It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t eavesdrop on other people’s conversations when I’m lingering over a latte, mulling over a macchiato or cogitating over a cappuccino in a coffee shop or café.
I don’t deliberately earwig what my fellow coffee drinkers are talking about. Honest, Guv!
In my defence, M’lud, although I frequent some coffee shop chains, I prefer small, independent places where, to maximise their income, they cram in as many tables and chairs as possible, so I’m often this close to people on the next table!
Having established that I’m not some sort of ‘aural voyeur’, I was in one such tiny coffee shop recently, staring wistfully into my Americano as it slowly devoured the digestive biscuit which had slipped out of my fingers in mid-dunk.
Is there a more dispiriting sight than a biccie sinking below the surface of your hot drink? I think not.
While I was toying with the pros and cons of fishing the drowned digestive out of my cup with a spoon, a man and woman sat next to me.
I say ‘next’ to me. If they’d got any closer, she would have been sitting on my knee and he would have demanded to know how long the pair of us had been carrying on behind his back.
They were mid-conversation even before they sat next to me and she was telling him, “The fact is, I’ve never trusted Nigel. He’s as crafty as a barrow-load of monkeys”. A rather damning opinion, with which her male companion agreed.
But I couldn’t agree. She was wrong and I was itching to tell her.
Not that I had any idea who this ‘Nigel’ was. What I disagreed with was her use of the term ‘Barrow-load’.  The correct expression is ‘Barrel-load’, as anyone familiar with the expression knows.
It took enormous self-control to stop myself correcting her and I concentrated on retrieving my disappointingly dissolved digestive, while wondering how monkeys crammed inside a barrel might be considered ‘crafty’.
I’ll try and come up with an answer next time I’m in a café . . .

I don’t know about you, but I’m positively thrilled that the Easter holiday weekend is finally behind us.
It’s like emerging from a chocolate coated cave of chaos, and let me tell you, the roads were rammed tighter than a can of sardines.
If you thought you could escape for a peaceful drive, think again.
It was like every family in the country decided to take a road trip at the same time. I half expected to see a convoy of bunnies leading the way.
And don’t even get me started on the railways.
They were mainly closed for repair work, which is a bit like going to a bakery only to find out they’re out of bread.
“Sorry, folks, no trains today. But we do have a lovely view of the construction site!”
It’s a wonder anyone made it to their Easter destinations at all.
Now, let’s talk about the real tragedy of the holiday: the chocolate eggs.
Every year, I hold out hope that this will be the year I find the perfect egg, one that’s filled with joy and not just a few sad, stale jelly beans.
But, alas, I was once again met with disappointment. I mean, who knew that a chocolate egg could taste like regret?
As we dive back into the working week, it’s clear that there are more stressed parents this week than there were last week.
You can practically see the caffeine coursing through their veins as they navigate the post-Easter sugar crash.
So, here’s to surviving another holiday season.
May your roads be clear, your trains be running, and your chocolate eggs be filled with actual chocolate next year.
Cheers to the return of sanity.

How do you greet people when you meet them in the street, a pub or your place of work?
I’d guess most of us say “Hello” or “Alright? – although that greeting may be used mainly in south Wales.
There’s also a rather crude greeting which I remember from my youth, involving one male person casually asking another male person, “How’s it . . . ?”
(EDITOR’S NOTE: Dear reader. I was tempted to cut that line, for all our sakes!).
I’m not keen on using “Hi!” as a greeting, because (and I realise it’s my problem and nobody else’s) when I hear “Hi!” it reminds me of those Cliff Richard & The Shadows movies of the early 60s, like Summer Holiday.
There’s always a scene in which Cliff says to Hank Marvin’s musical combo, “Hi, fellahs! Why don’t we try that number right now?”
“Hi!” is running neck and neck with “Hello!” these days, probably due to the fact a lot of people start their emails with it.
Well, it’d be pointless finishing an email with it!
Even so, I much prefer “Hi!” to the greeting that gets used increasingly in modern British TV dramas – the very American and very annoying “Hey!”
If you’re wondering what I’m going on about (“Nothing new there, Phil!”) take, as an example, the most recent series of “Unforgotten” on ITV One.
As well-made as it was, over six episodes, everyone upon meeting a friend or relation, said “Hey!” – never “Hello!” or “How are you?”
When one detective wandered into another detective’s workspace or office, they didn’t say “Can I have a minute?” or “Are you busy?” like normal people would.
They gave a sort of half-nod and said “Hey!” and the other person would return the semi-nod and say “Hey!” in return.
I found it so irritating and so unlikely that British people would behave like that, it detracted from the drama.
Unless we’ve suddenly become America’s 51st State and not everyone got the memo, including me, I’m sticking with “Hello!” and refuse to become a member of the “Hey!” team!

