cool the beer and one to heat the room. The cooling of the beer also helps heat the room though not very much.

THG called and is bringing a cup of tea down to the shed. Up the garden path, as it were. That doesn’t sound right. If it is down to the shed then down the garden path would have been more accurate. However, saying “up the garden path” sounds better, to me anyway. Physically the shed is slightly down from the house. Anyway I digress, from something.

Am on a roll with the useful phrases here inneye. There are loads of other good ones that one might slip into conversation. Dead men tell no tales, for example. I’d have to think where I could slip that one in but doable I daresay. Not today though. Too busy drinking my cup of tea.

It is too early to start on the g&t even if it is my birthday. Dark out though. The sun is over the yardarm. There’s another one!

A good start to Christmas last night with our annual carol singsong.  Slightly fuzzy bonce this morning. Will be arite. Absolutely pelting it down outside. Darragh still going strong. Doing his business. I doan mind. Our rain defences are holding. The roof. The levee.

THG was up early to take surprise visitor Joe to the station. He hadn’t told us he was coming. Great stuff. The only missing offspring was John who lives in Berlin. That’s a bit far to come for a surprise visit.

The family once threw a surprise 80th birthday party for one of THG’s aunties. People gathered in a hotel in Liverpool coming from as far as Lincoln and the USA. The auntie was totally gobsmacked. The occasion was for her tinged with an element of disappointment. She said she would like to have known it was happening so that she could have looked forward to it. A lesson there perhaps.

Our house is busy this morning. Tom’s pals have rocked up having been kicked out of their hotel. THG is now feeding them in the kitchen. It’s amazing how quickly the food supplies go down when you have a house full of hungry adults especially when they are working off all last night’s booze. We have a dustbin full of empties by the front door. At some stage I will have the satisfaction of tipping it all into the recycling bin. 

…

A cosy sit in front of the fire kind of afternoon. Rain lashing down on the windows. THG  finishing off writing Christmas cards. Done all mine but she has more to do. Frens & relashuns. There is no telly in this room. You don’t need one when you have a fire. Entertainment enough although on this occasion I’m watching a bit of footy on my Macbook. Unobtrusive. An occasional exchange of words with ma gal. It’s nice to have a full house but also nice when we have it back to ourselves again. Starting to get dark out. Not a place to be. Deepest midwinter. Wild night. Busy week ahead. 4 sleeps til trefbash.

…

Interesting how Facebook throws friend suggestions at me. Some of them have no mutual friends and others quite a few. The common theme is that generally I have no idea who they are. All these people are real, I assume. They have lives, loves maybe, jobs, hobbies, favourite foods, they go on holiday somewhere. Maybe they have a special talent. I’ll never know. 

There are only so many people you can interact with.

Storm Darragh is a blowing in. He is planning on doing so anyway. I checked the BBC weather app, which I’m not sure I realised I had until a link on the BBC news app took me there.

In the next hour Lincoln is expecting light rain and a fresh breeze. Pwllheli however is currently being battered by severe gales and heavy rain. Apaz we are in the eye, of the storm, hence the relative calm. 

In Cardiff I happen to know they are canceling Christmas craft markets. I heard it from my sister Sue and on the BBC news on the wireless. Sounds like Wales is cut off. Both Severn bridges closed and all flights into Cardiff airport cancelled. There might be a back road or two still open but drive carefully (through Caerphilly) and look out for falling trees. Doubt there will be ferries from Fishguard today. The Cardiff bound 06.36 out of Bridgend was cancelled causing enormous disruption. I looked on realtimetrains.co.uk. It didn’t mention the enormous disruption bit. I added that in for effect. All domestic football and rugby matches are off. Strong winds make kicking the ball v difficult even if one of your mates puts his finger on the top of it to hold it still.

The falling trees, drift by my window. A topical variant on a popular song.

Stay safe, stay indoors, stay under the duvet. End of weather bulletin. 

Food for Free by Richard Mabey

The holly and the ivy

The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown,
Of all trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.

The rising of the sun,
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir.

The holly bears a blossom
As white as the lily flower,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
To be our sweet Saviour.

The holly bears a berry
As red as any blood,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To do poor sinners good.

The holly bears a prickle
As sharp as any thorn,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
On Christmas Day in the morn.

The holly bears a bark
As bitter as any gall,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
For to redeem us all.

The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown,
Of all trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.

…

Dunno about you but I go through phases of which room I sit in to drink a post breakfast cup of tea. It doesn’t appear to be day of the week dependent but there is an element of seasonality to it. Currently I use the snug. The only reason I can think of is that it must be marginally warmer than the living room which has the conservatory attached.

Today we have visitors arriving from Laandaan. I don’t think any of them pronounce it like that but that is how it is sbelled. Their train is running late because the inbound train from Leeds was 59 minutes late. One more minute and everyone would have got all their money back instead of just the half you get when it’s 30 minutes late.

