where art collides philosoperontap

Feast of the Holy Innocents today. This is one of the most popular and entertaining Christmas traditions in Spain. December 28 is the day when everyone is allowed to play practical jokes and when it is customary to buy prank items at Christmas markets like the one in the Plaza Mayor in Madrid. Not here. Anyway Lincoln council pulled the plug on the Christmas market, miserable gits.

The spiel about Spain came from the country’s official tourist website. Came up number one in search results. A bit strange. All the other sites majored on King Herod massacring babies which is v gory but highly relevant. I think I prefer the Spanish attitude to the day.

No feasting here. Don’t think it’s appropriate plus we’ve had enough food to last us a while. We can now go into hibernation in the happy knowledge that we have enough bodily reserves to last until the snows start to melt.

Coincidentally, ish, it’s the pope doing thought for the day on’t wireless. I guess they line up their top attractions over the festive season. Trying to take advantage of the mood of the moment by fielding big hitters. I would. Get the message across while people are still receptive. Suitably boring delivery mind you with a voice over in English. Tuning out. All you need is love ❤️. 

I am downstairs in the snug. THG is in the kitchen having an early breakfast before doing the park run, fair play. Still a bit misty out there but as long as you can see the person in front of you you should make it around the circuit.

After yesterday’s start the process of emptying the house of offspring continues today as another leaves for home. This time Berlin. In my mind it will be cold there with icy winds blowing across from the east. Shutting my eyes I can hear the sound of jackboots ringing out across no mans land and a shout as someone is spotted trying to escape. 

Not like that anymore obvs. That’s just an influence from a childhood growing up during the cold war. The Spy Who Came In From The Cold. Stuff like that. When we moved to the Isle of Man dad, as a senior civil servant, was offered a place in the nuclear bunker there. Told em to stuff it. 

I remember one evening standing in our front garden hearing the wail of a siren coming from Douglas three miles away. Dad and I looked at each other wondering whether that was the three minute warning (or however many minutes it was supposed to be). Turned out to be the signal for the Douglas lifeboat to go out. 

We don’t want to get back to those days do we? Nostalgia doesn’t apply.

Today I start to throttle back on the feasting, as I said. This does have to be a controlled throttling back. You can’t just go from full on feasting to totes austerity and dieting in one day. It would be like falling off a cliff. There are some planned feasts that will be difficult to avoid. New Year’s Eve for one plus the lunch at the rugby club on 4th Jan. 

I guess I could drive to the rugby club but the temptations will be great and manifold and peer group pressure needs adding into the mix. Also the last time I drove to watch the rugby I got done for speeding on Bunkers Hill. 35mph. Bar stewards. 

Not really a New Years Eve fan but our pals get together mid pm in the White Hart to avoid the rush and have a meal at six. Means we can be home in plenty of time for an early night and avoid the false bonhomie that comes out every year on that evening. Should be in bed by ten as usual. Phone will be on silent so don’t bother ringing. Bah humbug.

St John The Evangelist’s big day d’aujourd’hui. I only know because last year I was watching some programme about how they celebrated Christmas in mediaeval times and a number of saints were feasted so to speak. Looked em up and inserted the dates in my calendar in perpetuity. Long after I am gone there will be calendar reminders to that effect (those effects?).

Doubt whether St John spoke French. Otherwise he might have been a St Jean which he aint, afaik. Might be in France I suppose. They have a mind of their own. Only apostle not to be martyred apaz. Side stepped that one. Probs saw it coming before the others and arranged to be out at the shops or similar when the Roman soldiers rocked up at the gaff where they were all staying. Just a lucky happenstance.

Tonight we will be celebrating ole St John’s feast with a bit of salad. Had enough big meals to do me at least until tomorrow 🙂 We do have a lot of stuff to eat up. Mind you I am considering having a full English to break the fast. Believe it or not I’ve avoided one up until now over this holiday period. Even Christmas Day. See how I feel in thirty mins or so. No rush. Defo avin half a grapefruit as well. Use my new grapefruit spoon innit.

Some FB pals (well one) has expressed a certain level of ignorance about the aforementioned John. I don’t feel inclined to help them out when they can easily google it, which is what I did in the first place. There’s a lot of stuff out there on tinterweb about Johnny boy, as you might imagine. Two thousand years of posting including some of his own stuff. I’m sure I found somewhere that his feast involves wine although I can’t seem to lay my hands on the source this morning. We still have a bottle or two of wine left so might raise a glass to the lad this evening. I’m sure there will be other takers if the suggestion is put to the table.

