#road signs in welsh

[liverpoollomo]

A drive to Wales. Lomo LC-A. Truprint 200.

The journey to New Quay from the north west of England is one I have been familiar with since childhood. I used to take that trip regularly to see my grandparents. Nowadays I drive myself and am able to stop and take photos whenever I like. Car journeys are so much better as an adult driver.

Posts will become a little more frequent until I have posted all of my holiday photos. Enjoy.

[simping-simmer]

PONTYGLAS COUNCIL ESTATE (9 LOTS!)

In the midst of creating a council estate for my Welsh Uberhood I realised I was rather pleased with the buildings and wanted to share them. Some of these buildings are 'shells', some of them are partially furnished, all of them are run down!

I have kept all of the flats as residential so that you can edit them in Build Mode if needs be, when you're ready to commit just use the 'changelotzoning apartmentbase' cheat to make them functional!

(Note - this download does NOT include the railway station shown.)

DOWNLOAD AND REQUIRED CC BELOW THE CUT

THIS SET REQUIRES:

Honeywell's Bespoke Set

Veranka's Bari Build Set

BBNiches (I use the recategorised/Architecture version by @cityof2morrow) Veranka's Vanadium Kitchen

cityof2morrow's illuminated sign redux

LordCrumps every 4t2 Wall and every 4t2 floor

Criquette's Feverfew set

COUNCIL BLOCK 1 Six two bedroom, one bathroom flats.

COUNCIL BLOCK 2 This building is a shell. Customise at your own leisure!

COUNCIL BLOCK 3 Six flats.

COUNCIL ESTATE SHOPS Four functional shops, two 'defunct' shops.

THE PUBLIC HOUSE A small grungy pub with a two bedroom flat above. Can be community or residential.

1A COUNCIL ROAD Semi-detached 2 bedroom house.

1B COUNCIL ROAD Semi-detached 3 bedroom house.

2A COUNCIL ROAD Semi-detached 3 bedroom house.

2B COUNCIL ROAD Semi-detached 2 bedroom house.

DOWNLOAD

[truebluewhocanoe]

73 yards reaction

ngl after finishing that episode I went from "What the fuck even was that" to "That was dumb and made no sense at all" to "Oh, Russell says it's supposed to be a Welsh folk tale, okay, huh" to "Wait no that's actually great."

This episode did something that none of the other Supernatural Things(TM) episodes did: it committed to making no sense. Church on Ruby Road made perfect sense, The Giggle and The Devil's Chord made just enough sense to not really make satisfactory levels of sense, but this episode was just... inexplicable. Where did the Doctor go? What was the woman saying to everyone? What was the woman signing with her hands? Why were all the Welsh people such jerks?How did Old Woman Ruby go back and become the semperdistans? My first thought was "there was a TON of crucial details lost somewhere in cut drafts" but no, it's a folk tale, it doesn't have to make sense and it shouldn't make perfect sense. It makes poetic sense, maybe (the fairy circle is made of hopes and dreams, Old Ruby finds hope at the end of her life that no one will abandon her, she becomes the very thing that never abandons herself) but it doesn't make scientific sense, it doesn't even try. And that's how you really commit to a fantastical turn in a sci-fi show.

(Also: doing an episode that is based on folk tales, that is, it's not just fantasy but a fantastical story, is excellent fodder for tv show theory. For some reason, Ruby's life consistently tends towards fiction...)

(Also also: the episode did a good job of feeling really long, which is impressive because it's very hard to create a false sense of time when experiencing fiction, so, good job. Cutting out the intro in particular was a clever move.)

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

afghanistan does have english on it's signs. there's probably some kind of irony in using that example specifically that i'm missing. afghanistan, as with basically any place anywhere these days, uses english on it's road signs (can't find 100% proof for shop signs or anything rn but. iirc they also use english on those.) (this is about the welsh nash post btw)

LMAO well. There we are then.

Honestly I really cannot stress enough that there are so so so many people I know who are Welsh Nash, some of whom I would describe as Probably Quite Unwell about it, and yet no one is... uh, like that. The internet sure does contain guys

[victusinveritas]

A council put up a Welsh language road sign reading "I am out of the office at the moment" when it should have said "No entry for heavy goods vehicles".