Fortunately that 59 minutes won’t knock on to a similar delay on the Lincoln train as the expected arrival time from Leeds was 08.50 cf scheduled departure to Lincoln of 10.06. I think we all would rather get there on time than take the delay repay refund. Innit.

Wood brought in from the log store. I uncovered quite a few nice sized bits that meant I didn’t need to get the axe out. Next job is to light the fire, baby, which I will do once I’ve finished this cup of tea. I’ll need to take the coat stand in from the shed as THG has requested it as expansion hanging space for guest coats tonight. 

Life is good. Read all about it, read all about it.

…

A few people posting pics from the champagne bar at St Pancras. Quite a few years ago I took some customers out to lunch at Claridges and afterwards we had a bit of time to kill before the train back north so we stopped by the champagne bar.

The following week one of the guys, Barry, was meeting an old flame he hadn’t seen in 35 years and taking her out to dinner and the theatre “for old times sake”. She was a dentist fwiw. He had a word with one of the barmen and arranged to reserve a table and have a bottle of champagne and a dozen oysters delivered when they arrived.

One week later and Barry and the old flame rock up at the bar at which point the barman says he has reserved the “usual” table. The two sat down and the barman then said shall I bring the usual? That’ll be fine thanks sez Baz.

Barry then excuses himself to go to the loo at which point the old flame asked the barman whether the lad went there often. Once or twice said the barman, quite truthfully without elaboration. Discretion is essential in his line of business.

When Barry got back to the table she asked him the same question. Do you come here often? Once or twice said Barry with a smile. You couldn’t make it up.

Barry related this tale to me a couple of weeks later at a trefbash and the following year he brought the old flame along to the bash as well. I pried no further…

Ten fifteen. Work finished for the day. Well it is Friday. I try not to do anything on Fridays anyway especially the day after the annual end of season golf day out. Numbers out on the course were down a bit this year but we had a good turnout for dinner at the nineteenth hole (The Woodcocks) and afterwards at the Castle Hill Club where the ladies came to join us.

I have a busyish day ahead. Mostly shopping for our annual Not The Christmas Market Party and picking up my new shirt wot I had made for trefbash. Most of the booze is just a click and collect job from Tesco but I need to pick up some supplies from Fosters and have a relaxing browse around Waitrose. Ya never know. Something might tickle my fancy for dindins tonight. I have a chicken jalfrezi in the fridge as a backup.

…

Had a minor issue at the click and collect. After I’d emptied about ten blue boxes into the car (not having done it since lockdown I hadn’t realised you had to bring bags) I tried carefully to stack the boxes on the trolley thing in order to return them to the store entrance. Course the trolley wheels hit a drain grating and the blue boxes went flying didn’t they?

It was only after I’d reloaded the trolley and rolled it over to the door that I saw that the boxes actually stacked neatly inside each other doh! Ah well it will be useful to know for the next time I do a click and collect, in another year probs. Or more.

…

THG just informed me she blew thirty four quid on forty second class stamps and fourteen pounds on sending a few Christmas cards to the USA and Yoorp. It’s no wonder people are cutting back on sending cards at this time of the year. Actually I have no evidence on which to base that last statement but it sounds right.

You can just imagine people complaining. Oh no the bloomin Davieses have sent us a card. Quick, we’d better send them one back. If there is still time… 🙂

…

Brought the kindling in to dry out. Will be lighting the fire tomorrow. When I did this last week it took ages for the kindling to catch alight despite having kept it under the roof of the woodstore. It must have been quite damp. Will probs buy some more coal when out and about. We have loads of logs but they aren’t as hot as coal. More atmospheric though. It’s all about striking a balance.

I need to take an axe to some of the logs we have at the bottom of the garden. See how I feel about it tomorrow. There is something quite satisfying about splitting logs. It’s one of those time immemorial jobs. You can imagine Davies ancestors putting in some time out the back of the farmhouse working on the logpile. They won’t have had a chainsaw to trim the larger logs into more sensible sizes. Using that old fashioned saw would have been hard work. Maybe we are all just wimps nowadays.

Next up O dawel ddinas Bethlehem (o dan y sêr di ri)

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.

O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth!
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.
For Christ is born of Mary,
And gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.

Where children pure and happy
Pray to the blessed Child;
Where misery cries out to thee,
Son of the mother mild;
Where Charity stands watching
And Faith holds wide the door
The dark night wakes, the glory breaks,
And Christmas comes once more.

O holy Child of Bethlehem!
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!

If it’s Wednesday it must be, the same as Tuesday. Not much of interest in the news. Another day older. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Watching the clock, hypnotic trance. Hit snooze to hibernate. 

BRRRRRRRRRRR good morning. That was an alarm, not a suggestion it is cold. It is not cold, afaik. 

