The Great Welsh Literary Forger
Only a few months back, a plaque of the great Welsh literary forger, contemporary of that other great English forger, Thomas Chatterton, was installed on the summit of Primrose Hill, Hampstead, where in 1792, Iolo proclaimed the existence of the re-discovered manuscripts of the ancient Bards and their even more ancient Order of Druids. Both fooled the scholars, Chatterton only for a few months or so, Iolo for over 120 years! Such was the longevity, his ‘fake’ ceremonies at the Welsh National Eisteddfodau, they became antiques in themselves and are performed to this very day every year. Brilliant fakes in bed with the unvarnished truth? Never? Visit Primrose Hill tomorrow and see for yourself.
Celrock Musical
Besides these, a planned re-launch of Celestial Rock, an updated version of John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress. First time round, the Archbishop of Canterbury sent £100 and Terry Waite sent blessings.
Despicable Meeting
I bumped into Philippe, an Estate Agent. He told me it was his wife’s birthday. I asked him what he had given her. He told me, ‘I woke up early this morning and got my air gun. I went outside and shot a black bird singing in the cherry tree. I took that bleeding bird and put it under my wife’s pillow, then I woke her. You should have heard the din!!!’ ‘No thank you,’ I said and walked off.
Drinks with Swiss writer
Two nights later with Jacques Chessex, premiere Swiss novelist, now deceased. Jacques got so drunk I had to carry him over my shoulder up to his flat. Door was unlocked. He pointed out the bedroom and I dumped him on the bed. At once came a startled cry and a protesting hand rose from the covers. ‘Meet the wife’ said Jacques and fell fast asleep. Although I had met Jacques wife, I was never able to recognize her in the street. I walked all the way home that night – I think.
Giger and Alien
Two weeks ago I went to this Lesbar in Lausanne, where I met Giger, the film designer. He said that when he went home to his Swiss German village all he heard were stories of murders, suicides, lunacies, divorces, rapes, incests, domestic violence and punch ups over last wills and testaments, but that he didn’t mind because it all supplied him with the best and most fiendish images for his work, such as the Alien creature in ‘Alien.’ He was right. Been there. Seen them.
Old boy reunion with global stars
In the evening back to school, and old boy reunion at Latymer Upper, Hammersmith. Grand eating and drinking. But embarrassing when you fail to recognize old chums, bullied, shrivelled and torn by time. Hugh Grant, Mel Smith, Alan Rickman all here too. A great drama teacher with a strong stage presence trained us all!
Sound of Gunfire
Stopped off to visit the HMS Belfast Battleship close to London Bridge. Now that was dramatic. I heard gunfire over the horizon and hoped the House of Commons was under bombardment, but alas….!
West End disappointments
Then back to see two bald West End plays, both deprived of décor, no chairs, tables, carpets, just a semi-circular red curtain at the back, empty forestage, one painting of Kandinsky swinging in the wind, suspended by a straw. The obligatory male genitalia ballet, soon manifest, body in one direction, testiclees in the other, quite uncontrollable, trendy and downright silly. Bollocks to the lot of them! No costumes to speak of, as if they’d just left the office and walked onto stage. Drab, shabby, dull. The Old Vic and Talking in Tongues, West End. Whadda let down!
Novel into film
The film script for Reign of the Dragon is also doing the rounds, story of the founders of the Tudor Dynasty, currently heading for the Gower and Catherine Zeta Jones.
An old friend ascends to heaven
And then my little book Gerald among the Vines, published in Switzerland in a dual language edition, French and English, a tribute to an old friend who died in the first months of his retirement. No religious service, no sermons, no hymns, no priests, no holy precincts, no church, no gravestone, no wreaths, just cremation and the ashes scattered in a vineyard at the foot of vine 129, with an invite to drink the divine Dezaley there and to play Mozart’s piano concerto No. 21, whenever so moved. Gerald lies forever at the foot of 129, where I talk with him now every year and toast the skies as he ascends yet again to Olympus to join our mutual friend, Dionysus the Unfathomable.
