Grand Theft Holiday

Roll on 6pm

Unless you live on Mars (and even then you will probably have heard about it), you will be aware that Grand Theft Auto V has been released today. One of the most expensive videogames ever made at £170m, more than many Hollywood blockbusters, we can be assured that games have grown up (youngsters really have no business playing this and shame on parents who buy it for wee Jimmy.) As a huge videogame fan, and not ashamed to admit it, my copy of the game is still sealed but I can almost feel it burning a hole through that packaging. Excited much? Oh yes, its like being eight years old on Christmas eve.
Now I understand that there will be readers who the last game they played was Pac-Man in the 1980s, and explaining the appeal of a game like Grand Theft Auto is difficult but I shall endeavour to try. By and large, the majority of us lead boring old lives. We do, admit it. Living on the edge for most of us means a cheeky sleeve of ginger (beer) at lunchtime, or chancing it by not buying a car park ticket. And this is fine, we enjoy the peace (and liberty) that living a law abiding life brings. But occasionally its nice to let off some steam and cause mayhem, to kick back at the world when on the skids, and because prison doesn't sound like a good plan and nobody (sane) wants to create real grief, the best way to go is to load up a copy of GTA. They are like little stress balls, only more fun.
Fancy robbing a liquor store? Go right ahead. Carjacking (even plane hijack)? Certainly sir, what vehicle takes your fancy? Cop giving you the funny eye? Why you oughta go right over and teach him a (painful) lesson. Its not even restricted to crime, there are a ton of things to get up to in Los Santos (Rockstar's reimagined Los Angeles) from golf, tennis, mountain climbing to unwinding in casinos and better still, strip clubs! Even walking along Santa Monica beach and taking in the sights is a good way to pass time, especially if you happen to be in cloudy old Britain as the nights begin to draw in. See the attraction yet? Its a holiday without the need of passports or awkwardly asking strangers for directions.
Videogames have come a long way since the time when gorillas hurled flaming barrels at fat Italian plumbers, or two white lines and a moving square represented tennis. Now we have 'sandbox' games, open worlds where the player can immerse themselves completely and and 'live another life', and nobody does it better than Rockstar's Grand Theft Auto series. Ive been a fan since the humble top down beginnings of the original game in 1997, they have gotten better with every 'episode'. (I think of them more as a violent soap opera with hefty doses of satire and comedy.) Its an escape. Some get it through books and movies (im an avid reader myself) but for those of us who need that little extra, to make us feel more involved, games are perfect. Why watch someone blow up a car in film when you can do it yourself?
Like I said, most of us lead very boring lives. But not today, not if you have Grand Theft Auto V.

No Jake's Joy over Kidnappers Suicide

Looking nice?

So Ariel Castro, the Cleveland kidnapper has been found hanged in his prison cell? The creep was was found about 9.20pm yesterday at Correctional Reception Center in Orient, Ohio, just one month into his 1,000 year prison term.

Look, don't get me wrong here, im Pro death penalty, so its no loss in my eyes but! I am also in conflict with myself because I believe he got off way too lightly. Have you seen photos of the cell (or similar cells) this guy was kept in? There is one above. His suffering is over, I would also prefer the stiff n' blue option against spending any amount of time in one of those. Then of course there is the fear thing. Castro would have been a marked man in gaol, spending every day, every hour of that day, watching his back, wary of a 'shiv' being plunged into his podgy flesh. Or an eye gouging (these inmates can be terrible with their jailhouse retribution.) He is free of that now too.
Also, because I do not believe in such a place as 'hell', and think we all (sinners included) go to a gentle paradise after we die, its even harder to take this news and I cannot see much to be happy about. It is pretty evident to me that to a lot of folk death is a mighty taboo, the hideous dark to end all darkness; but to me (and there others who feel the same) death is not so frightening, it doesn't posses that dreadful clout and therefore my jubilation at the news of Ariel Castros demise will not include shouts of "YES!" and "Burn in hell!" Because I truly believe he has cheated the 'hangman'.
Here in Great Britain, the vile Ian Brady is on his 47th year in captivity and guess what? He is begging for the right to end his pathetic life. The worm has been on hunger strike for years but the high security hospital he so deeply despises, keeps on force feeding him in order to deny him his freedom. Death is escape. Death is no more weakness of flesh. Death is becoming pure. Death is freedom.
Of course we all hold different beliefs, this is the beauty of Life and there will be thousands of merry people today, celebrating Castro's descent into hell or some other eternal damnation. Good luck to you, enjoy your day but brief it will be. Rather like this cretins sentence.