I remember the first winter after I finished university. 1983. I wasn’t in a hurry to find a job and had an attic flat in Bangor. We rarely had the heating on as it cost money and I remember lying in bed one early morning with just my nose and mouth poking out from under the duvet. It was very cold and my breath froze. Remember it like it was yesterday. Forty one years ago.

Must eventually have forced myself out of bed and gone to visit a friend who might have had the heating on. Or cuddled up.

I think in those days the electricity meter took fifty pences. It might have been a pound. Imagine if it was still the same in 2024. Someone from the electricity company would have to come and empty it once a day, at least. By the time I left Bangor a pint of lager would have cost 50p. Halcyon days except I wouldn’t have had many fifty pees to my name. I was poor.

It got to the point where I reluctantly had to accept a job. With a degree in electronic engineering it was easy enough. That year GEC Marconi alone had enough vacancies to take on every UK engineering graduate.

Used to be that the post would have already arrived by the time we got up for breakfast. This I observed in conversation with THG this morning. Them were the days. Mind you it was almost certainly always a bill. People did write to each other I suppose. Occasionally, in the days before mobile phones. 

At university the only means for a parent to contact an offspring was either to write or to ring the one phone in the hall of residence. This was a hit and miss affair. In the evenings the phone was almost certainly busy with little Idwal or Sian dutifully calling home. If it wasn’t in use then you had to rely on a passing student to answer it. This was not as straightforward as you might think because the altruistic act of answering would almost certainly result in you having to go off and find the student being called. Sigh, urgh, no that’s okay Mrs Jones. Dim problem or dim problemo as it might be in these days of language evolution 🙂. Revolution.

I think I probably rang once a week. Sunday evening maybe. Probs. Dutiful Tref. Sunday was the only evening we were not out in the pub. Maybs.

You would think that the advent of social media might make it easier for parents to keep in touch with kids whilst away at university. Our kids don’t use the same platforms as their parents, ie Facebook. WhatsApp does work.

We now have a variety of WhatsApp groups tailored to each kid. Each one of them has a kidmumdad group and I have a daviesmen group for when we talk cricket n stuff. I daresay the kids have a davieskids group for when they want to discuss their parents. What to get us for Christmas etc I’m sure. Or gawd have you seen what dad’s done now?! We also have a family group natch and an extended family group. All good stuff. Hard to keep track and sometimes very easy to post something in the wrong group. 21st century world problems.

Looking out of the kitchen window the sun is trying to climb over the garden fence. It looks cold out. Feels like 2 degrees Celsius I’m told. Cold enough.

…

At my desk in the shed by ten past nine. Very slippery deck so watch out folks. I’ve now positioned the rubber mat in the middle of it. It is the one that used to be just outside the door but was removed when I applied the decking preservative during the summer and never replaced. Need a couple more mats really to get maximum anti-slip coverage.

In the shed I am now streaming Handle’s Messiah. Two hours and twenty minutes of non stop entertainment. Sir Neville Marriner with the Academy of St Martin in the Fields. I’ve been there. It has been a long time since it was surrounded by fields. Now it is just tourists, taxis and double decker buses. Didn’t realise Marriner had two rs.

Dad always used to put the Messiah on the record player every Christmas morning. Huddersfield Chorale. Must have been the best arias and choruses as you can’t get two hours and twenty minutes on two sides of vinyl. Nor 12 inch anyway and they don’t make 40 inch LPs obvs. This may not be obvious if you are a visitor from another planet but I can categorically tell you that neither any of my Facebook pals nor readers of philosopherontap are such individuals. Well…

…

An appropriate chunky beef and vegetable soup for lunch with a hunk of sourdough, some strong cheddar cheese and a spicy pickled onion created a year or two ago by yours truly. It’s gone misty out there. Not nice.

Made some slow but good progress with the family tree research. We had a farm called Talgoed on a hill next to the Tyweli river. I visited it maybe fourteen years ago and had a nice chat with the then owner who mentioned that the older farmhouse from my gggg grandfather Daniel’s day (1766 – 1843) was actually a small derelict building at the bottom of the hill next to the road (track) and river.

This time round I’ve been doing some research and discovered that in fact the building on the hill looks like the original and the one at the bottom might well have been built to accommodate David, the younger of Daniel’s two sons with the older John taking the main farm.

Neither sons were at the farm during the 1841 census. I guess they may have gone to work elsewhere or had perhaps just been away at the time. The confusing thing is that Talgoed became Talgoed Uchaf (upper) and Talgoed Isaf (lower). The upper farm is actually physically the lower down one according to two different maps of the time. The confusion may well have arisen from the fact that the entrance to Talgoed Isaf, the main farm, looks as if it was slightly lower and along a bit from Uchaf.

