Supermassive

There’s nothing more fun than wearing a kilt, it's the great leveller. Weddings are pretty fun too: you get to dress up drink and give speeches. (A tip for those giving a speech whilst drunk: never sit beneath a low hanging light shade that when you stand up makes you look like you’re wearing funny-shaped wicker hat). The chap in the grey suit is the man lucky enough to have recently married my mother.



This however was the most beautiful woman there:



Robin has been here for the last and month we’ve been doing many wonderful touristy things. This is me at the Museum of Welsh Life:


Getting back to my roots. The Welsh had carpet in their caves you know.


Kissing a tiny cow's bottom.

And this is Robin:



You can tell who will be passing on the ‘class’ gene.

The last time I went to The National Museum of Wales they had the biggest dinosaur skeleton ever and a huge woolly mammoth and loads of wicked insects and spiders and okay I was seven years old. Today the main attraction is the ‘Evolution of Wales’ exhibit, like Wales is a separate entity from the Earth. We learned a lot; for example it seems that throughout the geographical history of the Earth there’s been a large red arrow hovering over Europe pointing to Wales.

We also went to Robin’s first ever British football match. And, er, mine too. Two giants of British football met in a legendary clash of the titans. Here in Cardiff Luton Town were beaten by Cardiff City 4-1. We watched the game in the home stand, which is the main stand to see fat hairless men insulting the opposition fans' mothers and singing football songs composed entirely of swear-words. It was a good game, though I learned the hard way that it’s generally a bad thing to congratulate a visiting team’s goal no matter how good it was. Whatever happened to sportsmanship? I have been back in Cardiff for a few weeks now and the thing that strikes me most is how loud and unforgiving it is. I have always held a romantic ideal of Wales as being a land of passionate hard-workers, fairy-tale castles, and of course an all-victorious rugby team. Toyama, for all its faults, was a small and quiet kind of place; a place where you did not need to be wary of a fight because you accidentally bumped into someone on a Saturday night. Maybe it doesn't help that I've been working in a city centre bar for the last week. Still. If we all wore kilts it wouldn't be a problem, surely.