Social Services Millionaires
I went on a teachers’ excursion to London. I was told I was sitting next to the local Head of Social Services. I was advised to be nice to him because he was a millionaire. I was also informed that the local ‘Chief Clerk’ had a larger salary than the Prime Minister’s. This was at least 7 weeks ago. Public money has simply become a public trough where public servants have become private sharks. And so it goes on. Don’t ever be surprised who you are sitting next to.
UK accents equals non-communication
I’m doing my Builder’s garden now, he doesn’t know gardening. He does my central heating, I don’t know central heating. It’s called ‘barter’ and it works. We greet each other with genuine warmth when we meet and stroll among the cauliflowers.
Poem
Dedwydd’s poem ‘Riverside’ Published at least 5 times.
Against the pale blue sky
Adored, the orchids grow,
Host of dragon fly
Where yellow lilies flow.
Would that my life
Like water blossoms blew,
Or like purple dragon wings -
Closed! - and never knew.
Republican Movement UK
Jones was elected onto the committee of the UK Republican Movement (President: Citizen Tony Benn) and now looks forward to further unravelling of ‘our crowned ruffians’ the ‘Pharaohs of England,’ the unspeakable Windsors. Stood outside Buckingham Palace with the large placard showing the head of the great Oliver Cromwell, warts and all! The English exploded in anger, the foreigners in mirth.
Historical Madness – Jesus Returns
Next, an excursion into complete TV lunacy with The Messiah of Bossenden Wood (120 mts again). About magnetic schizoid Cornishman John Tom, aka Squire Thompson, Count Rostopchen Rothschild, Sir William Honeywood Courtney, Earl of Devon.’ He finally declared himself to be ‘The King of Jerusalem,’ the Messiah himself, on his Second Coming. He led his followers to massacre in the Kentish woodlands. Out of this madness was born England’s first system of primary education and a country-wide constabulary. Perhaps Crazy Tom wasn’t such a nut after all!
Henry Morgan Bucaneer
Then another breath-taking (120 mt) TV voyage with that renowned Taffy buccaneer Sir Henry Morgan, delight of the ladies, scourge of the Spanish Main. But Henry was no valleys ruffian. Son of an old county Cardiff family and nephew to two brilliant generals, little wonder Henry turned out to be one of Wales’s top captains, leader of men and prince of thieves. 007? - a modern wimp! Try Henry. No contest really.
The Stage Annual Theatre Party
Now to The Stage’s annual bash at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, the oldest continuous working theatre in the UK. The foyer area was built in 1812, the pillars outside in the eighteen thirties. Everyone from shows all around, actors not drinking at all, saving sobriety for the evening performance. Only drink is champagne and I met a dozen theatre stars, all delighted to be there: sultry newsreader Moira Stuart; Shadow Minister for Culture, Ed Vaizey; theatre supremo Howard Panter with his Supremess, Rosemary (‘ever young’)Squire; cast members of War Horse, Grease, Blood Brothers, Dirty Dancing and Wicked, and 39 Steps star Stephen Critchlow; Timothy West and Prunella Scales, and Sally Hughes, Artistic Director and Managing Director of the Mill at Sonning Theatre. The plush carpets, the old marble balcony, the sweeping staircase, the Rotunda, the pictures and the sculpted heads of the great to greet you. Staggered out still flush with the visions of yesteryear fresh and green again. A theatrical resurrection for Jones.
Misers and Nothing to Pay
To pass the time, I adapted Caradoc (‘the Most Hated Man in Wales’) Evans’s novel Nothing to Pay into a 120 mt TV drama, a fab odyssey of a grim Cardigan miser who decides literally to take his riches with him into the grave. But Fate punishes his boyo hubris and his shitty taffo greed. An undiscovered European masterpiece!
Teaching versus Noble Rot
I recently did a bit of teaching to make a bit extra. Afterwards, I decided that I would never enter a classroom ever again in this life or the next. I went to a marvelous bar called ‘The Noble Rot’ instead, where I had one of the best white wines of my life. That taught me a lesson.
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