Swansea council contacted its in-house translation service when designing the bilingual sign. The seeds of confusion were sown when officials received an automated email response in Welsh from an absent translator, saying: "I am not in the office at the moment. Please send any work to be translated."

Unaware of its real meaning, officials had it printed on the sign. The council took down the sign after Welsh speakers spotted the mistake.

[mozzzz05]

Would just like to vent because it’s something I’ve seen more of recently.

But talking about the English colonisation of Wales is important, in the UK anyway. And I’m fed up of it being put down or eye rolled or ridiculed.

Does the colonisation of our country absolve us of guilt in the colonisation of basically the rest of the world? No. Obviously not, dipshit. But why can’t I bring the conversation up without being told that I’m just trying to make excuses? Is it important within this conversation? Yes. But it’s not the aspect of the conversation I’m focusing on.

I’m not trying to play the oppression card here, that would be ridiculous. When I talk about Wales being colonised I’m not saying I, a white Welsh person am oppressed because of that fact. Even so far as English xenophobia (towards Welsh people) (which does exist… somehow… they’re complete hypocrites) that’s not what I’m getting at.

What I am getting at is that within the UK, to discuss Welsh politics, Welsh independence, the Welsh language is quite often to be ridiculed. The amount of jokes I have had thrown in my face because we have Welsh on our road signs or because we’re taught Welsh in school “but no one speaks it!”

There’s a reason for that. The English beat it out of us for generations, in 1967 we had the Welsh Language Act which was literally the first step that allowed us to use Welsh in legal proceedings. And I feel guilt and shame that I can’t speak Welsh. I feel as though I’m not Welsh enough because of it. That’s not my fault though, is it?

Bring any of this up to an English person (generally) and they put you down for it, it’s ridiculous, I’m an idiot, Welsh is just a scramble of consonants anyway, Wales would go down the drain without the union, sheep shagger, shithole etc etc

The odd thing is see. I’ve been told so many times that Wales is a leech, we take take take from England and give next to nothing back, we’ve no right to complain, forget Aberfan, forget Capel Celyn, ignore the current controversy around HS2 - we leech off England and we should be damn grateful that they have allowed us to be in the mere presence of this Union.

And yet it’s always these people who are staunchly against Welsh independence. Turns out we can keep leeching. If we just shut up about the way that England - Westminster - continues to mistreat us as a country.

And boy if you dare to call it Cymru, well you might as well have shit down their throats. Never mind the fact that the name Wales is an English given name meaning “foreigner” or “stranger” lest we be at home in our own damn country.

Regardless of your stance on the union and Welsh independence, England continues to mistreat us as a country and then gaslight us into believing we should be grovelling on our hands and knees thanking them - the amount of people I’ve seen be genuinely, purely nasty about it too is astonishing.

But then there’s Americans too who clearly don’t know shit about what they’re talking about who butt in telling me and other Welsh people that our politics, culture, language is now irrelevant and that we need to shut up because we contributed to colonialism. Babe I know, it’s awful but again, I’m not excusing it. At all. But where do you think England starting colonising first.

Anyway, I know theirs worst things in the world but I needed to complain

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 7 - Prompt: Soft @pandalilymicrofics

February Daily Series - 662 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Pandora’s eagerness was immediately quashed when she turned to find a disappointed frown on Lily’s face. She cleared her throat and gestured toward the three paths that led away from the festival’s entrance. “Which one should we take?”

Lily blinked rapidly, then offered her a tight smile. “It doesn’t really matter. They’re all connected.”

“Oh. In that case, why don’t we go left? We’ll meet up with the others in the middle.”

“That’s fine.”

Pandora hesitated, then led the way down the left path. Behind her, she heard Lily inhale deeply and sigh again before following her. The soft swish of her braid against her jacket was the only sign she was still there as they made their way to the first stall.

Merde, this is awkward.

Pandora was still reeling from the impromptu introduction to the trio of stunning women. Then there was the lovely sound of Lily’s Welsh accent wrapping around the vowels in her name. Her heart was pounding wildly in her ears as the others paired off. It was all she could do to contain a shimmy of excitement when she realised that they’d been paired together.

But that’s not what Lily wanted.

“Are you hungry?” Pandora asked, glancing over her shoulder. She gestured at the row of food trucks lined up along the left side of the road. “I know it’s a bit early for lunch.”