A miserable foggy day out. Despite this it would be worth going out for a walk were it not for the fact that I’m somewhat crippled right now and having a new hip in February. Just six weeks or so to wait. Over 100k people get it done in the uk every year (annually) apaz. That’s a lorra people. Since announcing the fact it’s amazing how many people have said they’ve had it done or they know someone who has. Enough of this hip talk.

I doubt St John ever encountered fog. Holy land is a bit warmer than the UK. Also references to snow are down to good King Wenceslas who as far as I am aware lived nowhere near the Middle East (Mid East if you are from across the pond). Don’t get much snow ere either. Do get fog though, as you know. In those days they didn’t have such a thing as replacement hips either. They wouldn’t have needed one anyway as JC and the gang were around to apply healing hands to any deserving cripple they came across.

Strange to think that the market for replacement hips, which is worth at least one and a half billion squid a year in the UK based on fifteen grand a pop, would not exist had there still been people around able to perform miracles. The art seems to have died out after the middle ages although the Catholic Church does still occasionally churn out a saint. I’m a bit sceptical of these newbie saints meself. Feels as if the church feels obliged to keep the tradition alive. They should be able to move on 🙂 .

As a Davies I am named after St David. In my part of the world (well in Carmarthenshire where my ancestors trod the sod) twenty five percent of the populace are Davieses. In the days before surnames sons were oft named after St David as might have been their fathers before. So David ap (son of) David morphed into David Davies’. Would more likely have been Dewi or Dafydd in Sir Gaerfyrddin where few people spoke the invasive English language that the church felt obliged to use to write down names.

I don’t feel particularly saintly otherwise I’d have fixed the hip meself. I can however fix breakfast which is what I am going to do now. Ciao amigos.

Kid 3 sets off for Caadiff today to spend time with his gf Lucy’s family. She is a lovely girl.

Lying in bed pondering the fact that I am still full from yesterday’s lunch and having had no supper. Didn’t even make the cheese course. Today’s repeat dinner has been put back until this evening. Toast and a bit of grapefruit for brekkie methinks. All subject to approval from the assembled masses who are all also still in bed. 

Gotta write out a birthday card for the heir. Momentous Christmas that was. THG went in to labour during the evening on Christmas Day. I had cooked lunch and subsequently fallen asleep on the sofa. When I woke up all the dishes had been washed, the house tidied and the process begun. 

Not sure we got much kip that night. Spent it noting times of contractions on a piece of paper by the bed.

By breakfast it was time to take her in to the hospital maternity wing which was just down the road from us. The rest is history.

Had that piece of paper with timings in the drawer of the bedside table for years but it is now lost. Birrofashame but not a biggie.

…

Now downstairs the kitchen is a hive of activity but no sign of any offspring. This is very much in contrast to the time when they were kids, particularly on Christmas Day itself. We’ve never got out of the habit of getting up early since then. It isn’t particularly early I guess. 8.30. Who knows what time the household will surface.

Today will likely be a day of sport. Armchair sport. Gone are the days of rocking up for the annual President v Chairman’s XV at the rugby club with a bottle of port at half time and a few pints afterwards before walking home to a repeat Christmas dinner. Was always a great atmosphere in the clubhouse for that game. The rugby club moved to Nettleham a few years ago anyway. No longer a walk.

First item on my shopping list today is essence of kumquat. I don’t really expect to be able to buy some from waitrose. It’s just one of those joke ingredients I chuck in whenever I’m feeling a bit playful. Google it though and such a thing does exist. They use it in the making of orange liqueur n stuff like that. I have no need for it and won’t really be buying any.

Gonna do a biggish shop today though. After yesterday’s experience of Fosters having no beef bones left I figured I’d better get in early to Waitrose. Not that we will be going there particularly early. I won’t have the car before around eleven thirty. Just one of those things you have to put up with when you decide to not have your own car. Could get a taxi I know but it isn’t a biggie to wait until eleven thirtyish. Hopefully.

Just realised it’s a Friday. Feels like a Saturday.

Anyway got the shopping in. No EoK natch. No Epoisses in store so will need to source elsewhere. Me n Jose wandered round Waitrose bumping into people we know. The back of the shopping is broken, so to speak. Meat to get from Fosters on Monday and a few bouteilles plus a veg shop which THG is sorting.

Large turkeys in Waitrose were going for over a ton. Not bought one in years but I seem to remember paying sixty pounds or so. Gosh. Blimey. Wasn’t in the market for a large turkey anyways. Did make my annual purchase of TUC crackers. What’s not to like?

Chillin now in da shed before heading to the Strugs for the annual sole traders Christmas do.

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.