Seamus Heaney: A Huge Loss

As soon as my tea stained eyes fell upon these words, "Seamus Heaney, the Nobel Prize-winning Irish poet and playwright, has died," my heart gave a heave of sadness. Oh my words, what dreadful news to be met with after only a few clicks of the mouse. Especially for a fellow poet/playwright (though not as grand to put myself on Heaney's level) who looked on the Irish writer as a kind of Obi Wan Kenobi figure. One of the last living Master (capitol M) Scribe. What wretched news!
Life, you can be a swine at the best of times but today? Today you are double the pig.
I was fortunate enough to spend time with Seamus Heaney at a poetry reading in Swansea University back in 1998, and it was like being in the presence of someone who knew all the tricks. It was immense, like a film fan meeting Clint Eastwood if you changed the Arts. Believe me, you know when you are in the company of a great man, something in your spirit alerts you, and it was certainly true back in the Taliesin center all those years ago in Swansea.

'Tis a black day, losing such a genius poet when real poets are so rare in this world. I'll take leave to mourn and leave you with words by Seamus himself:

"Be advised my passport's green.
No glass of ours was ever raised
to toast the Queen."

Diana: Its All...Conspiracy

Scotland Yard to investigate whether Princess Diana was murdered?

Dai Jakes usually enjoys a good conspiracy theory, some are clever and very imaginative but the ones surrounding this accident are rubbish. Some are so weak they can produce some genuine Laugh Out Loud moments. First off, organising a car crash would NOT be an ideal way to get someone killed because very few people die in car wrecks. If it was, as suggested in some corners, a "hit" plotted by the military, they would have much more creative and sure fire methods at their disposal than causing a car crash. A vehicle wreck is loud, bold and attention grabbing. Hardly the ways of shadowy security forces.
We have already had three investigations into this tragedy, I cannot see the results of a fourth being any different; accident no foul play. Anyone with an ounce of common sense will have looked at the evidence before coming to the conclusion that there was never a shred of evidence to support the murder theory. This is why Al Fayed was laughed out of the inquest. The driver, Henri Paul, was DRUNK for crying out loud! And had been on the happy pills. He was driving at speed, at night, with paparazzi flash bulbs going off around the car. Its a miracle to me how he even got as far as the tunnel. I have never been so irresponsible to drive drunk, but I have tried cycling up my garden path after a few too many, and I didn't get 10 yards before I was in a hedge.
Add to all that the fact that none of the car's occupants was wearing a seatbelt, I cannot see how anyone would be tempted to believe it was anything other than a fatal crash. All these stories of mythical white cars disappearing from the scene, or claims that Diana was spotted standing up outside the mangled car, are just flights of fancy conjured up by fantasists. Maybe some cannot accept that a former Princess with the fairytale wedding could die so horrifically in a French tunnel. Others are obsessed with conspiracy and the Illuminati who secretly control the world's affairs (so secret and powerful are they, that weirdos on the internet have them sussed.)
Me? Well like I have said, I usually enjoy a good conspiracy theory but regard them much like the Star Wars saga or any other work of fiction. To actually believe them? That's a tad desperate don't you think? I was never a "fan" of Diana, and thought this "People's Princess business was way over the top, but she was only 36 when she perished in that fatal crash which is a criminally young age to die. Its hard to take, its a knock on our mortality. Perhaps some need to create shady scenarios as a way to push reality away? The reality being that a young mother of two, who lived most of her life in fabulous wealth and fame, had her life snuffed out in a Mercedes S280 due to a drunken chauffeur. And there is nothing more to it than that.

Okra Winfrey Throws a Tanty

Mr Jakes will be honest here; before Oprah Winfrey was told by a Swiss store that a handbag was "too expensive for her" (it cost £24,000) he had barely heard of the woman. Sure the name sounded familiar but as a gentleman who shuns television almost totally, I had imagined she was a music producer or something in that line. Since this (non) story broke, research has revealed that Winfrey is rather famous in her country, and not only famous but a billionaire to boot. There's nice, we are all thrilled for you dear. Honest.
However I am shocked some of the more serious papers over here are carrying this (non) story, and worse running with the "racism" tag. Sorry but this has nothing to do with race. All it is, is a jumped up American 'celebrity' who because the Swiss are sensible and don't show her silly programme (ive Googled it) in their country, her nose has been put out of joint because they don't know who she is. This my dear readers is about a fragile ego and vanity, not racism. Well live with it woman, we Brits hardly know you either.
This is one of the things about Americans that annoys me (and I know plenty of sweet ones.) They like to think they are the center of the universe in everything, and woe betide anyone who fails to recognise this (or any of their half baked 'celebrities'.) And no doubt they will be supporting Oprah over her traumatic European experience, while the rest of the world looks on, scratching their heads at the rampant display of egomania.
Not to fear! Dai Jakes to the rescue! *Puts Jakes cape on* Here look (below), ive made a handbag just for Oprah...


