Thoughts While Visiting Cardiff On A Quiet Saturday In February

Opticians are always young women. Where do they go afterwards? Optometry isn’t something you just study in order to go work somewhere for a few years then move onto another career… Do any men do optometry? Maybe it is just me and all I see are young women in this career? I went into a number of stores and passed by a few opticians and I saw no male staff.

John Lewis: More makeup means a woman looks like she has more of a jib… an attitude displayed by the jutting out of the lower lip in a defiant manner though there is nothing to challenge the in their immediate vacinity as they only go certain places, wih certain people so such a gesture is a display of a close minded individual indicating their prejudice to anyone who does not fit into their social caste. In hindsight maybe she was just a very confident shoplifter who made people around her think she was meant to be there unlike someone with a heavy coat and deep, opaque, bag wandering around with ‘eagle eyed action man’ darting glances observing their surroundings.

St Davids II Shopping Centre: Store workers are dressing very casually recently… no it would be more appropriate to say they are dressing stylishly but it is increasingly hard to tell who is or is not employed at the shop. I saw a girl with fake tan, platinum blonde hair and wearing a white dress with smudges of primary colours on it and only realised she worked in the shop when she started to handle stock by the arm full. One day someone walked up to me and asked me to help them as if I were a member of staff when I wasn’t. As much as I wanted to go along with it and lead them into purchasing the least appropriate item my morality stopped me and I informed them to go hence to the nearest optometrist and purchase a pair of corrective eye lens with which to better conduct themselves. Also to perform an act of masochistic onanism upon themselves post haste. I find shops are too casual nowadays.

Card Shop: I saw a card with a very funny phrase. I noted it down on my phone and will use it in due course. I suppose I could do that with any card that had a good idea. Especially those Hipster lookin gones where the image is a very basic doodle of a joke. Its all just a question of morality as I doubt the staff will walk up to you and ask what you are doing just assuming you are texting someone and it is none of their business.

Park Plaza: Privileged women enter the reception taking one of the few footstools for themselves across the room next to one of the open fires. The youngest looking one, face reddened by makeup and skin cleansers removing the top layer of dead skin fro her face, looks blankly ahead in doing this act. Hair crisply styled, grey hoodie, leather gilet and jeggings. All very expensive items no doubt but also very generic looking. Tall. Very, very, thin. Model, sickly, physique unfit to bear children without medical intervention. The caesarean scar no doubt would be a badge of honour for their motherhood being too posh to push’ unlike the common folk they view as cattle, worthy only being beasts of burden, to ensure their ongoing lives of luxuriating being sustainable. Her companions who did less look older due to makeup and what looked like dyed blond hair contrasted against black shawls hiding their physiques apart from tree trunk legs held in by calf high boots.

They read self-help books. They look the sort. On audiobook of course while they work out at the gym, if not running down the narrow country road holding up traffic, to ensure as many people as possible see them leading a ‘morally responsible’ healthy life as endorsed by social doctrine. It is the only tie sweat is allowed even if it means purchasing non-running makeup to wear especially for this act.

‘Own the space you inhabit’ – self-help books often state such a mantra but in practise it is an endorsement of acting in a sociopathic manner. It is a vicious circle in which the advice tells you to act like those who do not consider you and in turn you become such a person to someone else who themselves goes seeking advice only to be told to do the same and thus the ouroboros of societal behaviour perpetuates itself leading to a loss of humanity for the sake of perceiving one’s self as ‘alive’ according to the perceptions of others.

It’s a vicious circle. The polite etiquette the British are known for is gradually being eroded away and will be lost one day. Every generation fears this believing it will happen within their life time but although it is put aside as a foolish notion it is happening much in the way that even with beaches the coast is gradually eroding away gradually no matter how slowly it is perceived to be doing so. It can be padded and defended with certain concrete defensives but one day it will be irrevocably lost. What Henry James’ generation feared in ‘Daisy Miller’, where we adopt the brashness of American societies ever revolving need for conquest and self-empowerment, will finally come to pass.

In thinking that I am being unfair with this notion I dismiss it and go to the toilet.

There are three urinals against the wall. A man in the standard uniform of t-shirt and blue jeans of the casual relaxed yet casual smart man stands at the central urinal with his legs wide apart. ‘Own the space you inhabit’. He is breaching the understood social convention to use the furthest urinal and leave at least one urinal empty between users. In the scenario he should have taken the furthest and I the one furthest from him. But no instead he had all three to himself.

