Listening To Abridged Books In The Bath......As You Do.

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Regular readers to this blog (and thank you for that) will know of my love for baths over showers. You also might remember that as I'm cleansing my Adonis like body (the only alternative fact in this post) I like listening to programmes downloaded on the BBC radio iplayer. You might even recall that this scenario was mentioned because I was attacking the writer Julian Barnes for not understanding the nature of supporting a football team.

Well been starting to listen in the bath to abridged books that were broadcast across the week on BBC Radio 4 and 4 Extra in roughly thirteen minute chunks, using each programme as a sort of literary stopwatch. When each episode begins I'm in the bath and when it finishes I Adonisly get out of it.

I'm not sure whether if it wasn't for the combination of the BBC radio iplayer and the bath I would've been listening to abridged books. But there we are. Opposites attract.

Recently I've been listening to Age Of Anger by Pankaj Mishra which quite brilliantly dissects the swirl of nationalism affecting the world today. Currently I'm going through Death of the Poets by Michael Symmons Roberts and Paul Farley which explores the notion of "the doomed poet" and is fascinating even for me, someone whose poetry reading experience is limited.

But (and there is always a but), you'd have noticed that these abridged books are non fiction as most my downloads are. There is a reason for that. With abridged non fiction whilst you know you're not getting everything there is still the feeling that something has been gained. With fiction however, be it an emotion, a descriptive passage or even the possible disappearance of a minor character that feeling for me is that something, possibly important, is missing. And so the experience leaves me unsatisfied.

(Of course when talking about fiction here I'm referring to the novel. Short stories are obviously different. I've downloaded the first in a series of Anton Chekhov tales read by Alistair McGowan. To be honest of the stories I've read Chekhov is a writer I'm very Switzerland towards and am wondering whether listening to them will make any difference)

You may ask why I don't go the whole hog and get an audiobook of an entire novel? Two reasons. Firstly they are surprisingly expensive. If you didn't want to be tied into buying at least one a month (and I don't) an audiobook seems to cost about the same price as a TV series boxset for reasons that I don't understand.

But secondly what these abridgements provide is a way to ease my brain into the day as I'm making myself clean. They act like a first cup of tea to my mind. Why change something that works?

So thank you BBC Radio 4/4Extra till we meet again in the bathroom tomorrow....no peeking mind.

Until the next time.

In Which House Moving Means Parts Of Life Stands Still

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Of course I should have known this already. I've moved house as a child onwards four times in my life and should my wife die before me one last time up to the Valleys. And yet I've completely forgotten that this twilight moment between the house being SOLD (subject to contract - which is how the sign outside the house is displaying our current the current situation. SOLD in big letters. Subject To Contract in tiny really tiny lettering you need a magnifying glass underneath) and the actual moving means that your life is gradually put into some sort of cryogenic state until you've both moved and settled.

It all came back to me on Thursday. When it took the wife and I all evening to go through the forms the solicitor sent us. I knew then that the slow process of moving will get faster with everyday that passes, so it meant that some of things that I've been doing/planning to do will have to wait until it's finally complete.

On Friday we viewed four houses. All had problems for at least one of us. The biggest cause of a domestic between me and the wife came at house number 3. It needed work but was livable. She wants perfection or as close to it money would allow. That was the argument. Of course she won, if only because I had separate worries about the main road it was on..

Of the remaining three houses one had a lot of work that needed to be done, seemed over priced and was worryingly near a graffitised bus stop. Houses Two and four were good houses well presented but too small. Even though for the area we are going to downsize it was, as I explained to the estate agent in house four, "one room too small"..... that being a dining room.

This coming week is the most awkward work wise for me as if you ignore Sunday I'm working on the afternoon/evening shift Tuesday,Thursday,Friday and Saturday. What that means is that tomorrow (Monday) I'm going to arrange appointments to see four separate houses on Wednesday. The idea being that if I like any of them I'll arrange a viewing for wife/daughter to see it on Saturday. On that evening wife will see another house with brother-in-law's partner (I'll be back home cooking for daughter just from school) if she likes it she'll arrange an appointment for me to see it on one of the following three days. Just making sure that it's an early viewing so I can get some lunch before going off to work.

But as I've said all this activity comes at a price. The first thing that's being put on hold (and it needs to be stressed put on hold rather than abandoned) is my attempt to learn languages. The one exception I'm making is Welsh as it's all around us here in Wales(!) so there is no reason to avoid learning it. Even if I'm packing things up for example can listen to BBC Radio Cymru (as long as it's not playing young people's music. I feel my old man ears being mugged with every teenage shreek).