Suits you madam

Bongo Bongo Land

They drink it in the Congo you know

I had to chip in to this affair if only because of the opportunity to have an interesting title and use the classic Um Bongo advert from the 80s.
Godfrey Bloom (UKIP) has come under fire for being filmed declaring that Great Britain should not send foreign aid to "Bongo Bongo Land". Result? Lots of angry people shouting and Tweeting like Billy-O, claiming racism and that Mr Bloom has brought shame on the country. One wrote: "the Alan Clark tradition is one of extreme right-wing comedy which is designed to provoke."
Does it though? Am I the only person who thinks this is massive fuss over nothing? Well no, actually I am not because an African lady called LBC radio and knocked the nail bang on the head when she said, "Bongo Bongo land is not offensive, certainly not as offensive as white liberals always jumping in to try and defend blacks." Well said lady, this really needed saying after hearing all the other pompous guff that has been said online over this.
I don't think for one minute that Godfrey meant anything malicious when he said "Bongo Bongo Land". Crikey the late Alan Clark used the words himself, and it didn't do him any harm. That was many years ago though, we have become too sensitive as the years piled up. And just to be clear here, there is no place for racism in the 21st century. Racism is abhorrent and belongs only in the minds of knuckle-draggers and thugs. But "Bongo Bongo Land"? No worse than calling us Welsh "sheep sh*ggers", or the Australians "convicts" (which I saw Tweeted often during the last Ashes cricket match. Well done on that victory too!)
Like I say, we have become too sensitive, too ready to be offended and spout faux outrage on Twitter and Youtube. I shudder to think where its all heading, especially being a poet/writer where I am making up new names/titles every day. I don't wish to live under a constant dread of offending somebody by using those newly created names. Respect different cultures by all means, its the civilised way but let's not get so worked up over silly, throwaway names that should never be able to provoke such anger in the first place. We will bitterly regret it if we do, mark my words.

Great British Heatwave

Dryslwyn (pic by me)

Phew! How is everyone coping with this recent visit by the sun on British Isles? Had your fill of fans and ice cream yet? I must admit, im currently typing this right now whilst camped under a giant fan which is going like the clappers, keeping my inbuilt 'Weather Whinge-o-meter' in check (all Brits have this when too much rain or sun arrives.) Im certain complaining about the weather was written into the Magna Carta alongside tea breaks and fish & chips but you know what? I think we are changing our habits because I have not heard (or read rather) much of it on sites like Twitter and Facebook, indeed most folks are actually ENJOYING this run of fabulous weather! Shock! Horror!
Even with heatwave warnings approaching 'level 3' (whatever this means) the griping about "its too hot mun" or "the plants could do with some rain now" are being kept at minimum. Or at least it has amongst my friends and aquaintances. Its wonderful waking up to glorious sunshine piling in through the curtains like rays of butter, eager to settle on your morning toast. Spain has had nothing on Britain for this last week and I feel for those Brits who have paid for a Spanish holiday to escape our usual grey and miserable summer, only to discover that the grass was for once greener (and more frazzled) on the UK side of the fence.
And for any overseas readers who have yet to visit our shores, you really need to see Great Britain in the sun because it truly transforms into such a beautiful place. Cricket on lazy town greens. The wildly handsome Pembrokeshire coast, twinkling like mad diamonds. Riverside picnics as canal boats crawl past in idle fashion. The majesty of places like Lake Vyrnwy and the Lake District, still maps in God's mighty heart. Deckchairs on beaches while piers stretch out like bony fingers. Grand castles drenched in ancient history, offering damp shade within their walls to sweltering visitors. Carnivals, fishing fetes, happy Brits in eccentric poses, soaking up a much missed dose of summer.
I was only 5 years old in 1976 when we had that scorcher of a summer here in the UK but I do have specks of memories of it; I particularly recall the bone dry cricket pitch in Burry Port park and the burning pavements of Station Road, one of the main streets in the town. And I also remember the hungry queues in Barrie's Plaice waiting patiently for fish & chips, happily swapping local gossip. It was a wonderful time and this week, seeing photographs online of people taking a dip in the Serpentine Lido in Hyde Park and sun worshippers relaxing on various Welsh beaches has brought those memories back with a beautiful vengeance.
Now dear readers, you must excuse me, I have a date with a choc ice!