I go into the lone cubicle and do not hear the taps nor the hand drier, the latter being directly outside the cubicle, being operated so I have to assume he also left without cleaning his hands. Obviously he intends , like a feral dog, to smear his scent all over the place to mark his territory I suppose. The hand drier has that slow uncomfortable heat like the breathe of an old age pensioner invading your personal space speaking to you or hugging you in a deathlike grasp betraying their age.

Outside Walking from Queens Street towards the New Theatre: Along a wrought iron fence walks an old woman. Face like crumpled leather. Hair dyed gregarious ginger. Spindle legs hang out of a very heavy fur coat giving the impression she is in fact wearing a modifiyed gorilla costume. Danging out of the arms are her hands clad in red leather gloves and a cigarette hangs lazily from her right hand the smoke and ash drifting onto everyone behind her wake.

Two compatriots walk with her. They are of similar age in luminously sun-bleached yellow and pink padded coats respectively. They walk three abreast spaced just enough to give the impression you could wak past them but in approaching realising you do not in fact have enough space to do so. By which point the still warm ash has drifted onto any exposed skin burning you.

I thought I saw my English teacher from my first year of Secondary School. If so she hadn’t aged so it couldn’t be her. She always looked like the stereotype of what you would expect a young female literary student to look like. She had a doctorate when she taught me. Why would someone with a doctorate teach in a Comprehensive School? I didnt know then and I don’t know now.

Apparently there are only 500 ‘real’ people in the world and everyone else is just a bit player. However there are multiple coexisting dramatis personae consisting of 500 people all overlapping so it is not the cause of an existentialist crisis for anyone.


A few days away.

Nothing to say.

Here is a rambling number of notes.

I read too many things but Charles Bukowski and Daniil Kharms.

More to follow. What it is cannot be said… because I do not know.

Advertisements

A Visit to the Cat’s Adoption Home

I went to the Cat’s Protection rehoming centre recently.

It is a good charity and very well run with a welcoming, unpressured, enviroment for visitors.

It is a single floor brick building which seems to have been purpose built for housing the charity and cattery.

You walk in and on the left behind the door there are a few trinkets, card, toys and snacks for cats sold in aid of the charity. On the right is the reception desk and the offices for doing the paperwork. A few metres on the left is a blue door with two windows of safety glass and a thick yellow vertical bar leading to the cats for rehoming.

There are two corridors through this door. The second runs off to the right at the end of the first one and has a similar door to bar the cats escaping should they somehow find a way to escape their cell.

Each corridor has about 8 ‘cells’ in which cats are kept and a venilation system silently keeping air flowing and the temperature constant. Paper work is hung above each one with a photo and a short first person written account of the cat to entice the reader into selection. Some have paperwork taped to the window detailing the observations by the staff about the cat’s mood, eating habits and any other issues. Some even have ‘good girl/boy’ written on them if they are doing better. A few, the most needy, have rosettes attached to their windows with titles like ‘lonely heart’, ‘little star’, ‘overlooked’, ‘golden oldie’ (for those over 9 years old it seemed) and on one something akin to ‘a pair is best’. The last one admittedly had been placed on the window of a daughter separated from her mother. The first day I was told they could go separately though they had come in together but then the second day this was on the window for the daughter so perhaps it was a rogue agent…

Above each cell are a folded piece of A4 with a photo and a brief ‘personal account’ of the cat written in the first person. Many came in because of new babies in their families, some had been here before but their owners got too old to care for them, the one I selected had been wandering the streets. In an odd way you could tell which staff member had written which account as certain ones were long and ended with ‘with purrs and kisses xxx’ while others were very matter of fact being only three or so lines.

Of course there are larger catteries elsewhere on the site but these display cells are where they put the cats ready to be rehomed.

Each cell has full length double window doors secured with a rotatable stop tab at the top to bar the windows from opening. It seems a bit old fashioned but it works. The cat that constantly battered the window couldn’t open its door even with the tab out of place so perhaps it is only a secondary security lock. The first cell on the left in the second corridor on both occasions had two cats sat inside it. On the first day they looked very sad and no doubt uncomfortable sharing such an intimate space together. On the second day they were very alert. I do not think the two cats came in together but perhaps they had become very lonely isolated by themselves and so this was pairing up worked.

In the cells are the following: a blue plastic bowl filled with dry cat food, a blanket to lay on, one of those climbing things to sit on top of or hide beneath. Each has a litter tray filled either with grey clay litter or wood pellets. I do not know why there is this differentiation.

At the rear of each cell is a cat door leading to a wooden shed like extensionm running the length of the building, for them to rest away from visitors. Most sit in the cell where it is warmer this time of year though.