“Not really. Are you?”

“No.”

Pandora adjusted her septum ring anxiously as she eyed the stalls filled with trinkets and handmade pottery. She couldn’t gauge Lily’s interest in their offerings while walking ahead of her, but when she slowed her pace, Lily did too. The woman persisted in maintaining a full two metres of space between them, despite the crowd gathering in the narrow path.

“Do you like pottery?” Pandora asked, nodding at the tent filled with ceramic plates and mugs.

“Not particularly.”

Every suggestion was met with the same tepid response. Pandora was teetering on the brink of annoyance with Lily’s disinterest. She was either incredibly bored or in a hurry to rejoin the group. Neither option was particularly flattering.

Eventually, she spotted a candle stand and decided to check it out. Pandora was more interested in Lily’s reaction to the detour rather than the candles themselves, but they did smell good. It was clever of the vendor to light one of the food-scented candles. Peppermint and fudge was a tempting combination.

“Bore da!” the woman behind the table asked, smiling brightly.

“Good morning,” Pandora replied politely.

When Lily stepped up to the table beside her, the woman reached for her hand and began chattering casually in Welsh. Lily’s accent deepened as their conversation continued and Pandora caught herself staring at Lily’s lips more than once, wondering how she made a language with so many harsh syllables sound melodic. She caught a reference to Lily’s “mam” and surmised that they were acquaintances.

“She’s quite well, she is,” Lily said, clasping the woman’s hand in both of hers. “Pob lwc today.”

“Diolch! Enjoy yourself, Liliana.”

“I will.”

After moving on to the next stall, one filled with fudge and sweets, Pandora couldn’t restrain herself from asking. “Is Lily short for Liliana?”

“No, it’s the opposite. It’s a nickname, of sorts.”

“Nicknames are usually shorter, no?”

Lily puffed an amused breath through her nose. “Not in Wales. My dad’s name is Liam and he is called ‘Liam dai chippy’ more often than just Liam.”

“Interesting. Liliana is pretty,” she said, eyeing the packets of fudge.

“Prettiest girl in the county, I’d say.” The older man running the stand winked at Pandora. “Good eye.”

“Oh, I meant her name is pretty. Her nickname, rather. Well, I think Lily is a pretty name too, and she is pretty too, of course, but I was referring to…never mind.” Pandora ignored the flush of heat filling her chest and rushing up her neck as she crouched down to sift through a basket of candies.

What am I blathering on about?

Next Part>>>

[viric-dreams]

Born in a Welsh mining town to a working class family, Euros was determined to escape the life set before him and to scrabble up the societal ranks, however possible. He had no desire to spend his life underground.

As soon as he was able, he ran away to London to try to make a new life for himself. London, however, was less than kind to a boy from the valleys, with a strange lilt to his imperfect English. He spent his nights in pubs near the harbour, listening in and imitating the sailors occupying them. At the age of thirteen, he signed on with the Royal Navy, listing his name as Elias Roberts and gaining the rank of cabin boy. He grew particularly fond of the officer he served, one of the first to treat him like the other English boys. Elias decided that he would follow this officer to the ends of the earth, should he be asked.

And then London fell.

Elias’ devotion never wavered. Not even when his officer split from the Admiralty, renaming himself The Commodore. Elias sailed with him to their new port of call, the Grand Geode, and dutifully helped to build the Dawn Machine, embracing the New Sequence.

Decades passed in the Neath. Then one day, the Commodore called him into his office. He had a task for Lieutenant Roberts: He should sail to London and infiltrate a group of revolutionaries trying to bring about the Liberation of Night. With the group’s name and his alias scrawled onto a piece of paper, he took to zee.

London, however, had changed much since his departure decades before. Its denizens were not the cheerful, smiling sort he was used to back at his port of call. It wasn’t long before Elias found himself set upon by a group of criminals, intent on robbery. In the scuffle, however, his dark glasses broke, revealing his dazzling golden eyes. The next thing he knew he had a bag over his head.

He woke up bound in a Benthic basement laboratory, half a dozen scientists watching him intently. He was a Sequencer, they said, clearly controlled by a master he was forced to serve against his will. But they had a cure—one that would free him from his slavish dedication to the sun the sun the sun the sun the sun the sun the s—

Nicholas Nite came to in an alley in Ladybones Road with nothing but a scrap of paper with what he presumed was his name, and an address.