The Talgoed of today has a separate access road that avoids having to traverse the farm and is not a working farm anymore. Talgoed Uchaf is either no longer there or has been renamed Argoed, a dwelling with a visible name on Google street view. There is evidence of a derelict old stone building on the site which could well be Talgoed Uchaf.

Various censuses suggest that John and David each had 80 acres which perhaps suggests that the Talgoed of Daniel Davies had a not insubstantial 160 acres. It may however have been the case that they shared the 80 acre farm. I’ll have to dig into it. My only way of finding out here is to look at the records of the Coedmore Estate. The Davieses at the time were tenant farmers. The records are in the National Library of Wales which will be a road trip.

Their sister Margaret, from whom I was derived, was the oldest sibling and married a farmer named John Evans at Pantyffynnon just over the hill, a mile or so through the fields. Her daughter Mary married Benjamin Davies of Cwmduad which is how I came to have that surname. Pantyffynnon is still a farm today and the farmer is a Davies. I will have to look him up when I visit the area.

That Margaret married such a close neighbour shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. It was probably the norm in those days although people seemed to travel a fair way to attend church, particularly for those of a dissenting persuasion (we were Baptists) who might not have had as many options in the early days of the reformation.

More as the story unfolds. It isn’t going to be quick but needs doing.

Chicken dinner, chicken dinner, chicken and leek pie. It died that we may eat three meals although not sure how much chicken will be left for the pie. Twillbfine. 

In other news I have to tell you that Waitrose does not sell cheesy balls. Wot! Why is this? Are cheesy balls considered to be too down market? Tesco (maybe there’s yer answer) has three offers in that line including something called “free from cheese flavour balls”. Yuk. Mind you I daresay the actual cheesy balls have never seen an udder. Udderly cheesy flavouring.

I’ll be buying my cheesy balls this year from Tesco. We are due a big shop, mainly festive booze, and I will be checking prices online before deciding what to buy where. Except cheesy balls obvs. I doubt there will be that much price difference but ya never know.

Waitrose does sell Essential Cheese Puffs at £1.10 for a 100g bag. Well firstly cheese puffs are not cheese balls and the bags aren’t big enough. Tesco sells 300g at £1.75. We are after volume here. Mind you I may buy a bag of each just as a comparison taste test. Makes sense to me. 

Cheesy balls have never really been the same ever since I moved from the rose tinted memory filled childhood phase of life to the harsh reality of adulthood. They taste crappy but we still buy em. They do come with the benefit of being easier to chuck in the air to be caught in the mouth which is nigh on impossible with cheese puffs whose aerodynamic properties are totally inadequate. 

That is all I have to say on the subject, for the moment…

…

It’s one of those calmish December afternoons. At three thirty the sun is desperately trying to slip over the horizon. The bar lights are on in the shed. They provide a bit of atmo. This doesn’t mean the bar is open although if someone happened by on a social call there are refreshments in the fridge. I have made a pot of tea. That’s not in the fridge, obvs.

There is beer but don’t particularly drink it that often. I’ll have the occasional tonic and gin. On occasion. I took the bottle of Leffe out. Don’t like the stuff. Someone must have brought it along on one of my occasional gentlemen’s get togethers in the shed. Not had one for a while. A get together that is. Maybs over Christmas.

All is quiet. I spent the afternoon reading History of Carmarthenshire Vol 2. At least the bits about church history. Nothing in there of particular interest although it is all good background reading. I was half tempted to buy the same volume for Cardigan but looking at the index it seemed to have even less material of relevance.

I bought the two volume Carmarthenshire set in the antiquarian bookshop in Carmarthen a few years back. It’s been on the shelf in the snug as a curiosity. It’s a first edition from February 1939. Only now being read, by me at least. I have the modern paperback version of Vol 1 but they don’t seem to have published Vol 2 like that. Probably only published one edition of the hardback. Dunno.

At four o’clock it is getting dark. Just over a fortnight to the winter solstice. A time we should be dancing around the fire pit and roasting a wild boar whilst drinking lots of mead or whatever they did in those days. Don’t like mead meself. I’m sure they had other hoochy options.

At four thirty it is dark. Shut the curtains and bolt the front door. There are monsters out there. We have plans for the evening. A repeat of Sunday’s chicken dinner with leftovers then watch the mighty Imps playing away at Rotherham. Almost a local derby.

I once played against Dinnington RFC in the Rotherham area. It was a bloomin cold day with freezing fog and in the days before sat nav we really struggled to find the place. None of us really wanted to play but hey, a commitment is a commitment. The game is the game. 

Anyway we changed and ran out onto the pitch and waited for the opposition to arrive. It was so foggy that the only way you could see both sets of posts was by standing on the half way line. We were on the verge of going back in to wait when we realised they were already on the pitch. Don’t remember the score (conveniently probaby) but I seem to recall enjoying a good pie and peas supper after the game. I’m sure I’ve told you this before but it is a good story 🙂