The corridor is sterile. At the corner is a number of printed off A4 scaled photos of the staff and others in fancy dress costumes from promotional events. On the corner is the room in which they wash the cat’s litter
The staff move around with blue plastic bags on their shoes and latex gloves to handle the cats. Blue polo shirts and cotton jumpers are worn. Usually they wear blue jeans and trainers but that is just a casual thing.

The first visit is during the afternoon on the weekend. The ‘busy’ period. There are a number of people there in their small groups crowded around each of the cells. Some cats act out due to the commotion. Some sleep. The staff passed back and forth some helping visitors and taking cats out to be handled while others just need to get from one side of the building to the other.

You don’t hear the cats cry. Most have become institutionalised. They know it’s not going to work if they cry out. It reminds me of the Children’s charity adverts on television tell the viewer that children don’t cry out because they have learnt no one will come. There it is abuse. Here it is a matter of conserving energy. The ones that have been here before know the score. If they are not sleeping then they tap at the window gently, make full intense eye contact, the works. They are Puss In Boots from Shrek incarnate.

A small girl taps on the glass of one cat and reminds me of Verruca Salt from the Roald Dahl story. ‘Mummy, mummy, mummy I want this one’. ‘Don’t open that door dear’. She doesn’t stop the girl. She just lets her keep going. Every generation says the younger ones are spoilt and ‘don’t know they are born’. No its more a case of certain families do not instil in their children the etiquette of proper decorum in public and private life. These children then go on to be successful as they are not as restrained in their conduct and take the chances others don’t. Or they make sure to make others be aware of how discontented they are with their lives without doing anything about it. In any case spoilt rotten.

We did not select a cat the first time. It seemed inappropriate to just drop in and expect to do so. We returned the next day and having checked the website discovered that some I had viewed previously had been reserved.

The second day it is mid-morning and the staff are busy behind closed doors though occasionally they move through the corridor. One cat that had already been reserved on my second visit began to bang its paws against the glass. Bang bang. Bang bang. Bang bang. On and on it goes and no one turns up to stop it. Bang bang. Bang bang. Bang bang. It’s propped upon its hind legs slamming its paw pads on the glass as hard as it can. Bang bang. Bang bang. Bang bang. One cat across the way looks at it. But what can be done? They’re in for the long stretch and this one’s not seen The Shawshank Redemption.

A pair of old women come in. They look for what seems to be only minutes. A staff member appears out of nowhere and is helping them. We were here for over 45 minutes and besides stepping around us we were not acknowledged while looking. ‘For which one of you is it?’ ‘Me it’ll be coming home with.’ 10 minutes later a member of staff finally comes to us as we are by the door and about to leave. Maybe they left us alone as we were pacing back and forth discussing the matter previously. We couldn’t handle the cat due to health issues. We didn’t reserve it until later once home though we were asked if we wanted to do so there and then.

There had been 3 I liked but in the end I just took the one that on the day made the best impression. That impression been formed by three things:

1) Not remaining asleep during the hour and a half we have walked those two corridors repeatedly.
2) Making a noise so I knew what it sounded like.
3) Being observant but neither overly active nor lethargic.

Also full circular eyes while attractive are not something I am used to in animals or humans (well obviously in humans but you know what I mean – ‘wide eyed’). A look of quiet distane, hooded, half open eyes is default for me and often it will appeal to me more than the desperate, wanton attention, fully open eyes demand with their suggestion of bewilderment in the face of stimuli as if to say ‘look see through these windows and find my soul beared to thee’. LOVE ME, LOVE ME, LOVE ME! They demand without first earning affection.

The cats all seem very sedate and for the most part content. The new comers are, of course, very timid and wide eyed. One I saw was sat ‘hiding’ on top of its toy bunker with its golden eyes peeping over the edge of the bedding. Another would peer through the cat flap only once making an appearance. Most on the second day were sound asleep. At one point one cat had to be moved to another cell and as expected hissed and screamed at being handled. This cat however was stated to be feisty so it is the exception not the rule.

The cat home seems to be very well run. The staff are well informed, friendly and sincere. Although the staff were very busy the second time we visited I assume it was just the time of each day when they have to all be attending to behind the scenes work and cannot afford to spare anyone ‘front of house’. Certainly when speaking about the cats they seem truly enthusiastic and at least one is a dedicated cat owner himself.

When we reserved the cat they took our contact details and were back to us asking the relevant questions and arranging pick up, etc., the next day after the cat had been seen by the veterinarian (who goes there every Tuesday). They ask the questions to ensure the home is suitable for the cat and if need be would arrange a home visit. In our case apparently this was not necessary. They do ask for £50 per cat adopted but this is in fact very cheap as the cats, depending on how long they have been there, either have their first injections or the full course so you are in fact saving money in such a case. You are also asked if you would consider a further donation on top of this which I think is fair.

