Just as it’s true that people with the most irritating ring tones are always the slowest to answer their smart phones, it’s also true I often create one article from two separate sources.
Thumbing through a back copy of a magazine in my dentist’s waiting room, I came upon a fascinating article titled “Why I Weep For Wales” by Roger Lewis, a well-respected author and literary critic.
It wasn’t an easy read, as Roger forensically dissected the many issues with modern Wales.
Born in Bedwas, he’s as entitled to his opinions as any of us – and can articulate them far better than I could.
Although somewhat depressing, I found it thought-provoking and had to agree with many of his comments about my country. You’d have had to been living in a cave for the last 25 years not to.
Then, blow me down! The following day I read an online newspaper interview with actor Michael Sheen, which was intended to promote his three-part series about the Prince Andrew/Emily Maitlis interview.
However, that was just one subject discussed, not all of them related to his acting.
Michael obviously talked about various aspects of his long career, but also shared his views on modern Wales,
While Roger Lewis’s article was excellent, Michael’s comments were more optimistic.
In 2019, Michael moved back to his hometown of Port Talbot where he’s involved himself in community matters while still maintaining his career.
His TV series “Staged” with David Tennant cheered us up during Covid; he also starred with David in the TV series “Good Omens”; and this year he played Nye Bevan on stage to great acclaim.
While fiercely proud of being Welsh, he appears ambivalent regarding Independence, perhaps aware that whatever he says might alienate those with an opposite view.
If you haven’t seen it, seek out the TV documentary “The Assembly”, in which he’s interviewed by a group of young neurodiverse people. No subject was ‘off the table’.
The true measure of this man’s modesty shines through when he’s asked the last question “What’s your name, again?”.
Without missing a beat, he replies “Michael”.

In a world where discussing death can feel like the ultimate party foul, two local heroines are here to make it a little less spooky and a lot more sensible.
Enter Em Melrose and Kirsty Jones, the dynamic duo behind The Legacy Lounge, a place where conversations about mortality are as welcome as a warm cup of tea and a slice of cake (and we all know how much we appreciate that combo!).
Em, a life coach with a flair for thoughtful reflection, has danced with the heavy topics of grief after losing both parents and her husband in recent years.
Meanwhile, Kirsty, a wills and probate lawyer, has seen enough family disputes over estates to fuel a reality TV show.
Together, they’ve crafted a mission to encourage open, compassionate dialogues about death—yes, you heard that right—while preventing the chaos that can ensue when personal affairs are left in disarray.
The inaugural Legacy Fair, taking place on November 2 in Llanelli’s St Elli Shopping Centre (in the old Yankee Candle unit—because what better aroma to accompany discussions of legacies than nostalgia?), aims to break down the barriers of uncomfortable conversations.
It’s not just about wills and home protection, folks. Think adventures, unique memorial ideas, and celebrating lives rather than merely mourning them.
With a schedule packed with “fireside chats” (yes, real or metaphorical fires, depending on how deep the convo goes!) and an array of professionals ready to help you explore your legacy, The Legacy Lounge promises to be a space where warmth, understanding, and maybe even a few chuckles flourish.
So, grab your favourite mug and join Em and Kirsty in a gathering designed to make planning for the inevitable a little less grim and a lot more meaningful.
After all, who says talking about death can’t be a delightful experience? I will be there to find out!

Loyal readers, who know I often return to certain subjects, may wonder why, when it’s mid-October, I haven’t complained about what I consider a complete waste of money . . .
Yes, folks, it’s the plastic and cardboard ‘spooky’ tat supermarkets heavily persuade parents to buy their children to ‘celebrate’ Halloween.
When I was ‘but a lad’, Halloween meant very little compared to the excitement of Bonfire Night.
The spectre of Halloween travelled from America and now has the UK firmly in its white skeleton bone grip.
Well, this year, I’ve got nothing to say about Halloween.
Nada. Zero. Zilch. Diddly-squat.
If, in these tough economic times (when pensioners have been denied their winter fuel allowance), thousands of people can still find the dosh to splash out on rubber skeletons, Freddy Kreuger masks and red-eyed, life-size, battery-operated, axe-wielding zombie puppets to amuse their little darlings for 24 hours before they’re thrown out, so be it.
I repeat. This year, I have nothing to say on the matter.
Except . . . to briefly mention that one of my vast army of spies who occasionally supply me with juicy gossip, phoned me the day he spotted a shelf of Halloween items on sale in one well-known store . . . the weekend before the August Bank Holiday.
And, it was just after the August Bank Holiday that, from the hysterical reaction in the media, what you’d think was a world-shattering event hit the headlines.
Two estranged musical brothers, well-known for their use of ‘discouraging’ words during interviews, announced they’d buried the hatchet after 15 years of non-communication.
They considered it was the right time to act like adults . . . and make a very grown-up £50 million with a reunion tour in 2025.
Full disclosure – the music of Oasis completely passed me by. Although I do remember they were once lauded as the successors to The Beatles.
From the songs of theirs I’ve heard on the radio, I don’t even think they’re the successors to Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich – but maybe that’s just me . . .
If you’re a fan and can afford tickets, good luck.
But wouldn’t the money be better spent on a life-size, battery-operated zombie puppet?