Nicholas followed the address to what turned out to be the meeting place of a group of anarchists. These revolutionaries, he’d learned, were set on the Liberation of Night. Enraptured by their words, Nicholas devoted himself to the cause. At the recommendation of one of his newfound colleagues, he found an inn for the night and settled down to his new role.

Elias woke up with no memory of why he was in London.

There is no set time or indication of what might bring about the change. Usually Elias/Nicholas will feel poorly, and have to excuse himself. Neither man is aware of the other’s identity or activities.

Whilst they both share a deep devotion for the cause in which they believe, Nicholas is more likely to look outside of the box or to bend the rules to achieve his goals. He is unconcerned with decorum. Whereas Elias initially appears far more cheerful and therefore approachable, Nicholas is by far the politer of the two, more likely to kindly talk his way through a solution, rather than Sequence-sanctioned force. And whereas Elias is perfectly content to stand in the proverbial shadow of the Dawn Machine, Nicholas has a bit of a showmanship streak, at least to his fellow revolutionaries.

Bonus:

Nicholas spent several months haunted by mysterious words lurking in the back of his mind. The word he was seeking would be lost, suddenly replaced by foreign consonants. He eventually went to his fellow anarchists with this information, concerned that between this and all of his missing time, that the Correspondence had somehow infected him and that he was losing his mind. Instead, one of his associates simply laughed. “Fy mrawd yng Nghrist, siwd wyt ti ddim yn gwybod bo ti’n Gymro?”

[ayeforscotland]

Hey. Sorry if I’m interrupting anything.

Got a question.

What are your thoughts on Scottish Gaelic. The language mean. Obviously.

As an Irishman I'd very much like to see it revived by any and all means necessary. I mean it's the closest linguistically to Irish what with both being Celtic languages.

Still.

I don't like people advocating to wipe out languages. It's colonial bullshit. May explain why Scottish Unionists start shrieking hysterically when they see it on road signs.

They're a deranged bunch.

I'm a supporter of reviving and saving any and all threatened languages. Like Scottish Gaelic.

Among others. Such as Irish, Welsh, Breton, Cornish, Manx, Basque, Advghe, Kabardian, Chuvash, Syriac (what the Assyrian people speak), Talvsh, Hawaiian, Navajo, Abaza, to name a few.

Here you go

[burtonandtaylor]

The day Hollywood stars Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton came to Nottingham

It was half a century ago that Nottingham was sprinkled with a bit of showbiz glitter. Andy Smart looks back to a memorable day in history.

Nottingham had seen nothing like it since the days of The Beatles.

The most glamorous couple in showbiz were coming to town and fans of Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor were desperate to get a glimpse of the Hollywood stars.

Richard and Liz were in Nottingham back in 1968 for the East Midlands premiere of their new film Dr Faustus and the crowd which flocked to the old Moulin Rouge cinema in Milton Street was estimated at more than 1,000.

After the screening, as the couple prepared to leave in their gleaming Rolls-Royce, Burton was presented with a rugby ball and a bottle of ale by five-year-old Richard Oxley.

Then it was the job of the city police to push the crowds back to clear space for the stars’ departure.

In 2003 Richard Oxley, of Marlpool, recalled that proud moment when Richard Burton autographed the rugby ball.

He explained: “I was five at the time and my parents had entered a local competition for children named Richard or Elizabeth to win the chance to meet the stars.

“I was chosen, together with an older girl (Lexie Whittington from Basford) who gave a bouquet of flowers to Liz, and I had to get him to sign a ball to be raffled for charity.

"I vaguely remember a policeman helping me. And I can remember I was paid a guinea. It’s my claim to fame.

“Whenever I see Richard Burton in one of his films on television, I always tell my children that I once met him."

That wasn’t the only time they were seen in Nottingham. There was the occasion when legendary Playhouse director John Neville invited his old thespian chum Richard Burton to do a night of readings with fellow Welsh actor Donald Huston.

In a 2004 interview, actor Laurence Harrington, who was a member of the Playhouse company at the time, recalled: “Richard and Liz Taylor arrived with their entourage. There were about 12 of them; private detectives, secretaries, you name it.

“Here at the Playhouse were two of the biggest stars in the world.