The information provided above each cat is concise and clear with separate colour coded symbols to indicate each of the areas people may wish to know about: Gender; Age (approx.); Breed; Colour; Can live with cats; Can live with dog; Can live with a family; Can live with mature family; Indoor only cat; Access to outside.

They visit the home if there are children, other animals or anything they think may affect the cat. This is good. Cats are solitary but need others to survive. All animals both social and solitary at some point must interact with others.
So now I need to think of a name for this stray who is now homed… that is the next challenge once the paperwork is completed.

I liked the place. It was a very laid back feel but they were definitely busy and doing their very best to ensure the cats were well cared for and not needlessly stressed by their current circumstances which could easily happen especially with the younger ones or those whose first, and hopefully only time ever here, before finding their ‘forever home’ which the staff truly wish happens with each adoption.

http://www.bridgend.cats.org.uk/bridgend


Editting… I just cannot do it…. Delayed updates result… Will be more updates in due course a few days from now.

Wenglish Post Challenge

So, like, ayes been challenged to write a blog entirely in ‘Wenglish’ innit? There I am minding my own business when suddenly sum-one’s all like ‘Oh go on – writes us a post in Wenglish innit? It be funny like, not like in “being funny” like someone’s ‘aving a pout but like “funny funny” like your ‘avin’ a laff yeh? I turns round to ‘er and I tells ‘er ‘Oh what you think I is? Some sort of bloody wind-up toy munkee is it? I gotta life too you know!’ An’ then she’s all like ‘alright calm down! Well you dunno if you don’ try innit butt?’ So alright then… let’s ‘ave a go an’ see what ‘appens then is it? All off the top of my head this is so don’t give me no jip cuz of it…

What’s Wenglish? English/Welsh dialect innit?

Welsh English, Anglo-Welsh, or Wenglish refers to the dialects of English spoken in Wales by Welsh people. The dialects are significantly influenced by Welsh grammar and often include words derived from Welsh. In addition to the distinctive words and grammar, there is a variety of accents found across Wales from the Cardiff dialect to that of the South Wales Valleys and to West Wales.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welsh_English

An’ this is a site all bout it too. Blokes made a livin’ out of it n all too: http://talktidy.com/


Day Inna Life Of A Tidy Welsh Bloke As ‘e Sees it In ‘is Own Words An’ All That Like.

Right then, it’s like this it is start of the day. There I was like walking down the road when a bloody great big bugger of a ‘roid ‘ead comes stropping towards me all casual givin’ me a funny look.
‘oh’ I said ‘oo you think you is butt?’ an’ ‘e was all ‘Nun a your fuhkin’ bizniz oo aye am you smelly dick. You startin’ sumfing? You need to man up you header! Don’t you even fuckin’ try it mate! End of!’
‘Oi mun!’ I shout, ‘Pissy pants, come over here you cocky little shit’ I said, ‘cuz you don’t come round ‘ere flapping your chops like that an’ get away with it I can tell you that now!’
He starts walkin’ away like ‘e owns the place! Cheeky fuhk…
‘Oi’ I said ‘you’re not down Llanelli here now butt, we’re not all slappers, piss-‘eads and roiders all on the dole round ‘ere like you. ‘This ‘eres Brid-end like’, I warned ‘im, ‘You got to take responsibility for what you just gone and said to me!’
Well ‘e didn’t like it did ‘e? Didn’t like it at all…
So there was a ruck course and a few cheeky slaps but in the end I gave ‘im a good hidin’. An’, I’m not lying, that bast’add was built like a brick shit house but I could ‘ave ‘im cuz roiders are all trouser no balls. Fuhkin’ roider I tell you…
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a police bloke comes running down the road shoutin’ at us ‘Oh! Oh! The fucks goin’ on ‘ere then boys?!’
We both dun a runner like and that was that.

