"I'm going queer in the morning, ding dong the boys are gonna smile.
Apologies to Alan Jay Lerner for my taking liberties with his lyrics (huge fan of My Fair Lady by the way) but strange as it sounds, these were the lines which popped into my head earlier while perusing the tabloid headlines announcing the first wave of gay weddings.
Yes indeedy do! Today is the day! And before this blog goes up in a holy fireball, allow Mr Jakes to spell it out: gay couples in England and Wales can now legally get married. Indeed eager to celebrate this, one of the first homosexual marriages took place at midnight in Brighton and I wish them much happiness. Now for the most part, straight folk are not too bothered and woke up this morning like they do every Saturday; thinking about this afternoons shopping or football before getting themselves airbrushed for a night on the WDK (or whatever 'chic' sugary water is the current tipple for trendy weekend warriors). Its no big deal and my guess is, they (like me) will wish gay couples all the best before getting on with life (there's a Premiership to be won afterall).
It is 2014. Equality is king, and while there are a good many who oppose gay marriage, someone ought to tell them the 'fight' is over and little is to be gained by voicing their opinions (which might sound ironic coming from a blogger Laughs Out Loud). Remember, it is not so long ago that women were fighting for equal rights, and people were sold in chains. Wake up! Those dark days are behind us now, belonging to a time best left in chains of its own, to fester in its ignorance.
Of course taking this post 'solo', readers might come to the conclusion that Dai Jakes is a raving liberal, yet in the past ive been called such gems as "the bastard son of Peter Hitchens and Rush Limbaugh" (now that would be an interesting date *guffaws*) so I am hardly of liberal stock. I just cannot see, or be bothered with, the hate. Its not interfering with my life, and its not like gay marriage is compulsory, so live and let live. When all is said and done, gay marriage doesn't hinder a heterosexuals life but could improve the happiness of a loving gay couple so hush and let them be happily married.
I for one can't abide intolerance. And neither am I fond of irrational outbursts. Examples? Go online to one of the newspaper sites carrying this story (so pretty much every British one) and in the Comments section underneath we can read outraged loons spout things like, "its against God! We will burn in hell!" Or, "disgraceful! Our morals are dead!"
Forgetting that, last time I checked, 74% Brits do not bother going to church so weird how suddenly God makes an appearance. As for our newly discovered moral guardians? Yeah sure, they convince me...until obeying this recently acquired morality iconveniences them in some way.
Listen, the esteemed Mr Jakes isn't perfect and doesn't have the answers to everything but I do know a couple of things: gay marriage is not a plague upon our land, and humanity won't implode in a ball of goodly fire if we allow it. So my advice to naysayers would be ~ lead your own life, cause no bother to others and if you can't be nice toward others, be silent. To the new surge of bible thumpers? Well, hope to see you guys down at the pews tomorrow. It is a Sunday remember!
Toodle pip for now!
Way back when I was in school I used to carry a notebook everywhere I went to record daily thoughts and observations. So you see, ive been blogging since before it was popular and where better to carry it onward than to give it a digital page of its own? Welcome to the pages of bar fly Hollywood Francis...
Saturday, 29 March 2014
Monday, 24 March 2014
Welshman and the Great Escape
Brave: Great Escape
We have all seen the movie, The Great Escape, and cheered on Steve McQueen's character Hilts as he attempts to sail over barbed wire on a motorbike at the end (though that bit was Hollywood fiction). Certainly I was not alone in feeling a wave of claustrophobia wash over me during the tunnel scenes, as these courageous prisoners of war tunnelled their way to freedom? And who could forget the Gestapo gunning down 50 of the escapees after being told to get out of the truck to "stretch their legs" while on their way back to camp (or so they thought)?
The Great Escape has many memorable scenes and though not all based on fact, helped make it a classic. (It is easily one of Mr Jakes' favourite films). Of course the main story
In the photograph above, the reader can see Cyncoed~born Brian Evans (left) a Welshman who was part of this historic escape. Sadly Mr Evans was one of those men murdered by Gestapo but it fills me with pride that one of my countrymen is a figure in this glorious tapestry.