So, here I am, sitting down to write this week’s column, and I have to admit, I’m not exactly feeling like my usual sparkling self.
You know those days when positivity feels as far away as your last New Year’s resolution? Yes, I’m having one of those!
But fear not, loyal readers, because I’ve discovered the secret to surviving these “off” days: it’s perfectly ok to not be a walking ray of sunshine 24/7!
When those pesky doubts start creeping in, I remind myself that it’s totally fine to feel a bit “meh.”
In fact, I take a moment to reflect on the things I’m grateful for, like waking up this morning, being able to see out of my bedroom window (Hello, world!), and breathing in that fresh air.
Seriously, have you ever stopped to appreciate the miracle of air? It’s like nature’s free gift that keeps on giving, no batteries required!
Now, let’s talk about self-care. It’s not just a trendy buzzword; it’s essential!
In a world where we’re bombarded with news and social media 24/7, it’s no wonder our mental health sometimes feels like a deflated balloon.
So, here’s my advice: put down your phone, turn off the laptop, and switch off the TV. Instead, invest in some quality time with the people who make you feel good.
A good cwtsh (yes, that’s spelled correctly, editor!) or a hearty laugh with friends can be the best therapy around.
Remember, self-care isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity!
So, the next time you’re feeling a bit off, take a moment to appreciate the little things, surround yourself with good vibes, and don’t forget to give yourself a break.
After all, life is too short not to enjoy the ride, even on bumpy days.
And if all else fails, just remember: chocolate is always a valid form of self-care!

I’ve previously admitted I often write several weeks’ worth of articles in advance, mainly because I’m so creative I can’t stop the words pouring out of me.
Who said, “Pull the other one, Phil”? Cheek!
Okay, the truth is, I do it in case something unpredictable occurs that prevents me from submitting articles by the set deadline.
Having taken this precaution for years, it’s now paid off, because something unpredictable DID occur that would have prevented me from meeting several deadlines and might have led to me meeting my maker . . .
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin…
0n Sunday March 9, while on holiday in the beautiful Italian ski resort of Cervinia, at the foot of the Matterhorn Glacier, I had an accident.
You could say I ran out of talent, as the skiing conditions were challenging, even for a seasoned skier of more than 20 years like yours truly.
While not seeking your sympathy (it’s too late for that – where were you with grapes and chocolates at the time?), it’s worth stressing that I didn’t just sprain an ankle or break an arm.
My fall was so serious, I had to be stretchered off the mountain and airlifted by helicopter to a hospital in the Aosta Valley,  where I spent the next 10 days – well over the week’s holiday I’d booked!
I had a collapsed lung (the scariest injury of the lot), five broken ribs and a broken collarbone.
In hospital, they put a drain in my chest to aid recovery and pain killers were administered by drip.
The painkillers were so strong I could have easily been friendly with people I didn’t like . . . and at times people who weren’t actually there.
Now, that’s a ‘high dose’!
The medical staff in the Italian hospital were all excellent and the fact that few of them spoke fluent English didn’t hamper the attention I received.
In retrospect, it could have been much worse.
Unfortunately, my travel insurance company (whose job it was to plan my repatriation) failed to act as quickly and efficiently as I would have liked, which they rarely do when you really need them.
In fact, it took a lot of international phone calls before they decided to pull their proverbial finger out.
Memo to all travel insurers – when you’re in a bed in a foreign hospital, feeling at your lowest, you want help, not hindrance.
Eventually, as it was too risky to fly me home, due to the collapsed lung, repatriation was arranged by ambulance, accompanied by two Italian paramedics, who shared the driving for more than 20 hours, door to door.
An ambulance is not a mode of transport recommended if you want to see the sights of Europe, but the journey was very educational.
I discovered that potholes are not unique to Wales. There are several thousand between Italy and Ammanford, I know because we hit every one.
Recovery is going well, although the high dose of painkillers does make my head fuzzy at times.
As you might be able to tell from this article!
On the plus side, I’m here to tell the tale, thanks to the good people who attended to me immediately after my tumble and in the hospital later.
Once again, that proves that none of us can get through life (or a near-death experience) without the help of others.
Next week – back to the usual nonsense!