I do intend to volunteer to help Plaid Cymru fight in this May's local elections in Bridgend. Exactly how much I can do not sure at this stage. After all come late April/May might find myself in the Vale of Glamorgan battling for Plaid there. Time and opportunity will tell.

The above being said will in the next few weeks provide a post concerning Bridgend Town and the way it has been betrayed by the Labour party. The idea is to take the posts concerning the place since I've started the blog and see whether things have changed (spoiler alert:they've got worse).

A quick aside here. You may remember that the Bridgend Town Centre Post Office was going to be closed and transferred to the basement floor of the nearby W H Smith (with a greatly reduced space - another downsize). Well I've been advised on Twitter (@daibog all rights reserved etc) that the proposed move has been abandoned.

Must admit was surprised by this, if only because I felt that because of the dire state of the town centre it would've been something the Post Office could have done without any major opposition. Whilst I'm happy to have been proved wrong it does lead to another question. If W H Smith were happy to have the basement floor become a Post Office they were presumably unhappy with the status quo (it sells DVDs, stationery, games amongst other things and was half the size of the ground floor) then what are their plans for it now? To me it's a worry.

Finally comes the question of my books. All of my Penguins/Pelicans will be moving with me. But in the meantime I'll be packing them soon as they're an easy thing to deal with. Of course that means I'm not going to be reading any Penguins/Pelicans for a while, but again it's not going to be a permanent thing.

As for my non Penguin/Pelican books there will be a cull. Though those I intend to ditch will be sent to a charity shop. Books will never be destroyed by me. Never.

A quick aside part two here. Have finished The Mill On The Floss by George Eliot. Unlike the last book with a reputation I've read (Call Of The Wild by Jack London) this was a book that deserved it's classic status. I was gripped from the beginning. So far it's the best book I've read this year.

All of this does not mean that I'm stopping reading. But yet again when I've had problems with reading a paper book I've had to turn to the Kindle (other e readers are available) to feed my addiction during this period.

Somewhere an Amazon executive is smiling.

Until the next time.

The Hunt For The House Begins

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Half term. A Monday and I have the day off. It was the first time since the sale (subject to contract) that we as a couple could start seriously looking at houses. Wife was working but we had a viewing on a house that afternoon that she arranged on Saturday. I and daughter was going to pick wife up from her work and then drive to the place.

But first the morning.

We had the previous day gone through all the non terraced houses in our budget on a website. I was neutral on the question of terraced but the wife was arguing against it, mainly on the grounds of car parking and what do they do to take out the rubbish (she had visions of the refuse carried through the house on collection days). So for the moment terraced was not a consideration.

Going through the Penarth (for now) list online there were a number of houses that were within our range and my job for the morning was to make some appointments for Wednesday and particularly Friday when we were all going to be available.

So calls to Estate agents were made. Some were irritatingly friendly, wanting me to call them by their first name. Some wanted to suggest a financial adviser as well that they just so happen could offer. And there was one appointment I'd made when I saw a house on a drive through of the Penarth area on Saturday that wasn't on the online list. Only a few streets away from the actual house we were viewing. That particular estate agent seemed excited that I'd called. An appointment was made....only later did I discover that it was ninety five thousand above our budget (in my defence there was no way it looked it).

But appointments have been made. One for Wednesday with the scenario exactly like that for Monday and currently three for Friday though that might increase.

But that is for the future. Speaking for the past. I drove, daughter as passenger (blabbering on about Pretty Little Liars) to wife's work and then onwards we went to Penarth. The area we were going to see would be best described as Cardiff/Vale of Glamorgan suburbia. The particular house seemed at a guess sixties semi detached. Personally as long as all the bits are of working order and doesn't look stupid I'm not particularly bothered (with exceptions) by the exterior of a house.

The estate agent, a tired looking middle aged woman let us in. And well it didn't seem exceptional and it did seem dull which to me was not a problem. As I went through there were issues with the decoration but it seemed fixable. It was a maybe.

Wife however was against it and surprisingly so was my daughter. Wife noticed the cracked wall in the conservatory. Daughter noticed the aged electrical sockets. What it seemed to confirm was two things. One was that for the price being asked it was just not an option as work would need to be done on it beyond the cosmetic and two I needed to be lot more observant.

Later wife revealed to her brother that our house had been sold. His partner suggested to her that it could be that the rubbish on a terraced house is collected from the back. Terraced then is back on the table if the car parking issue could be resolved. Personally I'm happy about that.

And so it begins.

Until the next time.