Nationalities of the 50 executed prisoners
21 British
6 Canadian
6 Polish
5 Australian
3 South African
2 New Zealanders
2 Norwegian
1 Belgian
1 Czechoslovak
1 Frenchman
1 Greek
1 Lithuanian
Tuesday, 18 March 2014
Last Of The Dark
The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living ~ Cicero
Death has never been a solemn subject to me, it is has never been taboo. It is fact that I have attended more funerals than weddings but not once have I shed a single tear (and these were close family members). Now before I am accused of being "unfeeling", allow me to explain. I have such a strong belief of a sweet Afterlife, I believe we ALL go there, good or bad, that whenever I find myself standing graveside I am so convinced the departed have "ascended to a better place" (to be glib about it) that no sadness will emerge. Not even by force. No amount of pleasant memories, or clenching fists or straining veins will tempt sorrow from its den.
At times I have wondered if I was simply cold or indifferent toward death but as the years turn into sheaths of grey, I realise my emotions are in check, their pulse alive and screaming. I believe. That is as simple as it gets.
Indeed if I was stood before a Judge about to sentence me to death, or a doctor about to deliver my cancer act in deadly script, I would more than likely grin in reply. (Of course I don't know 100% for sure of that smirking reply but I could lay my heart on it being 95% certain). Naturally I am wary of DYING but the actual DEATH part? Im no more afraid of it than razor steel is to flesh. Or a crocodile to butterfly (but I am being blown off course now).
For me, death has no end and therefore no sorrow. My bones might miss the company and mortal flashes of the deceased but I know, nay feel, that as the coffin is being lowered into its earthly haven or obliterated by flame, that the soul of Man is rising like a stunned eagle into realms where even the finest pearls would look as lowly as paupers rags. Shrugging off mortality and disease as it lifts unto the sanctity of unknown. And these brief shards of endless joy penetrate my mind so deeply, embedding themselves like euphoric clots, that sadness is obliterated, unable to bring me to my knees.
I have my humanity, feelings, and good many things will reduce me to tears but weeping for the dead is beyond my hearts grasp. I think too much, believe I even know too much and doubt can never get over the threshold of my imagination/beliefs to even begin to try and shatter these ideas. Of course every man will have weak moments, and being a man prone to sometimes rampant, wild emotion there are often times when all I am able to imagine after my pulse is done is a wall of black, blinding in its finality.
Not often I am happy to report. Often a good dose of Welsh coastal air or the sight of a buzzard hunting for its supper will remedy that.
Death has never been a solemn subject to me, it is has never been taboo. It is fact that I have attended more funerals than weddings but not once have I shed a single tear (and these were close family members). Now before I am accused of being "unfeeling", allow me to explain. I have such a strong belief of a sweet Afterlife, I believe we ALL go there, good or bad, that whenever I find myself standing graveside I am so convinced the departed have "ascended to a better place" (to be glib about it) that no sadness will emerge. Not even by force. No amount of pleasant memories, or clenching fists or straining veins will tempt sorrow from its den.
At times I have wondered if I was simply cold or indifferent toward death but as the years turn into sheaths of grey, I realise my emotions are in check, their pulse alive and screaming. I believe. That is as simple as it gets.
Indeed if I was stood before a Judge about to sentence me to death, or a doctor about to deliver my cancer act in deadly script, I would more than likely grin in reply. (Of course I don't know 100% for sure of that smirking reply but I could lay my heart on it being 95% certain). Naturally I am wary of DYING but the actual DEATH part? Im no more afraid of it than razor steel is to flesh. Or a crocodile to butterfly (but I am being blown off course now).
For me, death has no end and therefore no sorrow. My bones might miss the company and mortal flashes of the deceased but I know, nay feel, that as the coffin is being lowered into its earthly haven or obliterated by flame, that the soul of Man is rising like a stunned eagle into realms where even the finest pearls would look as lowly as paupers rags. Shrugging off mortality and disease as it lifts unto the sanctity of unknown. And these brief shards of endless joy penetrate my mind so deeply, embedding themselves like euphoric clots, that sadness is obliterated, unable to bring me to my knees.
I have my humanity, feelings, and good many things will reduce me to tears but weeping for the dead is beyond my hearts grasp. I think too much, believe I even know too much and doubt can never get over the threshold of my imagination/beliefs to even begin to try and shatter these ideas. Of course every man will have weak moments, and being a man prone to sometimes rampant, wild emotion there are often times when all I am able to imagine after my pulse is done is a wall of black, blinding in its finality.