Something important has gone missing and the finger of suspicion regarding its disappearance should be pointed in the direction of the Meteorological Office.
They’ve either mislaid it, or, I suspect they may have deliberately dispensed with it altogether for unknown reasons my little brain has wrestled with for weeks, before emerging from the fray defeated and none the wiser.
“Phil! For goodness sake, man! What is it that’s gone missing?” I hear you say.
Ok. I’ll tell you.
It’s ‘Sunday’.
Yes, good old Sunday, the day of rest, which, ironically, the Met Office has seemingly given a rest, as you might already be aware, if you’ve watched any weather forecast on any TV channel in the last couple of months.
Forecasters have no problem at all telling us what to expect weather-wise on the following Saturday.
They enjoy talking about Saturday.
But with regard to Sunday . . . dear oh dear!
I’m shaking my head now, in the manner of a disappointed schoolteacher who’s just read one of his pupil’s essays which was full of spelling errors and bad grammar.
The fact is many weather forecasters today simply can’t bring themselves to mention ‘Sunday’. Instead, they much prefer to refer to it as ‘the second part of the weekend’!
At which point I have been known to shout at the screen “The word you’re looking for, sunshine, is SUNDAY!”
They don’t refer to Saturday as ‘the first part of the weekend’ so what is this strange compulsion to refer to Sunday as ‘the second part of the weekend’?
I can only assume weather forecasters get paid by the word, so that every time they refer to ‘the second part of the weekend’ it earns them a few more quid than a simple ‘Sunday’.
What other explanation is there?
Will forecasters’ reluctance to mention a specific day of the week lead to . . .
“It’ll rain on the first day after the weekend, but it’ll be sunny for two days after that, until the day before the last working day of the week!”
Such a possibility has made me feel decidedly under the weather.

So, here I am, sitting down to write this column, and I must confess, I’m not exactly feeling like my usual ray of sunshine.
You know those days when positivity feels as elusive as a sock in the dryer?
Yep, I’m having one of those!
But hey, let’s not get too gloomy about it.
After all, it’s perfectly okay to have off days. Even the sun takes a break sometimes, right?
When those pesky doubts start creeping in, I remind myself that it’s totally fine not to be happy all day, every day.
Instead, I take a moment to reflect on the things I’m grateful for – like waking up this morning, being able to see out of my bedroom window, and breathing in that glorious fresh air.
Seriously, have you ever stopped to appreciate the miracle of air? It’s like nature’s free gift that keeps on giving!
Now, let’s talk about self-care.
It’s not just a trendy buzzword; it’s essential!
In a world where we’re bombarded with news and social media 24/7, it’s no wonder our mental health sometimes feels like a deflated balloon.
So, here’s a thought: how about we put down our phones, turn off the laptops, and switch off the TV?
Instead, let’s invest in some quality time with the people who make us feel good.
A good cwtsh (yes, that’s spelled correctly, editor!) or a hearty laugh with friends can be the best therapy around!
Remember, self-care isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity!
So, the next time you’re feeling a bit off, take a moment to appreciate the little things, surround yourself with good vibes, and don’t forget to give yourself a break.
After all, life is too short not to enjoy the ride, even on bumpy days!