Library Book Deja Vu

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Housekeeping, or rather housepossiblynotkeeping news first. There has been an offer on the house and subject to contract/no unexpected hitch we'll be off to Penarth pastures (or surrounding areas) new....hopefully for the wife/daughter anyway. As explained before I'm not as enthusiastic as either of the females. Best description of myself in this regard is neutral. However I'm conscious that the wife was there for me when unemployed. Conscious that she was there even in a way that she does not know when I was in the grip of an all consuming and paralysing depression. Therefore feel I owe her one

So as when the last time we thought the house was going to be sold the library books will be the first things that will be dealt with as it's a quick fix. Return the books walk away job done. I've seen Penarth library about a month ago, and from the outside it looks impressive. Of course should this fall through like the last offer I'll go back to Porthcawl library, becoming it would seem the Frank Sinatra of book borrowing with yet another comeback.

This time though I spent yesterday making sure that these books were read before returned.

They are though different in all other respects similar in that they reminded me of ones I read last year so some of what I'm going to say will be a bit repetitive. Apologies in advance for that.

Under the Duvet by Marian Keyes is a selection of columns she wrote around the nineties/turn of the millennium. It's a funny amusing read. The best thing I can say about this book is that it reminded me of a similar collection off magazine columns by Sue Townsend The Public Confessions Of A Middle Aged Woman which I read and chatted about in this blog last year. It's as good as that.

I'm not saying that she's the Irish Sue Townsend but she is similar to the extent that her books can be read by any adult whatever their age or situation in life. Of course having said that I'm probably one of the few men who's actually read a Marian Keyes book and as I've read more than one, well you'll probably see me on a freak show soon. But her books can be enjoyed by guys...honestly.

I've explained before she's one of those female writers who a lot of male readers have avoided specifically because of their covers and the blurb. In her case it's the chick lit bright colours, silhouetted cartoon figures and swirly lettering. And before you can say "You can't judge a book by it's cover". True. But if you consider a book cover to be a signpost to the reader about what's inside. A Marian Keyes book cover says "Women welcome...men go away". You have probably little time to choose and so as a reader a cover (including the blurb) is important.

As also said before she's not the only female writer that I've avoided for exactly the same reason. Georgette Heyer was not read for years because her covers were too much of the Mills and Boon style for me to take seriously as a teenage boy.

Wonder how many good female writers I've avoided in my life because the book cover led me astray.

Sven: My Story, the autobiography of the ex England (and many other clubs) manager Sven Goran Eriksson is ultimately an unsatisfactory read. Let's get the praise done first. Stefan Lovgren was the ghost writer for this book and the man who translated it from the original Swedish to English and yet it's far better written (in English) than the one produced by Sam Allardyce's excuse for a ghost writer that I read and chatted about late last year.

However I continued to have the feeling that despite what the cover described as a "no holds barred" autobiography bars were being held. For example in the early stages of his career he managed Gothenburg when they won the UEFA cup. A truly outstanding achievement that would have earned a book by itself. But no, his entire tenure there is covered in ten pages.

And since this is turning out to be a knock the book cover post on this blog it also describes this account as "tender". Well apart from when he discusses his immediate family tender is not a word I'd describe what I've read. Discussing his relationships with women I was surprised by the cold, matter of fact approach.

My view on reading this was that it was a fat book with an even more obese version screaming to get out. Perhaps in the future that will happen. In the epilogue Eriksson mentions that he keeps a diary.

Now that's a book I'd like to read.

Until the next time.

Through A Glass Dimly

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

For just over a week and a half  I have been having this sort of conversation at work.

"New glasses?"

"Old glasses. Daughter accidentally knocked them and they're beyond repair. Got my appointment with the optician for Thursday".

"Thought they looked a bit retro".

Cool or What?

This conversation reveals several things. Firstly people think that I look an idiot in these backups but the Bridgend fashion police would appear to put me on bail until my next pair is revealed to the outside world. Also Of all the items of I've ever worn, and despite the wife moaning about my taste in clothes it's my backup pair of specs that has drawn comment from people outside of the family.

What I also need to mention is that I went to Tesco opticians last Monday to arrange an appointment the first one that was available was a week and a half later. So much for speedy private sector service.

As I think you can guess from the stylish back up. The main pair of glasses were not only modest in look but also had extremely thin lenses to hide the fact that they were in fact quite strong. This cost money.

The reason therefore why my last eyesight test was around 2008 was quite simple. Unemployment. I just considered the cost of the glasses was just too much to have a test. You might consider me mad, but that's the sort of thing that comes into reckoning when monies are tight.

Even when I returned back to work having an eyesight test was low on my list of priorities if only because my eyesight didn't appear to get worse. Now however that my main glasses were a twisted piece of metal the time for the test had come.

