where art collides philosoperontap

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.

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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…

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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…

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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 🙂

It is now ok to start thinking about Christmas, it being Monday 2nd December (2024). In an ideal world I wouldn’t give it any thought until the week before the festival but let’s be realistic here. Not only will we all be carried along on the hype which is now in full swing but actually I like the run up to Christmas.

If Christmas has a feelgood factor to it why not have that good feeling for the whole month. In reality it is only just over three weeks anyway.

It is my job to get the tree. This year it is made somewhat harder by the fact that I no longer have a car. The Land Rover Defender was the perfect vehicle for picking up a Christmas tree. It almost didn’t matter how big the tree was, we would get it in the back. 

Now, with only THG’s little Peugeot to transport it the sitch is a little different. We will need a seven footer, Norway Spruce. I’m going to take a tape measure to the car but I may need it delivering which I believe you do @William Rose (I’ll get in touch). Probably on Tuesday 16th. Don’t want it too soon. Apart from anything we are full on before then with not much time to spare for decorating.

My job is just to get the tree to the house and erected in its stand. I also have to get the decs down from the garage. Everything else is taken care of. It is a good system.

The festivities start this coming weekend with our annual Christmas carol singsong. We’ve held this for over thirty years. It used to be billed as the Christmas Market Party timed to coincide with the event of the same name in Lincoln. Since the city council in its infinite lack of wisdom chose to end the massively popular market that attracted a quarter of a million people each year and brought in a lot of money to local entities such as schools, sporting clubs and the Scouts we can no longer call it by the same name.

Last year was the first time we didn’t hold the singsong since its inception. I can’t remember exactly when it started. Was defo before 1992 as I remember that year I was in Anything Goes at the Theatre Royal and the cast came along for the party. Probably the best singing we’ve had. CAODS. This year it is back as the Not The Christmas Market Party. I need to get some supplies in this week. Refreshments.

Then it’s my birthday. Same date as Donny Osmond, @John Staz Storey and @Chris Weston. Also the same date as John Smith the erstwhile landlord of the Morning Star who passed away some time ago now. After he had retired, to a bungalow around the corner, I would swing by on our birthday for a chat and a beverage. Gin with a splash of tonic. John knew how to mix a G&T.

No idea what we will do this year. For my 60th birthday the date coincided with a trefbash so I effectively held a little soiree with 200 of my closest pals 🙂Good timing. This year I’ll probably just don a comfy pair of slippers and settle down in my favourite armchair to watch University Challenge with THG. Cocoa anyone?

The kitchen is awash with noise. Kettle boiling drowning out the sound of the Sunday service. The latter is just nice relaxing background music and words anyway. The boiling kettle signifies a second pot of tea in the making. Glug, glug. Glug. Good word, glug. I bet it was one of Shakespeare’s.

No rush to prepare breakfast. A variety of ingredients are available and I am sure that a satisfactory breaking of the fast is in prospect. Bagel is on the menu. I am able bagel. Tinned grapefruit. No preparation required other than opening the tin 🙂.

An organ bashes out a tune unknown. Unrecognisable at least. I can’t imagine they have an organist who isn’t able to play the instrument. Must be based on an actual piece of music. Turns out they were playing us out. Dee dee dee da dee…

Went to see an organist at the Cathedral last summer. He was famous for his improvisation skills. The programme had one ten minute piece of improv. I timed it, partly because I was getting bored with the entertainment. His piece of improvisation lasted thirteen minutes. That’s three minutes longer than billed. I mentioned this to him afterwards. Went right over his head 🙂 

A programme called Point of View has come on. It’s as bad as Thought for the Day. V boring. Sorry love. Monotone delivery. When you think about it the titles mean the same thing. Problem is I can’t be bothered to get up to turn off the wireless. Update, apaz we have to put up with it because Paddy McConnel is up next and THG likes him. Fair enuff.

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The wireless is off and a cup of tea in hand in the snug. I like to finish off breakfast this way. Call it a routine. At least during the darker months. In spring and summer I tend to sit in the conservatory, sometimes with the doors open. Enjoying the outdoors indoors. Sometimes if it’s warm enough  I’ll even take breakfast out to the patio. Not today. The snug is warmer than the conservatory right now.

This morning the lawn is a lawn of two halves. One half has the leaves cleared and the other hasn’t. Significantly the football that has been there most of the summer is still in the middle of the lawn. Game of two halves. Hasn’t even been rolled by the wind. Hopefully the leaves will stay put until THG gets the rake onto them.

This afternoon we have a plethora of sporting choices to entertain us. The highlight is the key top of the table ish clash between the Peul and Man City followed after dinner by the snooker final. There are a few other games of lesser interest such as Man U v Everton. These bottom half of the table matches are of little interest to the majority other than perhaps as an opportunity to smile condescendingly at the performance of United in a mildly disinterested manner. Bless. An ongoing tale.

This morning I have a couple of jobs to do. I need to stuff the chicken. I am an expert at making stuffing. Then I have a bit of a craft job to do for THG who has made some small decorative Christmas trees but need a base making to enable them to stand up. I am happy to help here. It’s what you do innit. I’ve known the girl for thirty eight years, married for thirty six.

Mind you she does sometimes put highly ambitious things on the jobs list without understanding the implications. I’ll say to her that is a half a day job or a one dayer or it will need two of us as I can’t do that on my own. Or even that is physically impossible or we will have to pay someone to do that. The base for the little Christmas tree provides just the right mix of the amount of time needed and creative input required. 

Plus skill with hand tools. I was, being of an age, going to say “blokey type of things” but actually that would not be right. Our Hannah is impressively skilled with tools and diy. When I was at school boys did woodwork and metalwork and girls did cookery and sewing, or similar. That division of skills has quite properly been cast into the dustbin of history. 

Anyway it is after ten o’clock and I’m not dressed yet. Got a chicken to stuff. Ciao amigos.