Day 262 - Mon 1st October - Green Green Grass of Home

Today was a write off - zero motivation to do anything. So here is a piece i wrote last year after visiting my Nan, Mum and brother in Llanelli South Wales. I like it and think it's well worth repeating for those of you who missed it.

The Green Green Grass of Home - November 2011

Thought I'd write about my recent trip back to the land of my fathers, my place of birth, Llanelli, South Wales to visit my 96 year old Nan and the rest of my family. Think League of Gentlemen meets He de Hi meets The Only Way is Essex on LSD and you've got it.

I left Wales when i was 1 to grow up in Maidenhead, a place with as much soul as 'One Direction'. This meant that my entire family talked in such a lovely welsh poetic way, whereas i adopted vowels as flat as Paris Hilton's titties. Whilst i dreamt of an accent that made me sound like Richard Burton i ended up sounding like someone who works in Burton. A cross I've had to carry all my life.

Sorry, i digress. The weekend was superb and made me realise how much i love my home town. They say you can take the boy out of Llanelli, but you need to inform social services first, unless of course you're the Catholic Church, or a Maths teacher.

Llanelli is my roots, my DNA and i love it. A small depressed working class town that's seen better days and is a weird mix of young hopeless kids with severe drug addiction and a strong allergic reaction to work, old people effectively waiting to die, mostly in beige or grey and immigrants from Albania and Poland. Where's this in the latest Tom Jones album? Modern South Wales.

My Nan is a total beauty. The classic strong Welsh matriarch, though at 96 she is now only about 3ft 2, and conducts proceedings from her electric armchair with the Burberry cover and her Stanner Stair lift that sounds a little like Batersea Heliport when she hops on it to get upstairs.

She's lived in the same house for 73 years, and it is like a time warp every time you step in. The only way you know you're in 2011 is in the massive HD TV and the Kate and William commemorative Royal wedding plate, which takes pride of place on the mantelpiece, alongside the Brass ornaments and pictures of Terry Griffiths, or as my Nan liked to call him, 'Terry'.

The weekend was a great piece of Britain in 2011. My mother, the mini matriarch was there looking after my Nan, and equally tough as old boots Welsh woman. Mumsy, caring but teak strong in the centre. There was also my eldest brother, the manic depressive alcoholic, back from Thailand, skint and on his arse shuffling round the house making inappropriate comments about the Queen, but in a lovely way and then me, the 39 year old commitment phobe waiting avidly for the 'when are you going to settle down and stop messing about' question. Like a poor mans Hugh Grant.


We watched XFactor, took a walk on the beach, met Dai Charles, local character who swims in the sea and runs every day and he's 77! Old school tough and then we had the classic Welsh Sunday lunch.

Sunday Lunch is a massive thing in Llanelli. The whole week builds up to it. Sunday Carveries are heaving with clinically obese welshes stuffing their plates with mountains of Roast. Like a carb Shard.

At my Nan's, she used to cook every Sunday, which in 96 years, means that she has done over 185,000 Sunday dinners in her life. Good stats, however Now that she's a bit old, she handed the reigns over to the Mother, which is a big pressure, a bit like The Queen handing over to Prince Charles really. But my Mum cooks  better Roasts than The Prince of Wales, though to be fair he wipes the floor with her on pageantry. Never mind

Usually they like to eat Sunday Lunch early in Llanelli..............., around 11am, the meat is usually cooked for around 4 days, at a temperature similar to the Nuclear reactors at Sellafield, until it's like eating a big leather belt....buckle. The vegetables are cooked all week, so that they have the consistency of baby food. They don't trust people who eat crunchy veg in Wales. "That's for Londoners".

We made it a special occasion as we are rarely together and ate in the Parlour, or for the English, front room, which is usually a room only ever used for funerals and Vicars. So really only twice in the entire life of the house. Birth and death.

Afterwards we visited the family, Aunt Gywnie, who has the biggest chest in the world and looks like she should be an extra in Midsummer Murders. My Uncle Ken was next up. He is a peculiar man, as he has developed his own language. It is mostly Welsh/English, but he adds "and those" onto the end of almost every sentence. "I was walking in to town, and those. Beautiful day it was and those, and i bumped into Mrs Jenkins and those" (Mrs Jenkins was actually on her own that was just his own language). He has developed an even more updated language now and added yet another needless phrase onto the end of his other needless phrase. He says "On it then" on the end of "and those" on the end of every sentence. "I see the Scarlets won yesterday and those on it then". It's fucking insane! But that's Llanelli

The other superb thing, and this just about sums up Llanelli, My uncle is starting a new health kick, which in his words means, "I'm not having any salt and pepper on my chips". I would presume he will add "and those and on it then" instead. Far healthier.

Then it was back to my Nan's, with a stop over into local Asda, where it is packed full of mobility scooters, the disabled and old and poor all queueing for lottery tickets and Lambert and Butler. All the women look like they've had hard lives and basically look like Margaret Thatcher, but after her stroke. Harsh

Then it was back to my nan's for another litre of tea and try to avoid being fed more, "Do you want a sandwich? No I'm OK thanks. Are you sure? Yes thanks. Have one? No Nan I'm OK,... (wait 10 seconds) "have some biscuits"......totally love it

And then it was home. The drive back to London. Waving goodbye to my Nan and Mum who still wait on the doorstep waving you off, even though you've just passed the Reading Services. Sweet.

So that my fellow Choppers, is why i love Wales, Why i am proud to be Welsh and why it pisses all over Maidenhead, London or anywhere else for that matter. You simply don't get that level of cute insanity anywhere else. It's my spirtual home. Where's yours?

In loving memory of me Nan who passed away June 2012 aged 97 who inspired all of this rambling.

xx