It appears that things apparently have not really changed with eyesight tests after all these years. There were the preliminary tests where you had to look at a machine and focus on a balloon and then get puffs of air attacking your eye. After which comes the main tests where you have lenses placed in front of your eyes and proclaim letters on the board as if you're solemnly swearing allegiance to North Korea followed by looking at coloured circles to suggest any difference.

And you know what? My eyesight is slightly better. Let's get things into perspective here. Without glasses I'll always have need for a white stick and a Labrador but still, pleasing to know.

So should the Bridgend fashion police be reading this my glasses have been chosen. Two as it happens as there was a buy one get one free offer. "Fashionable" glasses make me laugh. There was a group of glasses from Nike. Nike? You cannot be serious. Eventually one with the thin lenses was picked specifically because it was the closest to my previous one. The backup with thicker lenses was more difficult to choose. The young lady from Tesco suggested a rounded dark framed pair that looked as if I was going to leave there and walk straight into a nineteen thirties black and white British movie. That was the last time they were in fashion.

Eventually I plumped for a dark rimmed sixties styled pair that reminded me of the sort Michael Caine wore in The Ipcress File(better than the book I'd suggest but that's for another day). Didn't appear to do him any harm. After all that and an ability to cook canned food made him irresistible to Sue Lloyd.

Apparently they'll be ready in three weeks (?). Oh if Tesco are monitoring my blog (after all I'm old enough to remember a time when they were apparently seeking world domination) whatever questions I have about Tesco opticians as an organisation the people were professional and personable. I've no complaints.

Until the next time.

If Music Be The Food Of Love....Then I'm On A Diet

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Yesterday (Monday) the wife had the day off. I was going to be working the afternoon/evening shift at work and she intended spending the afternoon before our daughter returned from school watching that Royal family drama on Netflix. The sort of show that should be grouped together under the heading "When women have control of the remote".

However for the morning she had an idea. She suggested that we go through our small number of cassette tapes and basically culling them to practically nothing.

The wife had a point. In the spare room there is above everything else gathering dust the only machine that could still use them. Bought decades ago and what was used to be called "a ghetto blaster". Laughable given that it had never seen anything remotely describable as a ghetto in its life. The cassettes had not been used in years and this cull would be a quick hit.

(As a quick aside alongside the blaster of the ghetto is a VHS recorder which is kept for exactly the same reason. However the process of conversion would be slower and, if we include the things that were recorded onto blank tapes, more expensive)

I have many books as I think you realise by now. But I don't have that many albums. Online use Amazon for the music I want to buy and Spotify as a sort of "try before you buy" process. I've sixteen full albums (as opposed to the odd individual tune...I'll come to that later) online and thirty two CDs.

Nowadays looking at my online and CD albums my tastes seem to focus on German classical (not operatic) music and what is lazily described as "easy listening" (it's a term I hate. It implies that orangutans could do it). Not I stress the sort of James Last style of getting a pop tune and ageing it but original tunes. Clearly it reflects that I'm not young anymore.

But the cassettes mainly come from a different time and a different me. Where I lived in London with my parents and the idea that all these years later I would be living in Wales would not have bothered to knock the door let alone entered my head.

The first to go are the blank tapes full of old radio shows. No point in keeping them now. What with podcasts and everything else you can get.

Some albums get ditched because I don't like (nor understand why I liked) them anymore. Spandau Ballet's greatest hits for example. Must have been drunk and didn't know it. Thank whatever Gods you believe in that Duran Duran never passed through this house.

Of course the internet means that you can ditch an entire cassette album and just put a couple of songs online. Heaven 17 and Swing Out Sister (because I'd a crush on Corinne Drewery with her Louise Brooks hairstyle) fall into that category.

I found myself losing interest in Sam Cooke (ditched) but realising I appreciate Diana Ross and Srevie Wonder more than in the eighties (to be kept with the intention of eventually having their music online).

Most of the classical music albums go (there's only about six) pointless to keep them. The Inspector Morse album goes because I now have it online. The funniest ones though now are the Wagner cassettes. Not so much a ring cycle as a mild wash as it's just about an hour or so of "highlights". Wagner Match of the Day style.

The last few cassettes I bought were bought when my wife and I started courting in the nineties. Bought them out of curiosity knowing that at the time I wouldn't understand a word. They were by Caryl Parry Jones and the girl pop group Eden. I'd like to get them online but might have to settle on getting the CD instead. Need to investigate further.

What seems not to be online is the album of Vivaldi Cello concertos played by Ofra Harnoy. Breaking the German rule re classical music I loved this album and was only one of two where I followed wife's example of getting CDs of her cassettes.

The other? Madness. The only cassette I've got that I want online and on CD. They could sing about laughter or despair and it would always be quality.

Until the next time.