“Liz had to go to the Playhouse offices over the road in Wellington Circus. I shall never forget escorting her from the stage door to the office with the stage manager, a chap called Tony.

“As we walked up the slight hill Liz noticed the stage manager only had a thin shirt on and, slipping her arm out of mine, she took off her coat and wrapped it around his shoulders.

“I will never forget his face or mine, when she turned to me, smiled and said: ‘It’s a bit chilly isn’t it?’ Her violet blue eyes were the most beautiful I have ever gazed into.

“I also remember the way Burton rehearsed meticulously, assiduously trying to knock off a minute here, a few seconds there, when he felt the programme was overlong.”

They stayed at the George Hotel in Hockley and it provided a memorable moment for barmaid Mary Handley, as she told the Post in 2003.

It was a Sunday night when Mary was warned to expect someone special. She remembered taking the message with a pinch of salt.

In the four years she had worked in the George’s Peacock Bar, Mary was used to mixing with the rich and powerful, so one more was not going to shake her.

But then in walked Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. He ordered a vodka for himself and gin and tonic for the wife and for the next 25 minutes the golden couple sat at the bar chatting with Mary about this and that.

“She was beautiful and he was very, very nice. They were fabulous people really and you could tell, just by looking at them, that they were in love,” she said.

“When the Rolls-Royce came to collect them, he just told me to keep the change. It was about £4 which was quite a lot in those days.”

By the time Liz and Richard returned from their appearance at the Playhouse, Mary had finished her stint for the night.

“I know they had room 504, which was the top suite, but I did not see them again. Perhaps they left early in the morning.”

Among the audience for that Playhouse event was the Post’s celebrated theatre critic Emrys Bryson, who recalled: “Those who expected to have Elizabeth Taylor sitting in their midst, glittering in the darkness were wrong.

“For she remained unseen until the last few minutes – until, in floor-length white kaftan and a hairdo piled as high as a guardsman’s bearskin, she came on stage.

“And there, in a gentle Welsh accent, she took part in an excerpt from Dylan Thomas’s Under Milk Wood, reading the role of the dead Rosie Probert.

“It was an electric, super-charged evening, sparkling on the star aura of the Burtons – with Richard on the stage and the knowledge that his wife, the most glamorous woman in the world, was around in the wings.

”The show coincided with St David’s Day. Outside in the foyer signed posters bearing the picture of a daffodil were being sold at a pound a time. Proceeds from poster and ticket sales were donated to charity.

Among the celebrity performers taking part were Donald Houston and John Neville.

The audience was treated to a variety of readings ranging from a DH Lawrence description of a snake to a poem about Aberfan written by Mr Burton’s niece.

Emry Byrson wrote: “Burton made that superb voice of his ferret into every crevice of the theatre.”

That same year, 1968, Burton starred alongside Clint Eastwood in the war adventure film Where Eagles Dare. His fee was £1m plus a share of the profits. He appeared in a total of 79 films, was Oscar-nominated seven times, but never won the coveted award.

By contrast, Taylor made 78 movies, winning the best actress Oscar twice (Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf and Butterfield 8).

[canmom]

went to the big palestine demo today.

perhaps because the government kicked up a fuss about Armistice Day, or perhaps by gradual snowballing, it was probably one of the largest political demos I've been on - street was packed from end to end as far as the eye could see. maybe the BLM demos in the summer a few years ago were of comparable scale, but honestly i think this one was bigger. hours after i reached the end the column of marchers was still stretching back to the bridge at least. i can post some pictures when I've had time to scrub faces out of them.

i decided to improvise a protest sign this time. i had to buy permanent markers en route, so i wrote out the sign by the side of the road. some fascist prick walked by as i did this to call me a leftist pedo who doesn't know what gender I'm supposed to be in a tone of the most vehement disgust, which was oddly affirming. cunt must have fancied himself a poet, answering me giving him the finger with 'what are you, a man or a mouse?', which is cracking me up in retrospect.

