Never mind the Six Nations – our eyes are on the World Cup 2027

If I was a churlish oaf I could possibly say that the boys let me down today, especially when you consider it is my birthday and I had high hopes of a victory in Cardiff against Italy.

I am not, however, churlish or an oaf and I can honestly say that Wales made me proud with those three tries, all converted, three tries equal to those of the opposition, who remained just that penalty ahead at the end.

Mind you the penalty was just one of many awarded to Italy and the referee treated that whistle the way a youngster would treat a brand-new toy they had been given for birthday or Christmas.

I am not suggesting that the Italians were not the better team. On the day they played good rugby and, certainly in the first half, were no real match.

Yet the signs were there.

Rather than playing the kicking game they had played early in the championship the relatively young Welsh team were passing the ball the way we saw in the 60s and 70s. The instinctive passes, made without looking, were based on a team who trusted to the knowledge that there was a safe pair of hands to receive it.

It didn’t work all the time, occasionally the receiver would fumble, but the idea and the trust were there.

Even after the interval the Welsh side did not immediately notch their game up and take the play more fully to the Italian half.

In the final 10 to 15 minutes, however, they came roaring like the dragons they are and with their final conversion they came within a single score of a draw or even a possible victory.

Many people will see this Six Nations Championship as a tragedy but you have to remember that from a position such as this the only way is up.

Warren Gatland did not come in as head coach to give us a Grand Slam in 2024, not even a Triple Crown. He came back to Wales to build a squad capable of winning the Rugby World Cup in Australia in 2027.

As happens quite often there comes a time when the top players in any nation’s team will hang up their boots, just as George North has done today. That is when you start looking around for new blood for the next contest and in this case Warren is looking at that World Cup rather than at the Six Nations in ’25 or ’26.

Not that he, or we, would be happy with any more wooden spoons, even though the Welsh look upon such implements as tokens of love.

No, we would like to see a Grand Slam or a Triple Crown, or even just a top of the table (preferably having defeated England on the way), but second or third would still show that Warren’s investment in young new blood was paying off.

That is the thing about Welsh supporters, we trust a good head coach.

You don’t have to be a winner to make your followers proud of you

The boys did us proud today – I know they lost to France but the first half was a brilliant back and forth game which, for the most part, led to Wales just keeping a couple of points in front.

They had certainly had a rousing pre-match sing song with Max Boyce belting out his rewritten lyrics to Hymns and Arias bringing in references to the French, Mothers’ Day and the daffodils in bloom.

He even managed to get in a dig about the ban on singing Delilah.

During that first half the Welsh played the sort of game I remember from the 60s and 70s. When the ball was passed in many cases the player did not look for someone to pass to but took it that someone would be there to receive it.

This is a new team and they are still getting to know one another, by the end of the Six Nations they will be a cohesive unit and they will be able to grow their game.

Through most of the game there was a touch of turn and turn about as one side went a couple of points ahead then the other would score until it came to a point when a French try was disallowed (it was “their turn” to take the lead) and Wales had a chance to then increase the lead.

As it happened by part way through the second half the French had managed two scores, rather than the turn and turn about, and, hard as they tried, Wales were unable to make any more breaks in the French defence.

The final score was disappointing, but the knowledge that they had played their best and could only get better was a form of balm.

The games when one side loses by just one or two points often leads to comments from both sides about a good game well played which could have gone either way.

Then again there are other squads who will treat a one point win as though it was a major rout and work on the basis there always has to be a winner and a loser, and losers are losers.

I am sure there are squads who will recognise themselves. Mind you it’s quite possible they have reached a point where they do not recognise themselves and consider themselves good sportsmen.

When it comes to celebrities you probably beat them with your IQ

I have always enjoyed TV quiz shows going right back to Crackerjack and through to the current crop which includes Only Connect, Mastermind, Pointless and, of course Richard Osman’s House of Games.

There have been many others over the years, including Take Your Pick and Double Your Money, University Challenge, Impossible, Tipping Point, Eggheads . . . well the list goes on and on.

Obviously in the early days I watched the shows which matched my education, which is why I kicked off with Crackerjack. It was not long before I began to watch TV panel shows, such as What’s My Line and Call My Bluff.

Not long after moving to grammar school a new quiz programme began on ITV (which will probably surprise some readers) called University Challenge. A programme which hit the spot because I was looking beyond the sort of questions that cropped up in Crackerjack and other “kiddies” shows. Even Take A Letter with Robert Holness (later to be Bob Holness of Blockbusters), didn’t cut the mustard.