In Which I Learn That New Houses Are Like Chocolate Bars As We Go From Penarth To Barry With George

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

A Sunday where like the day before the grey sky threatened snow but thankfully chickened out. Still it was bitterly cold helped by the wind which swept up and wrapped you up in its icy embrace.

Perfect day then to go out.

Wife and I had decided to spend the day going out and doing some of those things that my short illness stopped us from doing the weekend before. First off was a trip to Penarth but not the Penarth by the water but the relatively new housing development called Penarth Heights. Which is basically housebuilder speak for you can see the sea but from a distance

Once upon a time this was known as the "Billy Banks". The area with, shall we say, the reputation. Now on this matter I'm not going any further simply because it wasn't long after I moved to Wales that things began to change and this development began (what I'm trying to say is that I've no personal experience of what it was beforehand). Clearly though things had changed. These new houses had this multi coloured building block look. As if constructed by Lego.

Going into the sales office we agreed to go and view two three bedroomed showhomes. Both as it happened were a waste of time. New homes we realised were just like chocolate bars as they were smaller than in the past despite the glossy exterior. Few of the bedrooms on show tellingly had wardrobes but you instantly knew they'd be too small.

The living rooms too made you wonder where would you put more than one sofa.

The most incredible part of the trip was when the wife enquired as to whether there was an attic in the second house. "Yes" came the reply from the sales lady. But because of the insulation if the developers discovered you had put stuff up there for storage then if there was a problem you had violated the terms of the new build guarantee. An attic without storage......daft really.

It had been a good learning experience even though in the end we didn't go further forward.

The second part of the day was to be spent visiting a friend in her new house in Barry Town. She actually moved last September following her divorce but that particular weekend I'd not been able to visit because of a preplanned trip to visit my mother in Essex so I had not visited the house before as other factors (mainly work) had stopped me.

From the outside the house was that classic Welsh terraced look which is not unattractive. However it gave no indication of the clean ,modern look inside. It was one of the most deceptive houses I had ever seen. It appeared that by having the wall between the dining and living rooms taken away open plan living had been achieved in an instant. Our friend it appeared had fallen her feet. We were pleased for her. The past few years had been tough.

And through all this time I had George Eliot's The Mill on the Floss with me to read when opportunity arose. It has become one of those books you are itching to read at every possible moment. Yes it's that good.

It's not the book I've finished today though. That's Welcome To Kington by Miles Kington. To be honest I didn't like it at all. It simply wasn't funny. Alan Coren is still king in my eyes.

Amongst the great e unread on the Kindle the next book selected is a book of poetry by Christina Rossetti. We'll see how that pans out.

Until the next time.

The Welsh Language In The Age Of Jackboot Politics

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Brexit it appears has unleashed many prejudices to those who feel emboldened by the result. For those only slightly above the IQ of a caveman it's in attacking people from Poland for the crime of being Polish. With regard to Wales this has also brought out of the woodwork those who feel that the Welsh language should slowly lay on the ground bleeding through neglect before being led away from view and shot.

You hear the arguments being rattled out again "It's an old language" "No one uses it" "I went into a shop where no one would speak to me because I only spoke English". Another argument I've heard is that Welsh is dying because the Welsh language TV channel S4C or Radio Cymru has very low ratings for some of its programmes.

But behind these arguments there is an instinctive fear. I've written before of how I believe that the Welsh are too nice as a nation and so have allowed governments, organisations and people to take liberties with it that they wouldn't do say, to the Scots. But the language is something that shows that Wales is different. That it should not be considered as a merely adjunct to England. That it shouldn't have the word "and" forever in sentences (as in .....England...... and Wales). For those who criticise the language there is as a consequence a fear of something they don't understand.

I may be an old romantic (I'm certainly old) but if the language was allowed to die then there would be a part of Wales that would die with it. I for one (even though my Welsh is in that annoying Twilight zone of not being fluent but being far better than the cat sat on the mat) will continue to learn and continue to speak it in all the occasions I can.

And you know, Welsh speakers are very patient with the likes of me with my hesitant delivery, limited vocabulary and I'm sure countless mistakes with mutations for the simple reason that I'm making the effort. Welsh is spoken more often than it's critics would suggest. If you look you will find it everywhere and not just in big cities or in the West of the country.

Also if we focus on S4C (but this also applies to an extent with Radio Cymru) the low ratings argument is a misleading one. S4C's biggest problem is not the language but the fact that, if we use BBC as the example, it's meant to be BBC1 (entertainment ,news, sport and drama), BBC2 (as BBC1 plus minority programmes), BBC3 (teenagers , BBC4 (culture), Ceebies (Pre school childrens' programmes) CBBC (School age childrens' programmes) BBC News and BBC Parliament in just one channel.