there was a lot of rightful anger in the protest. lots of people led chants - at one point i saw the megaphone was held by a child who looked about 7. it was affirming to be surrounded by people who give a shit, even if they're all strangers. the organisers led us to the US embassy, where there were two different stages set up for speakers - most of them Palestinian but there was one Welsh MP there as well, maybe the Welsh politicians are less cowardly than England's. there were also the usual panoply of SWP gazebos trying to recruit people to help them carry out the important socialist activities of flogging newspapers and recruiting more SWP members. the end felt a bit aimless - after the focused energy of marching A to B, it ended in people going forward to the SWP/bookstore/painfully loud sound system area and then milling around, then either coming back to either stand by the first stage or gradually go home. it is frustrating to me that the willingness of a political demo to cause real disruption tends to be inversely proportional to its scale. but this was largely a symbolic march, that will make headlines just by virtue of the scale.

the US embassy itself (which has a fucking moat) was pretty locked down with cops and thick barriers stopping anyone approaching the entrances. my ears are still full of protest chants and my voice is a bit hoarse. apparently the UK gov is due to vote on whether to call for a ceasefire in a week. exactly how much diplomatic pressure they'll apply if that vote goes through, i can only speculate. in the meantime, we really need to be applying direct pressure on Elbit factories and other components of the weapons industry. but that's a lot riskier than an A to B march and requires much better opsec, so you know. if someone's working on that and they're any good at what they're doing, it won't be planned in public.

[squid-in-space]

happy to report that i have officially accomplished Teenager tonight bc i snuck out at one am to steal a road sign ('warning do not cross' in both Welsh and English)(it had been on the floor in a field for like a month) whilst listening to teenage girl music (a nice mix of hozier, big thief, mitski and boygenius amongst others) and then partook in underage drinking (shitty homemade cocktails) and eating pringles (salt and vinegar bc best flavour) with my girlfriend (gay) under a bridge (made famous by a renowned 80s indie rock band from my area) and then i am going home to watch shitty shows (carmilla on youtube) before we all go to a friend's house to burn our exam revision (the six chem past papers i did the morning of the first exam) and make s'mores

i now feel like a character in a crappy coming of age film. 10/10 would recommend

[martynrandles]

I was traveling back from Caernarfon the weekend before last on this very stretch of road & saw that a Fox & a Badger had been killed.

As a boy aged 12 in the 1980’s I was hit by a car & knocked off my bicycle, believe you me I am still in pain, I can’t take pain killers due to the amount of pain killers prescribed to me as a child messing with my heart condition. So from aged 18 to now knocking on the doors of my half century I’ve had to learn to deal with it. The women who pulled out and hit me with her car in the 1980’s said she didn’t see me. Time slowed down & I didn’t feel a thing but saw everything in extreme slow motion, until I hit the ground. I did feel as though giant wings were wrapped around me. My point is it was a Sunday afternoon, her being in a rush destroyed my life, made an already disabled boy more disabled… yet good luck getting help in Britain if your disabled.

I was forced into hauling on my bicycle brakes when an on duty policeman in north Devon decided to speed up the hill in the rain without his lights on. I highsided my brand new bicycle and bent the frame. What the fuck was he in such a rush for late at night? Badgers regularly used to accompany me up that hill as my dicky ticker doesn’t allow me to cycle up hill. This one beautiful Badger, fearless amazing creature used to even walk up ahead then wait for me to catch him up, even chilling out waiting with me half way up the steep hill before the nightmare Summit. I eventually went to see a GP about my hip, 2011 the preventable “accident” happened, 2012 I went to see a quack about my hip & came out (eventually) with heart failure. To be fair I’d lost so much weight as I had contracted an “unknown virus” whilst surfing north Devon’s so called blue flag beaches… & I’m not the only surfer from that village either.

I have witnessed drivers nowadays in England, driving way too bloody fast, without a care for their own safety, the safety of others & not even giving a flying fuck about wildlife (please excuse my language if you’re easily offended, but as an actual Englishman who studied linguistics at University “flying fuck” is the appropriate usage… as in: it’s obvious the British Government do not give a flying fuck about the British Taxpayer or the NHS… etc,.) If you care about all creatures great & small & can spare a few moments to sign the petition above, you will help to make a difference to local wildlife in Britain that the Government & the elites would rather cull or hunt to extinction.

Once the elites are done getting rid of the wildlife they don’t have a use for guess who’s next? I’ll give you a clue, actually I’ll just make it plain & simple, “We” are next on their list.