I don’t claim to have been able to answer all the questions but it did keep my mind going and I learned a lot from the university students’ answers.

I continued to watch UC whenever I could but time in Australia and then the Middle East did not prepare me for my final return to the UK in 1988 to discover University Challenge had been dropped by ITV the year before I came home.

There were other quiz shows and I used to watch as many as I could, depending on work. Being on a weekly paper by then I did have more of a normal home life so could watch the evening shows.

Over the years the quiz shows on TV proliferated, including the return of University Challenge in the 1990s, on BBC, and eventually I reached a point where I had to ration myself.

I now watch University Challenge, Mastermind, Only Connect, Pointless and Richard Osman’s House of Games.

They are an interesting collection, based on the contestants, ranging from academia and UC (now hosted by someone whose name I can never remember – just looked it up and it’s Amol Rajan who was preceded by Jeremy Paxman even though I still expect them to say Bamber Gascoigne) to Only Connect, Mastermind and Pointless with “ordinary people” as contestants.

The “ordinary contestant” shows can make you feel good with yourself if you get more questions right than the people on the show. I doubt that ordinary viewers do better than the university teams and I am sure that the questions there have become harder.

The only quiz show on my list which doesn’t use “ordinary people” is Richard Osman’s House of Games, which only has celebrities as contestants but has an amazing array of rounds covering the range from rhyming answers right up to high-brow/lowbrow questions.

Some game shows do, however, also have a celebrity version, such as Mastermind Celebrities and Pointless Celebrities. Although when I say celebrities apparently the bar for these shows is somewhat lower than I am happy about.

Now you probably know the basics of Mastermind, There are four contestants who each in turn have to sit in a black chair and answer questions from Clive Myrie,

First time around they are quizzed on their specialist subject – which is normally for about a minute and a half and tends to be 12 questions.

In this section most ordinary contestants get between eight and 12 points.

In the second half each contestant gets two and a half minutes on general knowledge and tend to score from 7 to 14 points.

Occasionally you get a contestant who scores badly on their specialist questions and even on general knowledge, but these are rare and final points on a round could be 16 to 24.

When you get celebrities, however, they frequently end up with zero to four on the first round because they pick a subject they think they know all about and are then faced with questions which they cannot answer.

Then they move on to general knowledge and find they don’t know any answers there either. I have not yet seen a zero score at the end of both rounds but with some of the celebrities they dig up it might not be fa/0r away,

When it comes to Pointless the celebrity version is grimly similar.

Here they come in pairs and are often oddly mixed and a sports person might end up with a newsreader as partner.

Their general knowledge might be totally disparate and one might get a low score (good in this game) and the other gets it completely wrong meaning they get the maximum points that round and have to leave the quiz.

From this watching of quiz shows I have come to the conclusion that most members of the public have an average IQ score far in advance of the average celebrity.

The good thing about quiz shows is that it sometimes helps your own general knowledge and often makes you feel smug.

Restaurant reroofed in time for a sleepy little friend to have breakfast

Having commented on two hedgehogs having come out of hibernation last week, with the hedgehog feeding station lacking a roof, I had not seen them again, although the weather has been pretty bad.

Then last night, actually this morning at five to six, one of my prickly little friends turned up.

Just as well I had put a roof on and filled the food and water dishes.

Early morning visit from one of our friendly hedgehogs just out of hibernation, but taking his (or her) time in finding the way

After a bit more wandering around our little hedgehog eventually sniffed out the entrance, or at least sniffed out the smell of food and found out where it was coming from.

Having entered the new feeding station it was more than five minutes before the early morning visitor reappeared, clearly having had a hearty breakfast, and wandered off into the sunrise.

There was another visitor last night, who I had not seen during the extremely bad weather we have had during the past few nights.

You might have to wait for a few seconds but keep your eyes open because it’s the glint in the eyes that will help you spot our little friend.

Hopefully you will quickly spot the little field mouse by his bright eyes. He certainly seems to be having a lot of fun on this assault case
This little mouse had such fun he did an extra lap just for the fun of it. I have no objection to this little visitor because he does no harm.

Talking To My Father Whose Ashes Sit In A Closet And Listen

by Lisa Zaran

Death is not the final
Without ears, my father still listens,
still shrugs his shoulders
whenever I ask a question he doesn't want to answer.