So taking me as the example whilst I'm a fan of the Welsh language soap opera Pobol Y Cwm I'm not going to watch a farming programme that might be shown afterwards. Unlike other broadcasters S4C would be unable to offer anything else as an alternative, hence it suffers.

Ironically the detractors of S4C would probably have you watching something brain dead like Big Brother. To think so far Orwell was nearly right. Big Brother is not watching us at our homes we are encouraged to watch it.....not me though.

So in this age of jackboot politics. Where I'm sure some of the Welsh language haters out there would like Welsh in the national curriculum replaced by synchronised goose stepping. Remember that learning Welsh marks you out as being different and independent of the way that jackboot politics would like you to live.

Until the next time.

From Wales To Armenia In A Day. That's What Reading Can Do

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

It's three forty five pm yesterday. I'm in the car waiting for my daughter's school bus to arrive. The weather is cliché Welsh. Cold, grey and pouring down with rain. No matter that this band of rain is going to sweep across most of Britain it's obviously "Welsh" weather. To sprinkle the cliché off you remind yourself that it's a Monday. I want to go home and have a cup of tea.

For this day I'm abandoning my normal reading schedule. Having hardly read anything for the last few days from being unwell I decided to concentrate on finishing one book of the current four I've got on the go at the moment. And, as it's the one, closest to the end that was An Armenian Sketchbook by Vasily Grossman.

This book is an account of his time in Armenia helping to translate a work by an Armenian writer into Russian. It's in the nineteen sixties so, Armenia as an independent nation doesn't exist (part of the then USSR). Interestingly Grossman does refer to Armenia as a nation often in this book. I'd wondered whether at that time it was rather like what Wales, Scotland are like now.

I've no idea whether calling it a Sketchbook comes from the Russian, but it's really a perfect title. There seems to be an organised randomness where he would explain something that happened to him and then go off on a tangent on something else only to return to the original event. The point though is that it's done effortlessly, and you the reader are not lost as he does so.

It's exactly what Twilight In Italy by D H Lawrence should have been but wasn't.

You can guess from the above that not only did I finish this book but I loved it. A book about a country (now) that I know little about in a time I can barely remember and yet (early days I know) it's the best book I've read this year so far. When I eventually move towards his novel Life and Fate it will encourage me.

Would it also encourage me to visit Armenia? No. Simply because I'd suspect that most of "the Armenia" that's in the book has long since gone. A few years ago I'd decided to visit the village of Gilfach Goch as it was apparently where Richard Llewellyn based his novel How Green Was My Valley. I knew that the coal mine was no more (interestingly there's now a wind farm there - quiet as well) but the building that the Inn/hotel was based on in the book was a ruin bordering on rubble.

One final point that I've mentioned in an earlier post. Not exactly a spoiler but the introduction might mention a fact about Grossman that will affect how you read the text. I can't go into any further details but you have been warned and not read it until you've finished the rest of it.

So the next book amongst the great eunread is Welcome To Kington by Miles Kington. A collection of this humourist's columns. I got it as I was wondering who else to read in this vein aside from Alan Coren and he came to mind.

From Wales To Armenia in a day.....that's what reading can do.

Until the next time.

Bremen With Hope

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Sunday afternoon. Not any ordinary Sunday afternoon but a Six Nations Sunday afternoon. Not just any Six Nations Sunday afternoon but the first match this weekend where Wales are playing. And what this all means is that the wife is out of the house and watching the game between Wales and Italy with "the girls". I and my daughter (who considers rugby "too violent") are at home.

Of course after the events of Saturday I wouldn't have gone out anyway. Was feeling a lot better. Not a hundred percent but enough to know that my vazovagal fear has long since gone. Still to be on the safe side a trip out in the getting increasingly cold weather was best left for another day, that day depending on the weather being next Saturday when the Welsh play England.

I might have spent the afternoon joining most of the rest of Wales and watched the game. Or ploughing through my Pobol Y Cwm recordings (moving to the beginning of December - they are being gone through at last). But instead decided to watch Werder Bremen, the Bundesliga team I follow.

Clearly an explanation to my choice of team is required at this moment. After all it's not closest to where I was born (West Ham) or the closest Serie A team to where my Italian relatives live (Fiorentina) or even that I bought a travel bag in Paris during my honeymoon years before the team become the dominant force in French football (Paris St Germain). Indeed I've never been to Germany in my life let alone Bremen (and the way the exchange rate seems to be going at the moment it looks as if I need to negotiate a loan just to buy lunch there).

No the reason I support Werder Bremen is that many (and I mean many) years ago I walked into the Nike store (no longer there) in the Macarthur Glen outlet store and saw this tasteful number on sale for just six pounds.