Next thing I’m over by the Rec an’, no joke, I’m lookin’ at the river when a bloody fuckin’ old slag bollock naked of all things comes out the pissin’water! What the fuhks she doin’ there like I ask myself?
‘Oh luv’, I shout at ‘er, ‘put your bloody tits away for God’s sakes! No one wants ta see tha’!’
Well, she just looked at me with a face like a slapped arse don’t she?
‘Oh luv I don’t care if you duss put your bra on one cup at a time like the rest of us!’ I tells ‘er, ‘I’m not being funny… but you’re a bloody state luv, look at yerself!”
Then you know what the bint bloody went and did? You know she just ups and pisses off like she got a rocket up ‘er arse runnin’ stark bloody naked into tha bushes an’ disappears and I’m left stood there like a bloody lemon an’ ‘aven’t a clue what the fuhk waz goin’ on just now… it waz random like no lie…

Then later I’m out in the night and some fat bint waddles ova ta me pissed out of ‘er brains and is all like ‘oh let’s ‘ave a cwtch is it luvly?’
‘Oh piss off’, I sez, I gotta missus an’ you look like shit to be honest‘.
‘But you knows ahm funkin’ gwjuss an up for it’ ‘n’ like it don’t matter if she dunno cuz it’s only a bit of fun like’
‘Christ almighty’ some bloke passing sez before he goes chuckin’ ‘is guts up after lookin’ at ‘er, ‘she looks ruff as fuhkin’ ‘ell there butt’.
So then she’s tryin’ to lead me round sum dark corner round tha back o tha pub furra shag and aye makes my excuses there an’ then like don’t i? I tells ‘er ‘Oh yeh you goes right ahead, gotta go take a piss a sec be there right now in a minute.
Well I won’t lie it’s not like it’s the first time that day is it I ‘ad to do a runner? I’m not twp. Wouldn’t even have touched ‘er with a barge pole if I ‘ad to double bag it you know what I means like? Dirty she was.

Was a right laff when I told the boys after.

Then I gets home completely blotto and hasta hav’ a kip obvs like. Ruff as fuhk I was the next morning, no lie, so aye ‘as another nap after I gone makin’ myself a chip buttie. Prawpa bluddy luvly it was ‘n’ all. Then the boys cum round half three an’ we’re watchin’ the rugby like cuz like it’s Sunday… an tha’s what you dus on a Sunday innit? Not’ing else to do then is there? So we all piss off down the local pub for a couple. Bloody packed in there it was… like sardines we was. Brilliant bit of atmosphere an’…fuhkin’ ‘ell… I tell you now, the way those boys ‘andled the ball you’d think it was a babe fresh baked out their missus’ downstairs honest! ‘Come on lads’ we’re shoutin’ at the screen, cuz you ‘ave to don’t you? Give ‘em a bit of encouragement! No lie, think one of the boys started wellin’ up, it was such a bute of a game, the soppy bugger, but then you knows the women aint watchin’ for the game like but just so they can imagine wrappin’ themselves round those boys thighs innit? Filthy cows… Getting’ down ‘n’ dirty with them an’ wannabe rugger versions of those bloody footy WAGs that ar’ always in da papers. Dirty slappers gittin’ moist just standin’ there while serious business is goin’ on on the pitch on the tele… Might scrub up tidy but they got another thing comin’ if they think they got a chance with the lads there tho. Even if they did they’d be in for a shock. Thighs like tree trunks, cocks like pencils, is what I ‘ear… not that I ever want to know stuff like that but you know what with banter ‘n’ goss n all tha’ you find out these things don’t you? Happy days like it was.

But that’s enough o’ tha now innit? Can’t chops all day cuz aye got other things to be doing course. Can’t be helped.


So That’s that then. Not me sayin’ it like just some made up character ‘n’ that. Pwper tidy bloke ‘e is ‘n’ all.

“Oh, where’s the reviews of these films then you keep promising? You keep on about them like a nag all the time an’ ‘aven’t shown nuthin’ for it…”

Calm down for God’s sakes mun! It’s bluddy cummin’ just hold your horses and wait a second it’ll be here in a minute…

Oh yeh and befores I forgets here’s wassaface who sed ava go doin’ this Wenlgish post.

https://annawwalii.wordpress.com/ – Which is all in Polish and kept up to date and then you got https://annainwales.wordpress.com/ which is all in English but she don’t keep that last one up to date cuz “effort” she sez ‘n’ all that. Needs to get a grip ‘n’ sort herself out sharpish mun! Got one post from 13 November 2013 where she posted a part one and there’s still no part two to it all this time later now! Got two blogs ‘n’ all she has! The greedy bugger… an’ there’s even more she got like a Polish language ‘travel guide to Welsh places’ http://walijskiewedrowanie.wordpress.com/ and a photography site and… and… well… it’s just takin’ the piss now isn’t it? But there you goes… that should be more than enough of a plug for her stuff now. Cheeky mare…

Only jokin’ like! Got to laff ‘aven’t you? Life wouldn’t be worth livin’ if you didn’ yeh? It’s Welsh humour like, bit of banter (whether you like or not)… not a good un if you don’t take it on the chin and ‘ave a laff at ‘urself… but yeh like I waz sayin’ got go sort out those film blog entries and post them in the next few days. Honest…