I stand at the closet door, my hand on the knob,
my hip leaning against the frame and I ask him
what does he think about the war in Iraq
and how does he feel about his oldest daughter
getting married to a man she met on the internet,

Without eyes, my father still looks around.
He sees what I am trying to do, sees that I
have grown less passive with his passing,
understands my need for answers only he can provide.

I can imagine him, drawing a breath, sensing
his lungs once again filling with air, his thoughts ballooning.


Brown Penny

by William Butler Yeats

I whispered, 'I am too young,'
And then, 'I am old enough,'
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.'
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it.
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown, brown peppy,
One cannot begin it too soon.

Wars And Rumours Of Wars

by Emanuel Xavier

"Ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars,
see that ye not be troubles,
All these things must come to pass, but the ends is yet."
Matthew 24:6
I escape the horrors of war
with a towel and a room
Offering myself
to Palestinian and Jewish boys
as a "piece" to the Middle East
when I should be concerned with the untimely deaths
of dark-skinned babies
and the brutal murders 
of light-skinned fathers

I've been more concerned with how to make
the cover of local fag rags
than how to open the minds
of angry little boys
trotting loaded guns
Helpless in finding words
that will stop the blood
from spilling like secrets into the soil
where great prophets are buried

I return to the same spaces
where I once dealt drugs
a celebrated author gliding past velvet ropes
while my club kid friends are mostly dead
from an overdose or HIV-related symptoms
Marilyn wears the crown of thorns
While 4 out of 5 weapons used to kill Columbine students
had been sold by the same police force
that came to their rescue
Not all terrorists have features too foreign
to be recognised in the mirror
Our mistakes are our responsibility

The skyline outside my window
is the only thing that has changed
Men still rape women
and blame them for their weaknesses
Children are still molested
by the perversion of Catholic guilt
My ex-boyfriend still takes comfort
in the other white powder
the one used solely to destroy himself
and those around him
not the one used to ignite and create carnage
or mailbox fear

It is sad when skin is cut
and then pressed together, it seals
but what about acid-burned skulls
engraved with the word 'faggot'
a foot bone with flesh
and other crushed body parts

It was a gay priest that read last rites
to firefighters as towers collapsed
It was a gay pilot that crashed plane
into Pennsylvanian fields
It was a gay couple that was responsible
for the tribute of light
in memory of the fallen
Taliban leaders would bury them
to their necks
and tumble walls to crush their heads
Catholic leaders simply condemn them
as perverts
having offered nothing but sin
Queer blood is just rosaries scattered on tile

Heroes do not always get heaven

We all have wings
some of us just don't know why


Requiescat

by Oscar Wilde

Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, light as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-bound, heavy snow,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

Spring is almost sprung as my hibernating pals return

It definitely looks as though Spring is about to jump out and say a big HELLO! to the world in general and hopefully our garden in particular.

It doesn’t alleviate the sorrow I feel now that I have accepted the death of poor old Hopalong, my three-legged foxy friend.

Last night, however, there were two new visitors to the garden.

At about 1.30 this morning this little fellow turned up.

The problem was that I had dismantled the hedgehog feeding station in preparation for making a better one for this year. today I have put a temporary roof on it and put food and water inside.

Have to ensure it’s secure so that no cats get in.

Four hours later this slightly larger hedgehog had a stroll around the area.

Meanwhile back at the pond the other day I was clearing out a load of leaves (courtesy of the two massive trees on the grass verge right by my garden) and checking the detritus for any creatures,

I counted six newts, two of them juveniles, three large clumps of toad or frogspawn, numerous dragonfly larva and possibly much more.

I’m preparing the pond side of the front garden and getting seeds to provide for a wildflower section. Here’s hoping for a great summer.

Watching The Mayan Women

by Luisa Villani

I hang the window inside out
like a shirt drying in the breeze
and the arms that are missing come to me
Yes, it's a song, one I don't quite comprehend
although I do understand the laundry
White ash and rainwater, a method
my aunt taught me, but I'll never know
how she learned it in Brooklyn. Her mind
has gone to seed, blown by a stroke,
and that dandelion puff called memory
has flown far from her eyes, some things remain
Procedures Methods if you burn
a fire all day, feeding it snapped
branches and newspaper --
the faces pressed against the print
fading into flames - you end up
with a barrel of white ash. If
you take that same barrel and fill it
with rain, let it sit for a day,
you will have water
that can bring brightness to anything.
If you take that water
and in it soak your husband's shirts,
he'll pause at dawn when he puts one on,
its softness like a haunting afterthought.
And if he works all day in the selva,
he'll divine his way home
in shirt sleeves aglow with torchlight.