Not often I am happy to report. Often a good dose of Welsh coastal air or the sight of a buzzard hunting for its supper will remedy that.
Monday, 24 February 2014
White Dee: Assassin of DWP
We have a programme here in Britain called "Benefits Street", a cheap and tawdry show (though ive never watched it myself) about the every day lives of lazy good for nothings sucking the country dry by claiming benefits while drinking, thieving and generally dossing around being nothing. There are genuine claimants but these are not them. All they seem to do is hang around a street doing zilch (besides boozing and smoking). Like ive said, I don't watch it but ive read enough in the media to get a general idea of what these people are about: scrounging.
And now would you believe, we seem to have made a celebrity out of one of the morons in it, someone who goes by the name of 'White Dee'. Dear God it sounds like a monicker for an assassin! "Beware the White Dee! Shadowy hitman of the department of work and pensions!"
The odious looking woman is everywhere: radio, papers, television, magazines. Have we gone stark raving mad? Turning a bone idle slob into a celebrity, it boggles the mind it truly does. I realise this world has become obsessed with celebrity but to make one out of some benefit scrounger is lunacy of the highest order. And nothing short of obscene. Is this the way we are heading? Just pluck any old toe rag off the street and make them a star, depressing to think we have sunk this far.
The honest work hunters and genuine disabled ought to be very angry with this oaf, she is exactly the type of person that is giving all the ammunition for welfare cuts because as far as the government is concerned every person on benefits are like her so make no mistake, all of you claimants will suffer.
Nobody, and I mean nobody, should be applauding the awful White Dee. She is a pox on us all.
Have a good day all!
And now would you believe, we seem to have made a celebrity out of one of the morons in it, someone who goes by the name of 'White Dee'. Dear God it sounds like a monicker for an assassin! "Beware the White Dee! Shadowy hitman of the department of work and pensions!"
The odious looking woman is everywhere: radio, papers, television, magazines. Have we gone stark raving mad? Turning a bone idle slob into a celebrity, it boggles the mind it truly does. I realise this world has become obsessed with celebrity but to make one out of some benefit scrounger is lunacy of the highest order. And nothing short of obscene. Is this the way we are heading? Just pluck any old toe rag off the street and make them a star, depressing to think we have sunk this far.
The honest work hunters and genuine disabled ought to be very angry with this oaf, she is exactly the type of person that is giving all the ammunition for welfare cuts because as far as the government is concerned every person on benefits are like her so make no mistake, all of you claimants will suffer.
Nobody, and I mean nobody, should be applauding the awful White Dee. She is a pox on us all.
Have a good day all!
Saturday, 11 January 2014
Benefits Street
LBC radio have made me mad this morning (and im usually a fan of the 6am show). They were discussing some ew television programme called 'Benefits Street', but I couldn't take it seriously because the amount of bile spouted forth was ridiculous. And let me first say, I don't claim any benefits so this nonsensical rubbish aimed at benefits claimants by pompous radio presenters shouldn't bother me, but even I can see that not everyone on the dole or on sickness benefit are useless scroungers like the one that sounds like are in Benefits Street. I wouldn't watch such garbage so im only going on what callers to the station said about the show.
I have friends on Twitter (I refuse to call them 'followers') who are genuinely disabled, and shame on anyone who would dare called them feckless scroungers. Dear God, I can feel my blood pressure rising with every word I type. Haven't these journalists heard about the tragic stories of disabled folk who have committed suicide because of these government clamp downs on sickness benefits? They ought to have, they've written the stories. Or do they think so little of them that the tales are forgotten as soon as they are in the paper?
Of course the lead swingers and scroungers exist. One only has to see the scruffy urchins swigging lager at 11am outside Weatherspoons on a week day to have proof of this (and these are not workers having a swift pint). Wherever you turn in life, from top to bottom, you will find chancers and the dishonest. Sadly its human nature. But my friends, its not all, how could it be? I don't know the figures of how many are claiming benefits, but are we seriously suggesting they are all cheating the system? Certain presenters on LBC radio seem to be doing so. Methinks their former tabloid urge to shock has completely taken over the rational part of their brains.