Please accept my apologies if anything I have written offends or causes any upset to any reader. It is never my intention to do so. But today is a day I dread every year, Danny died today 4 years ago, he was my best friend. And he’d love my rant today… rest in peace Danny boy, & if you still love mischief go fuck with the bastards while they sleep. RIP dude, catch a wave for me buddy x

[llyfrenfys]

Bad Takes in the Welsh tag vol. II- this reblog on a post about the number of Welsh speakers. (I have cropped out the username of OP and as ever, I only focus on the sentiment, not the person. If you know OP's url kindly do not send them anon hate etc.).

So I saw this take a few days ago in a reblog on a post in the Welsh tag and wanted to address this sentiment as well, since it does the opposite of that other bad take that I saw and made a post about the other day. To be clear, I don't disagree entirely with OP, but there's an element of wishful thinking that I sometimes see when it comes to Welsh / other minoritised languages which can end up doing more harm than good.

This screenshot was also discussed in the LGBTQIA+ Welsh Discord I run and the broad consensus from those of us in there who live in Wales is that OP is painting a very inaccurate picture of the status of Welsh, particularly of Welsh in North Wales. It is frustrating when you have people who value Welsh, but don't value Welsh enough to bother with accuracy in their promotion of the language. This post is intended as a gentle reminder that we can fight for the Welsh language without misrepresenting the situation on the ground so to speak.

The post itself has a 'fuck yeah, Welsh!' attitude which I personally love. But sadly this particular post is riddled with misinformation. First of all, we have "Welsh law is that all signs must have We[l]sh text on them but there is nothing in the law that says signs must also have English on them". Now the wording is kinda vague here- but I'm going out on a limb and saying that the OP is likely referencing The Welsh Language Standards Guidelines (which have been updated several times over the years). The guidance has a number of Standards relating to signs in the Welsh language, such as Standard 32, Standards 47-52, Standard 66 and Standards 111-113. The section of Interpreting the Standards also contains relevant text, such as in Part 3- Interpreting the Standards article 15:

Plain text: "For the purposes of the standards a requirement to publish, provide or display any written material in Welsh does not mean that material should be published, provided or, displayed in Welsh only, nor does it mean that the material should be produced in Welsh first (unless that is specifically stated in the standard)"

Of the Standards listed above, Standards 47-52 are specifically designated as Standards relating to signs and notices displayed or published by a body. Which state things like "... if the same text is displayed in Welsh and in English, you must not treat the Welsh language text less favourably than the English language text" - Standard 47 and "You must ensure that the Welsh language text on signs and notices is accurate in terms of meaning and expression" - Standard 49.

Anyway, back to the point. OP is incorrect in stating that there is a loophole by which the Welsh Law forgot to specify that the signs had to have English as well as Welsh and that public bodies can get away with monolingual Welsh signs. This just isn't true. Important to note is that the law is intended for public bodies- so big companies, road signage makers etc. This guidance isn't for random farms in North Wales which have signs that say "wyau <-" pointing up the lane with no English translation.

Now, the next sentence is a little loaded, well-meant, but a little loaded nonetheless. "The Welsh nationalist dominated rural authorities in the North"- it's loadedness comes down to its vagueness I think. While it isn't wrong per se that Welsh Nationalist parties like Plaid Cymru do well in the North West, it is a little skewed to ascribe Welsh speaking status to whichever party is doing the best in a given area. It isn't that clear cut, unfortunately. To get into this issue, we have to talk maps.

So those Welsh speaker maps that have nice gradients and have the West of Wales coloured in dark, gradually getting lighter as you move East? Unfortunately, these maps can be very misleading (especially if, like in the map OP was commenting on, the source of the data was left off). But the long and short of it is- these maps tend to imply that Welsh is exclusively spoken in the NW and that everywhere East of Bangor has had it. But the data presentation is very flawed, since it tends to erase Welsh language gains in places like Cardiff, Swansea and Monmouthshire.

You've all seen maps like this right? NW in the darkest colours and SE in the lightest?

Unfortunately when it comes to these kinds of maps, they can be very misleading from a language revitalisation point of view.

Here's some maps I actually studied at undergrad for this purpose

On the face of it, your eyes zip up to Gwynedd and Môn on the first map and then over to the second and- 'oh no!' you might say, there's been a -2.1 to -4.0 percent decline in Welsh speakers in those areas. And of course, this is something that language revitalisation wants to address. But look at the first map again. Look at, Monmouthshire, Caerphilly, Cardiff and Swansea. Then look at the second map.