There are two possible queues in the supermarket . . .
Why is it the one you decide to go for is always the slowest to move?
There is always that one customer in it who has picked the only product in the whole store with no price on.
Or the checkout operator decides to plonk the ‘checkout closed’ sign right before your shopping pile.
Does this only happen to me?
It’s the same at the cashpoint.
I always end up standing behind the person who decides now would be a good time to print out and check a monthly statement, check the balance on all four of their accounts and then print out receipts for each transaction!
Then there is that fleeting thought that goes through your mind . . . shall I change queues?
You battle with this little voice inside your head telling you “NO!” as you know that, as soon as you move, your original queue will move at the speed of light!
So, you move queues anyway, despite the little voice and, Yes, your original queue starts moving quicker than Usain Bolt off the starting blocks . . .
Please tell me this doesn’t only happen to me?

I recently revealed that my regular ramblings, rants and reminiscences aren’t necessarily published in the order I submit them.
If you don’t remember this (not to confuse matters), it might mean my piece explaining my articles aren’t necessarily published in the order I submit them may not have been published in the order I submitted it.
So, don’t think I’ve come late to the party regarding this week’s subject – I wrote it the day I read about it in the national papers.
I’m referring to the controversial idea put forward by the managements of some West End theatres, that they should dispense with the traditional interval – and plays should continue uninterrupted, as in Shakespeare’s time.
Although, very few theatre bars back then served a decent G & T ‘twixt Acts One & Two.
“May I have ice and a slice?”
“No, thou may not! Clearest off! Thou’s causing a queue!”
We all know the incredible prices London theatres charge for a seat with a decent view of the stage.
So, when I read that one theatre boss commented, “A play that only lasts 80 or 85 minutes doesn’t really require an interval”, my blood started to boil like the witches’ cauldron in the Scottish play.
85 minutes?
If I paid a couple of hundred smackers (plus travel and hotel costs and taxi fares) for the ‘hottest ticket in town’ and found myself out on the street after less than 90 minutes, I’d feel short-changed.
For the money, I’d expect a three-hour spectacular, free souvenir brochure and ice cream, a front row seat and an invitation to meet the cast afterwards.
You’re right. I haven’t seen a West End show for years.
But I know some London theatre seats are uncomfortably small, so even if you don’t fancy an interval snifter, you need to stretch your legs after a while.
All theatres rely heavily on the revenue generated by their bar and some gentlemen of a certain age need regular visits to the loo.
With no interval, rather than disturb fellow theatregoers, they’d have to sit in discomfort all evening – making the audience, rather than the show, ‘Les Miserables’!

It’s a bit nippy outside, and the big question looms: have you turned your heating on yet?
Well, I took the plunge and was greeted by a delightful symphony of gurgles, a hissing serenade that could only be rivalled by a deflating balloon, and then, drumroll please, complete silence!
Yes, folks, my boiler decided it was time for a holiday, leaving me in a frosty chill resembling a scene from a holiday film where the hero needs to find warmth before the snowstorm hits.
But fear not!
I have boiler cover with a well-known supplier, so I knew fun was about to follow!
I dialled the number, ready for action, and was welcomed by a jolly voice that could only be described as the human equivalent of a hot cocoa.
“Thank you for calling! Your call is very important!” she chirped.
Oh, really? Because I was starting to feel like a penguin waiting for the ice to thaw.
Twenty minutes in, and I was now on a first-name basis with the hold music.
I could probably audition for an album of elevator hits!
The jolly voice continued to reassure me, but I had crossed a threshold, there was no turning back!
Five minutes?
Sure, I could hang up. But 20 minutes? That’s commitment!
I was practically bonded to my phone like it was my new best friend.
Finally, after what felt like a Netflix binge without the popcorn, a real voice broke through the hold music haze, thanking me for my patience.
In my excitement, I fumbled my phone like a clumsy acrobat, and, poof!
Call disconnected!
Talk about a plot twist!
Now, it’s been five days of frosty fun, and I’m starting to think my house might qualify as an ice sculpture.
But, hey, at least I can now say I have the world’s longest wait for heating!
Who knew chilling with a boiler could be an adventure?
I’m ready for the next chapter . . . hopefully with some heat!