Its not as easy as benefits = cheats and the stories are easy to Google: tragic tales of folk with terminal cancer being forced to work due to ATOS passing them fit, disabled soldiers coming home from Afghanistan being denied Welfare assistance, and even working single mothers having housing benefit stopped because they earn £2 over some limit or other. The list is near endless. Are these feckless scroungers? No! Because not everyone is swinging the lead!
I never once imagined I would be speaking out on this subject, or feel so annoyed by certain attitudes toward it, because as I have pointed out, I do not claim benefits and am not in that 'world' but LBC radio have forced my hand. I cannot stay silent while ignorant bullies in mainstream media trample all over these poor people (the honest claimants not the lager louts). Social media has shown me that there IS an honest side to 'Benefits Street' and we, especially government and journalists, wold be unwise to ignore it. Or worse, label everyone as idle layabouts.
I have friends on Twitter (I refuse to call them 'followers') who are genuinely disabled, and shame on anyone who would dare called them feckless scroungers. Dear God, I can feel my blood pressure rising with every word I type. Haven't these journalists heard about the tragic stories of disabled folk who have committed suicide because of these government clamp downs on sickness benefits? They ought to have, they've written the stories. Or do they think so little of them that the tales are forgotten as soon as they are in the paper?
Of course the lead swingers and scroungers exist. One only has to see the scruffy urchins swigging lager at 11am outside Weatherspoons on a week day to have proof of this (and these are not workers having a swift pint). Wherever you turn in life, from top to bottom, you will find chancers and the dishonest. Sadly its human nature. But my friends, its not all, how could it be? I don't know the figures of how many are claiming benefits, but are we seriously suggesting they are all cheating the system? Certain presenters on LBC radio seem to be doing so. Methinks their former tabloid urge to shock has completely taken over the rational part of their brains.
Its not as easy as benefits = cheats and the stories are easy to Google: tragic tales of folk with terminal cancer being forced to work due to ATOS passing them fit, disabled soldiers coming home from Afghanistan being denied Welfare assistance, and even working single mothers having housing benefit stopped because they earn £2 over some limit or other. The list is near endless. Are these feckless scroungers? No! Because not everyone is swinging the lead!
I never once imagined I would be speaking out on this subject, or feel so annoyed by certain attitudes toward it, because as I have pointed out, I do not claim benefits and am not in that 'world' but LBC radio have forced my hand. I cannot stay silent while ignorant bullies in mainstream media trample all over these poor people (the honest claimants not the lager louts). Social media has shown me that there IS an honest side to 'Benefits Street' and we, especially government and journalists, wold be unwise to ignore it. Or worse, label everyone as idle layabouts.
Tuesday, 17 December 2013
Fern Hill
At 1:49 you will see the esteemed Mr Jakes reading a line from Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas for the 100 year anniversary. Diolch/Thanks for watching, it was an honour to take part.
Sunday, 8 December 2013
Local Christmas Events
Courtesy of Ava McGill (Pembrey & Burry Port Community forum (Facebook)
Without wanting to sound all "Bah Humbug" I was beginning to think that the Christmas spirit had been lost (reading too many Daily Mail stories about the PC brigade banning Christmas trees or hooligans thieving from charity buckets will do that to you). But Facebook of all things has restored my faith in the silly season. There are some wonderful events happening all over Carmarthenshire and Pembrokeshire over the next few weeks, and seeing photos of the Burry Port Christmas market yesterday on the old chopsbook (that could be a Welsh version of Facebook) was great.
Fancy experiencing some local festive fun? Visiting west Wales and want to see how locals roll? (I believe that's what hip Americans say). Allow Mr Jakes to point you in the right direction (and the following events are just a handful of whats going down, there is much much more (check local event listings such as our friends Best of Carmarthenshire website).
11 December: Christmas fayre at Picton Centre (Picton centre, Haverfordwest)
14 December: Narberth winter carnival
14 December: Christmas Fayre Llandovery
16 December: Christmas Fair - Mynydd y Garreg (lifelong home of rugby legend Ray Gravelle)
18 December: Christmas Concert in Nantgaredig
18 December: Christmas Concert in Glangwili (to raise funds for the neonatal unit at hospital)
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