almost witty

So I go to bed last night, resigned to seeing none of that glorious white stuff.

Until Anni rudely wakes me up via text at 6.30am to tell me to look out the window. Befuddled, I do - and see the glorious sight of snow falling down past my window into central Cardiff. Joy of joys - only tempered by the fact that since it’s bloody early, it’s still dark and the snow is illuminated by the orange street lights which makes it look, frankly, urine-stained.

By the time I actually emerge from my nice warm bed an hour ago, dawn has just broken through and Cardiff slowly awakes. The snow has stopped, but the sun is shining brightly and the snow has settled ever so briefly on the ground. Life looks beautiful in its stillness, and there are reports from Miss R of glorious snow in North Wales. So I ignore it all and go back to bed.

(continue reading…)

Yet again, the weather forecast suggests snow. Lovely, delightful, cleansing, pure snow. Snow that brings out the child in all good-thinking imaginative adults, and the chance to wear your winter gear and woollen mittens.

Unlesss you happen to be me, living in Cardiff. Because yet again, the snow seems to be set to fall everywhere in Wales. Except Cardiff. It’s snow not fair.

Only I could thwart a car breakin through sheer ineptitude and just turning up.

It was Tuesday night, and came the weekly ritual of taking out the trash. After a nail-biting flat inspection from the landlord, who unexpectedly gave it the thumbs up.

So I walked downstairs and outside the flat with two bags of trash. While walking down the street, there was the usual gang of three or four teenage boys hovering around a car. When they saw me, three of them started casually walking up the street. And there was a person - I presumed it was a woman - leaning into the car. Not too sure why, and it looked odd but I thought nothing of it.

Then as the kids passed me, they all started shouting insults at someone. With my usual me-me-me view of the world, I though they were mistakenly referring to me so I just ignored them.

By the time I got to the end of the street, I realised that the woman leaning into the car was actually a small teenager. And there was a lot of broken glass around. By the time I twigged all this, he’d left and was walking a tad nervously to join his friends. Once he joined them, they all legged it across the road into the park, wearing their winter hoodies.

BBC NEWS | Doctor Who spin-off made in Wales

Bloody hell. Sounds like an X-Files set in modern-day Cardiff starring Captain Jack in a quasi renegade UNIT-type organisation investigating alien goings-on in Cardiff. Which seems strange since the last time we saw him, he was trapped on an Earth-bound space station in 200,000.

Still, if Cardiff is anything to go by, there’s plenty of material for him to work on!

So in the aftermath of Wales’ unexpected rugby victory against England (which no doubt will be romanticised for the next 10 years), I find myself at the infamous City Arms pub with a gazillion Welsh rugby fans drinking away. So I have to navigate past the sticky floor (although oddly no harmonious singing at this point) to the toilet.

While waiting at the queue, some bald-headed bloke (the worse for drinking) looks at me, and twigs that I don’t exactly look Welsh. And proceeds to grill me about who I am, where I come from (giving Wales as an answer doesn’t seem to wash with him) and what I’m doing there (drinking, and waiting to pee).

If I was feeling maleviolent and playful, I could have started speaking to him in Welsh, but I’d already seen three almost-fights that weekend and had no desire to be a victim of a fourth one. Especially in a grotty mens’ toilet. So I answered as good-naturedly as I could - and to be fair to the guy, he wasn’t outright offensive or racist. He just reminded me of just why I will never belong in Cardiff. Or Wales for that matter. Although I suppose I could wear one of those red Welsh rugby tops. Although they look better on the ladies than the men.

His final sentence was a clincher though. Realising that he may not have been the most polite person around, he decides to make amends by complimenting me. Well, my race, by saying that Asians (of course) had the highest IQs. Patently untrue, but nevertheless yet another stereotype.

Bet you don’t get this kind of trouble in San Francisco. Actually, you probably do.