Comedy is hard, my friends.
Not everyone, whether 50 people in a room over a pub or 20,00 in an arena, will laugh at every funny line a comedian says.
Some fall on stony ground.
Similarly with TV sitcoms, people rave about popular shows that fail to tickle my funny bone. Usually because the annoying characters behave like they’re living in a sitcom.
The other night I re-watched a few episodes of Ricky Gervais’s excellent sitcom “Extras” (2005-7) which IMHO is brilliantly written and performed.
But . . . it does have a weakness at its heart…
If you’ve never watched “Extras”, Ricky plays Andy Milman a struggling actor who can only find background or ‘extra’ work in films and TV and is desperate to get a big break.
This eventually comes in the form of a sitcom script he’s written, based on his time working in a factory, which he sells to the BBC, who agree to allow him to star in the show.
Unfortunately, due to interference from the Comedy Department bosses, producers etc. the result is not what Andy envisaged. It’s full of moronic catchphrases and the characters are over-the-top caricatures.
Despite that, the series is a huge hit and Andy becomes a success . . . but at what price?
The weakness for me is, Andy’s sitcom (“When The Whistle Blows”) seems more like a throwback to broad 1970s shows than something the BBC would commission in 2005.
The ‘jollly’ opening credits and music for “When The Whistle  Blows” are designed to resemble those of “Only Fools And Horses”, while the witless characters sitting around the canteen table could easily be the idiot relations of the “Dinner Ladies” cast.
Both those shows are sitcom classics that never insulted the audience’s intelligence.
Ricky has proven his comedy ‘chops’ time and again and become a major player in the comedy world.
I realise Ricky was showing us showbiz success at any price is an empty experience, but I hope by creating a crude working class sitcom-within-a-sitcom he wasn’t having a sly dig at John Sullivan’s and Victoria Wood’s much-loved series, which can be watched and enjoyed endless times.
Comedy is hard, my friends!

Each and every day, I make time to write and have to admit that this can be a challenging experience.
If I’m not writing jokes, editing a script or tuning ideas for this newspaper column, I’m adding to my list of corporate and conference talks for a future event.
Doing this exercise on a daily basis works the old grey matter and ensures my writing skills don’t get rusty.
When researching subjects, I often turn to the news pages online, which can be a great source of material.
Unfortunately, most of the time (well, nearly all of the time) the news is full of negative and shocking stories from home and around the world.
Rarely do we see happy, uplifting headlines.
That wouldn’t sell, would it?
I’m all for freedom of speech and the free exchange of information, but the level of shock news reporting we are exposed to is bound to have a detrimental effect on our moods and outlook on life.
It is also clearly evident that children are also exposed to this negativity at such a young age, it can’t possibly help to create a healthy and positive outlook.
I would welcome more good news or even a ‘Good News Channel’.
Is it any wonder that we now live in a society where mental illness and depression is at an uncontrollable level?

I’ll let you into a secret. Provided you don’t pass it on to anyone else. My articles aren’t always published in the order I submit them.
It doesn’t matter, provided you find the result interesting, just like when you watch a film, knowing each scene wasn’t shot in the order they unfold.
The complicated process of making films requires them to be shot out of sequence – sometimes because of the limited availability of an actor or a specific location.
Having established that well-known fact, it never ceases to amaze me when I hear people come out with a comment that rings the “What are they talking about?” alarm bell, knowing their conversation is based on a half-listened to TV interview or a misread article – stories that may have been melded into ‘facts’.
When publicising his 2020 film “1917”, director Sam Mendes went to great lengths to explain his cameraman had shot revolutionary eight-minute takes, rather than the usual 30 or 60 seconds.  And that he wanted each half of the 139-minute film to look like one continuous take.
His emphasis on the ‘look like’ was because the film was shot in various locations around the UK, hundreds of miles apart.
So, imagine my bemusement when I recently overheard two people talking about the film, and one of them proclaimed sagely, “Of course the whole film was shot in one continuous take”. And the other person nodded and said, “Yes, I heard something about that when it came out!”
I wanted to say, “Err! Excuse me! Let’s just examine what you said. Sam Mendes had hundreds of actors all set in place in various locations, started filming at, say, 10 am and by 12.30 he had the film completely finished and everyone went home? You know, maybe more directors should shoot multi-million-dollar films in a morning. Then, if their afternoon’s free they could make the multi-million-dollar sequel and be home in time for tea!”
In my mind, I then stepped back to watch their eyes as the cogs of realisation clicked and whirred in their heads.
But, instead, I came home and wrote this article.
In one continuous take . . .

I don’t know about you, but this year seems to have flown.
As a young lad, I do seem to remember periods when time dragged. However, as I get older, this seems to be far from the case.
It appears that as we grow older, our perception of time changes. Interesting, isn’t it?
Christmas will once again be upon us and, for many, that little black dress will make an appearance from the wardrobe, where it has been hiding since pre-Covid.
Clean off the mothballs, blow off the dust and pray that it still fits!
Having said that, if it didn’t fit then, it certainly won’t fit now.
I’m only joking, I don’t own a little black dress . . .
Mine is red!
So, how will you be celebrating this year?
Will you be making up for lost time and take every opportunity to embrace life to the full, while we can?
Or are we beyond all that and now conditioned to be cautious, stay at home and keep the mingling to a minimum?
We certainly do live in interesting times – and, although life seems to be flying by, are you happy with and embracing the new normal?
Write and share your thoughts with me on this one; I would love to hear from you.