David's blog

I was a child a long time ago, and while that doesn't make what I'm about to say any more justifiable, I had parents who would beat and abuse their children. Dealing with one violent parent is hard enough, but having both is incredibly difficult. My father used to hit me with his hands, while my mother used objects such as sandals. My brother and sister suffered the same issues; they were also abused. This went on for years until we were too big or had left home. When confronted about it, my father would deny ever doing anything to us, which only rubbed salt in the wound and devalued us even further. I’m sharing this because I was at the pub last night, and a neighbor I grew up with was talking about how loved she was as a child. I guess it's the luck of the draw. Many people say that the abuse or violence they experienced as children did not harm them, but it’s bound to, as it’s simply not right to beat kids. After all, they’re just kids.

It seems the village fair, as it once was, is gone for good, despite my hopes to save it. Unfortunately, with the council's poor decisions and the villagers' indifference, it’s no longer possible. Maybe something new will replace it—or maybe not—we’ll just have to wait and see. Honestly, I don’t know if I’d even be interested in a new version of the fair. The village’s apathy was clear when hardly anyone showed up to last week’s meeting. Based on the feedback I got during my efforts to revive the fair—which the council has been trying to shut down for years—I thought there was genuine interest, but apparently, I was wrong. I even started the process of filing a complaint with the ombudsman, but I’ve given up on that now due to the lack of support from the village. It feels like there’s no sense of community here anymore. Maybe people have moved on from fairs, but I still feel gutted every time someone brings it up. I loved the fair; it was a real community event. Perhaps people...

Years ago, when I worked at a hospital for the elderly, there was an old tramp who was quite a character. I got a book about him a few years back, but I haven’t read it yet as it’s not the easiest to get through. I’m sure I’ll finish it eventually. Recently, I came across a song about this character, and just yesterday, I connected with the person who wrote it. I hope to see the band they’re part of at the National Eisteddfod in a few weeks. They’re playing on Saturday and Tuesday, but as usual, transport is an issue. I’m planning to look into a coach trip that might get me there. It’s interesting how a down-and-out has inspired both a book and a song, and the lyrics show that the writer really knew him.

There’s a lot of noise right now about welfare—particularly around the financial support disabled people receive. The idea that it costs more to live with a disability isn’t up for debate; it’s a reality. But the conversation around it keeps stirring controversy. having all this controversy in the news is embarrassing for didabled peopele Back in the 1990s, a social worker encouraged me to apply for Disability Living Allowance (DLA). At the time I thought, “Why not?” To my surprise, I was awarded it. DLA came in two parts: the mobility component and the care component. Each had different levels of support depending on the severity of one’s condition. I received the lowest rates, which was what was available to me then. Over time, I met others in similar situations who received more support than I did. But as the years passed and I became increasingly dependent on that money, I grew too anxious to reapply. I didn’t want to risk losing what I had. I also had (and still have) a deep distr...

On Saturday, I took the bus to Porthmadog, intending to do some shopping and head back as usual. However, I changed my mind and decided to go to Caernarfon for a music festival called Gwyl Arall. It was a very hot day; the bus to Porthmadog had air conditioning, but the connecting bus didn’t, though it was manageable. When I got to Caernarfon, I wanted to find the music venue, but there were several to choose from. I grabbed lunch and wandered through the lively town, which offered more than just music—there were activities like walks, lectures, and book reviews. The gig I wanted to see was in Neuadd y Farchnad, the market hall. There was an entrance fee and a joke about my age, as I might have been one of the oldest there. I went to see some new artists on the Welsh music scene because I think it’s important to support them. The first band was decent, though the sound quality was poor, and I couldn’t hear the vocals clearly, which was also true for the second band. The third act, Elid...

**A Bonkers Week on the Buses** It’s been a properly bonkers week on the buses. Tuesday was supposed to be my gym day for some circuit training. I made it to Penrhyndeudraeth, but got stuck in a traffic jam. After a while, I realised I wasn’t going to make it on time, so I texted the guy who runs the session to let him know. We eventually got to Porthmadog—an hour or so later than usual—thanks to roadworks. They were replacing pylons with underground cables. Frankly, it seemed like a massive waste of money—probably running into the millions. People are used to the pylons by now. I did a bit of shopping before heading back to catch the bus home. That’s when someone I knew told me there’d been a crash in town and no traffic was getting through. It felt surreal, really—first being stuck trying to get *into* town, and now stuck trying to get *out*. I went for a bit of a wander to see what was going on. I have to admit, I like seeing what smashed up the poor car—stupid thing looked like it ...