Radioactive Orange is the new Black

I have many years later bought a Bayern Munich shirt for my small haphazard collection. But it doesn't matter, this shirt was the first Bundesliga one I've ever bought so unless they ever play West Ham (I want them beaten) or the other teams in foreign leagues I follow (neutral) I'm one hundred percent Bremenite. I suppose I'm unique in supporting Bremen in this way. You could say I'm a Werder Original (sorry couldn't resist).

Indeed no one could accuse me of being a glory hunter by following Bremen. In the last couple of seasons they've hovered precariously on the cliff edge of relegation and this time is no different. Before the game they were just above the drop zone. They had lost the first two games of this year having been unlucky in facing not just Bayern Munich but Borussia Dortmund. The team had by all accounts been playing well. But unfortunately playing well in football is no substitute to winning.

The team they were playing against was Augsburg. Also in the lower half of the league but in a better position than Bremen. So it was a game that the team I supported needed to win if only to provide more impetus for the battles ahead in the rest of the season.

So the match began. The shirt was worn. The drink and food was ready.

A West Ham mug by the way

A quick aside. Nestle: The Blue Riband biscuit has shrunk to such an extent that it's only slightly bigger than my finger. You have to eat more than one of them to be satisfied and then you're accused of being greedy. Come on now.

It was a lively match. Early on Augsburg missed two chances because their striker had a sudden amnesiac attack and had forgotten how to head a ball. But gradually Bremen took control of the game and Selassie scored.

So then dancing in the streets....for all of two minutes given that was all it took for the home team to equalise. That's how it stayed at half time. In the second half Kruse scored for Bremen from the penalty spot, Kruse control if you will. However Augsburg equalised with about ten minutes to spare.

A draw then....a disappointment but not a disaster.

Then, in the last extra time minute of the match......disaster.

From a cross the Augsburg player was able to stick his leg out despite a defender nearby to score a late,very late, winner. It was as if someone had wrenched your heart from the body.

Football can be very cruel. Particularly for those teams battling to avoid the drop. Still whilst there is life there is still hope and the players of Werder Bremen showed a fighting spirit that's encouraging. Even to a follower far away in Wales like myself.

Until the next time.

In Parallel Universes I Had An Interesting Saturday Going Out And Doing Things....Not This One

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

What was I going to do Saturday? Well after going out for breakfast as there was a viewing for our house at the unearthly hour of nine thirty I actually had various ideas.

Bore Coffi Porthcawl: On the first Saturday of the month in the local tabernacle church there is a Bore Coffi  (Coffee morning) between ten and twelve where over hot beverages people chat in Welsh. I'd not been there for years. Partly due to when I'd stopped learning Welsh and now because I always seemed to be working on that particular Saturday. Not this Saturday though.

Penarth Heights: Since the sale of the house had fallen through it had been pointless to go and view other houses. This though was an exception as it was a new development (as you can tell by the name - "Heights" - along with "village" names developers like to use) should we like it part exchange was an option.

It was unlikely. What we could see online suggested that the rooms, rather like chocolate bars these days, were going to be too small. Still there would be no harm in having a look.

Visiting a friend in Barry: Regular readers of this blog may remember that I mentioned a friend of my wife who moved from Cardiff to Barry in September following her divorce. I'd not been able to help with the moving as it coincided with my trip to London on the twenty fifth anniversary of my father's death.

Well I've still not visited the house. Mainly because it clashed with work. Not that I was particularly bothered. There may come a moment of I'll have to view many houses but going round one just because somebody's moved there holds no interest for me whatsoever. Even so, though I was disinterested there was no real excuse not to go and also it did link with.....

Football: The house was apparently close to Jenner Park, the home of Barry Town FC. I'd done my research ("research" meaning I went online) "Let's visit W" I'd say to my wife "Just make sure it's before two o'clock so I can watch the game". Can't say she appreciated that.

If that proved impossible I could have gone to watch Penybont FC. Ton Pentre though were playing away. One day I'll be able to become part owner (annual fee of £20) of that club.....just not this Saturday.

There we are. All those things to do. And didn't do any of them.

Let's come back to this universe. Returning to the house after having breakfast. I had to immediately go to the toilet. I will spare you full details, suffice it to say that it was graphic and I needed to take anti diarrhoea pills afterwards.

The point is that I suffer from time to time with vasovagal attacks. The thing I know about these attacks is that they occur if I'm physically weak (not necessarily ill, just weak) because of something else causing me to faint. I'd no idea whether this was going to be just such an attack but I couldn't take the risk of fainting outside of home and all the problems that would cause. So stay in we did.