Welsh speaking is actually being increased in these areas, between 2001 to 2011.

The misleading nature of a language map like this one is not its borders, its colour or key, but its omission of the sociopolitcal forces at play in language revitalisation. Large population centres like Cardiff, Caerphilly, Newport and Swansea are actively gaining more Welsh speakers. While Gwynedd and Môn are losing some. But Welsh speaking (despite a few wobbles) is on the increase. So where did those Welsh speakers from the North go?

South.

It isn't a hard-and-fast rule, but many rural Welsh speakers (especially those who live in areas with high amounts of holiday homes which drive up rent/cost of staying in villages in North Wales) actually end up moving to more urban areas in the South, meaning that some of the decline of Welsh speaking in North Wales is down to Welsh speakers just, moving to a different part of Wales- which in turn makes those areas see an increase in Welsh being spoken.

Of course, we actually have to address the cause of the exodus of Welsh speakers from rural areas holiday homes raising house prices making them unaffordable for locals and drives them away but the way that our data is represented is not as dire as it looks. Still not great, mind, but not apocalyptic either.

Then there's the other inaccuracies in this post. Small businesses like farm shops, high street businesses and houses can have Welsh-only signage because they are not local authorities and much of the guidance indirectly referenced by OP mostly only applies to local authorities. This is how you have farm shops advertising produce in Welsh only, or shop names in Welsh (such as Siop y Pethe and Broc-Môr in Aberystwyth) or the name of the house my flat is in. Businesses have different regulations for signage inside the shop in different situations. But the guidance indirectly referred to by OP in the screenshot mostly applies to road signage.

Big name brands such as Tesco are definitely not going to have monolingual Welsh stores and it is disinformation to suggest that they do- especially not when they've made gaffes such as "sboncen" to mean squash (the drink). "Sboncen" means squash (the sport), while they should have put "sgwash", meaning the drink.

Or my favourite instance of these "arwyddion gwael", in which instead of offering a free ATM service, this ATM on the Tesco Express in Aberystwyth offered "codiad am ddim" (free erections):

So I dread to think what a fully monolingual poorly translated Welsh Tesco would look like.

I don't disagree with OP on the final part, that we should celebrate Welsh's "punk ass attitude" in surviving despite attempts to eradicate it from existence. But spreading false information is definitely not the way we should be doing that.

Instead, we can celebrate things like the National Eisteddfod coming to places like Wrecsam in 2025, which aren't typically selected due to there being fewer speakers. But what bringing the National Eisteddfod to areas with low-speakers does is reestablish that yes, actually, Welsh deserves to be spoken all over Wales, not just in Y Fro Gymraeg (Welsh concept equivalent of the Gaeltacht in Ireland). It's an active, real reclamation of areas previously lost for Welsh and revitalising them by bringing the language back with the biggest Welsh language event anywhere.

[omgeddon]

Inshallah the star and crescent will rise again over the mountains of Andalus and all the road signs in England will be rendered in Welsh. 👁

[quidam-sirenae]

Now I’m home here are my observations about britain:

1. They don’t carry my brand of pads. This was annoying as no tesco superstore carried any hypoallergenic pads and so I had a semi bad time in London about that.

2. The food is so good. Gosh the food is good. Fish and chips? Baps? Breakfast tea? Yes to all of it. 10/10 eating experience.

3. Those roads suck ass.

4. They are so weird about giving me painkillers or nausea meds. Please sir I just want to not throw up in the car they just give me the drugs over the counter in america.

5. Graveyards. Everywhere.

6. Churches. Also everywhere.

7. The public transit was wonderful and everyone was lovely. Very efficient.

8. I really liked the hostel culture. I met a lot of interesting people and it general people in hostels are more willing to chat than the average person.

9. Toilets should be free

10. They’re a lot better about letting natural flowers grow in empty patches. I like that.

11. For the love of god I need to be able to sit down I have osteoporosis I have to sit down please give me a real bench. Bus stop benches are shit.

12. Military history there vs here was interesting. Welsh military history was different from the British military history was different from Scotland and Ireland. I liked seeing the different perspectives on different accounts. One sign I found had the ‘American revolution for independence’ in quotation marks.

13. Nice weather. I like it.