The wife didn't object. She'd seen me faint often enough to know that discretion was the better part of valour. So the rest of my day was spent propped up on the settee with water and later toast to build me up.

Tried to read. Finished The Cricklewood Tapestry by Alan Coren. Can't say I liked it as much as the first two but then again wasn't really in full reading mode. Similarly tried a few pages of the Vasily Grossman, which I do like, but really wasn't up to it.

Watched about four to five episodes of The Gilmore Girls on Netfllix with the wife. I'm really into the show. Much to my (and wife/daughter's) surprise. Just Netflix you understand. Really was in no mood to chill.

So on a Saturday was the first one that went to bed, even though I would have normally stayed up to watch Match of The Day given that West Ham won. That will wait until the Sunday morning repeat which as I'm writing this is less than half an hour away.

I feel better now. Not one hundred percent but well enough to say with confidence to the wife that she can go out to watch Italy Wales play rugby at a friend's house with the girls later today.

So apologies that readers in parallel universes had a more varied post than you've got today. Let's hope the roles are reversed soon.

Until the next time,

Do Tablets Have Feelings? Did Porthcawl Library Miss Me? Can You Be Hammered Twice In A Month? And Other Deep Thoughts

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Firstly it appears that the situation in Bridgend Indoor Market has become even worse than when I spoke about it in October (http://sopralalunawithpenguinsintherain.blogspot.co.uk/2016/10/perhaps-maesteg-is-not-only-indoor.html). Even more stalls are closing and today the situation even made the front page of the local newspaper. Next time I'm in the town I'll have another look.

I have to report a death, well I think it's a death anyway of my Samsung tablet. Tried to switch it on this morning, nothing. Not a Kindle of the Fire of life. Speaking of which good thing I'd recently bought the Amazon Fire. Probably the most foresightedness thing I've done in a decade.

Of course the question I need to ask is whether the Samsung felt somehow offended by the arrival of the new younger, quicker, faster pretender and was just so upset it committed tabloid suicide? The timing seems to suggest that it couldn't bare a rival and just gave up.

Must admit that apart from trying to see whether it can be resuscitated to get out a couple of photos I'm not particularly bothered by the situation. Though that's due to luck than judgement.

In an action which again may seem premature (there's a viewing on the house tomorrow) returned to Porthcawl library. It has been a week since I'd put books on the counter and quietly walked out. Assuming that I'd be leaving the borough shortly thereafter. Well that fell through so wanting to avoid the celebrations and parades of the prodigal book borrower arrived there early.

My intention had been to reborrow the two books I'd returned last week. But while Marian Keyes collection of articles Under The Duvet was an easy find it appeared that someone else was interested in Mark Chapman's recollections of trying to instill sport to his children so it was not there. A need arose then to get a football book and the one I eventually decided was.....

Sven Goran Eriksson - Sven My Story

Leaving aside his private life (to be honest I'm not bothered with what consenting adults do in private as long as there are no issues of hypocrisy) the thing which both Eriksson and England's other foreign manager Capello had was that early promise led to extreme disappointment. It should be an interesting read.

It is according to the front cover blurb quoting The Mail On Sunday it is the book "Everyone's Talking About". Don't remember my mother mentioning it to me .

After that memorable return to the book borrowing fold I went to the PAWS charity bookshop and bought four Penguin paperbacks for a pound (Penguin book budget now £2.07).

These books were:

R K Narayan - Tales From Malguidi

This came from the Penguin 60s of pocket books produced to celebrate their sixtieth anniversary.

Nadine Gordimer - July's People

I've read a couple of novels by this writer and she didn't disappoint so this will be interesting.

Ernest Hemingway - Green Hills Of Africa

This is an account of a "big game safari" in East Africa in the nineteen thirties. I ummed and arred about buying this book because I'm assuming he's hunting these animals. Ultimately though I felt it was important to read something from the man who tried to put a sort of romantic tinge in hunting and well aim to shoot it down. That's right I'm going to do a hatchet job.

Finally it's that man again:

The Rainbow - D H Lawrence

Well we'll see what I think of this when it comes amongst the great unread.

Twenty six days ago on a Friday night I watched West Ham lose five nil to Manchester City in the third round of the F A cup. It's happened before. About four years ago they lost to the same score in the cup to Nottingham Forest. The TV cameras cut to a small boy crying his eyes out. Remember thinking that I'd just turned fifty and I felt like crying too.

Well this evening there was a league match between these teams and in view of West Ham's good performance since that match there was a good chance the result wasn't going to be the same this time around.

Well it wasn't . It was four nil.As I sat down with my coffee in front of the TV I watched open mouthed as the team I followed capitulated as they did earlier this year.

I've had better evenings.

Until the next time.