Occasionally something unequivocally confirms a theory we’ve had. Archimedes only exclaimed “Eureka!” when he realised that by adding cold water to his hot bath he’d be less likely to scald his feet.
A long-held theory of mine was recently confirmed as a reality by a couple of random things, as I’ll explain, even though it might get up more noses than a communal nasal spray.
Waiting in a hotel lobby for a business associate, a game show was playing on a nearby TV. I think it was “The Tipping Pointless Catchphrase Chase”.
When a tall, well-built male contestant said he was Welsh, the host lazily assumed he played rugby, stopping short of asking if he sang in a chapel choir.
So, I was delighted when, in a major victory against national stereotyping, the contestant explained he didn’t play rugby, didn’t like rugby and had never attended a rugby match.
My theory that there are many people like him in Wales was confirmed by the news that football is now more popular here than rugby. Why, apart from the obvious? By the time this gets published, I hope the Welsh team may have turned things around.
In 2026, ingrained rugby culture isn’t the same as it was in 1966. People from all over the UK and other countries have no interest in the game.
Likewise, thousands of Welsh people have left to live and work elsewhere. All this is healthy, otherwise we’d end up marrying our own cousins and I’ve never fancied mine. His ginger beard is as off-putting as his gingivitis.
From BBC Wales’s heavy promotion and coverage of the game you’d never know 56% of the population aren’t interested in rugby. Obviously, the BBC has a vested interest in the game, but the reality is that, on match days, the shops, cinemas, restaurants and roads are as busy as any other Saturday.
If you like rugby, you’ll watch these matches on TV or buy a ticket.
However, 1.7 million people in Wales have other interests.
Which reminds me. I’ve got choir practice at the chapel in an hour . . .

Brynmawr, Wales. In a surprising twist on traditional running events, the quaint town of Brynmawr has officially announced plans to host the world’s first ‘Sheep-Only’ marathon this summer,  drawing both laughter and bewilderment from locals.
The marathon, whimsically dubbed the ‘Baah-thlon’, will see a herd of sheep racing through the streets, with participants encouraged to cheer on their favorite woolly contenders.
Local farmer and event organiser, Glyn ‘The Shepherd’ Williams, claimed the idea came to him during a particularly long night of staring at his flock.
“I thought, why not let the sheep have a go at it? They’ve been training in the fields for years!” he exclaimed, proudly showcasing his sheep’s ‘running shoes’, tiny, handmade woolen booties.
Residents are advised to bring their best cheering voices, as prizes will be awarded for the loudest supporters and most creative sheep-themed costumes.
“I’m planning to dress my daughter as a giant lamb,” said local parent Mary Jenkins, giggling at the thought.
Critics have raised eyebrows, questioning the logistics of a sheep marathon, but Glyn insists it’s all in good fun. “Let’s face it, who doesn’t love a good laugh while supporting local agriculture?”
As the July date approaches, townsfolk are encouraged to share their favourite sheep stories, costumes, and running tips, igniting a spirited debate on social media.
Will the Baah-thlon become a new Welsh tradition, or will it be a one-off giggle?
Only time will tell . . . and, if you check the calendar, you’ll see the year is flying by!

Over the last 20 years we’ve lost hundreds of churches and pubs, which is very careless of us.
As Joni Mitchell put it, “You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone!”
Banks have also been closing at an alarming rate, because, we’re told, less ‘walk-ins’ (previously known as ‘customers’) use them since “everyone banks online”.
However, based on what a mate told me about a recent experience at his bank, I can’t help but wonder if customers are being put off from ‘walking in’ due to the prickly attitude of staff members.
He and his wife went into what is becoming a rare sight these days – a bank in his local town centre. He was delighted to see there was a staff member sat at the counter, which meant he didn’t have to deal with a machine.
The counter staff member was chatting to another staff member – one of those ‘Meeters and Greeters’ who ask if they can help you, but can’t, so you have to wait until another staff member who can help you becomes available.
Unfortunately, this particular ‘Meeter’ wasn’t ‘Greeting’ as she was deep in conversation with her colleague.
With a smile, my friend said to both staff members “It’s great to see a ‘real’ person serving here”.
A perfectly innocent remark that caused the frosty ‘Meeter and Greeter’ to narrow her eyes and coldly stare at him, obviously, but needlessly, on the defensive.
Trying to lighten the situation, my mate laughed and said “You’re staring at me as if I’m not making sense”.
The temperature dropped even lower as the lady snapped, “I’m not staring at you in any way! What is it you want?”
As it turned out, he was unable to complete the transaction, said he’d return another time and bid them a polite, “Goodbye!” When he returned two days later he was told the bank is closing in June.
He takes no pleasure in knowing this will lead to redundancies, but wonders if it might have remained open if the Number One Rule in the staff training manual was ‘Don’t be snippy with ‘walk-ins’.

Spring arrived in Wales last Tuesday at approximately 11:07am,  just after the rain stopped for a suspiciously optimistic 12 minutes.
Daffodils stood to attention, lambs bounced like they’d had too much tea, and across the valleys a collective sigh declared: “Ahh, here we go.”
And then, cones.
As if summoned by the very first sneeze of pollen, roadworks bloomed overnight.
Not flowers, mind you, but that peculiar Welsh species, the Orange Cone of Mild Inconvenience.
By Wednesday, entire stretches of road had vanished behind temporary lights that seem programmed by a committee of grumpy badgers.
Take Dai from Carmarthen, who set off for a five-minute trip to the shop and returned three hours later with a loaf of bread, a new perspective on life, and a deep mistrust of “Go” signals.
“It said Go,” he explained, “but nothing moved. Not even the fella in front, and he looked like he’d retired there.”
Experts have long studied this phenomenon.
Some say roadworks appear in spring because the ground softens.
Others insist it’s because councils enjoy a laugh.
One anonymous worker admitted, “We like to keep people guessing. Builds character.”
Still, there’s something almost comforting about it. The sun peeks out, the birds sing, and somewhere, without fail, a man in a high vis jacket is holding a sign that says “Stop” with great authority.
So, yes, spring is here. The days are brighter, the air is warmer. Your shortcut? Absolutely not.

When I started out in show business, taking my first faltering steps, I dreamed of becoming a musical theatre performer.
Perhaps taking lead roles in shows like “Barnum” and “Chicago”. But I kept these wild ambitions to myself.
Well, I didn’t want to make a song and dance about it!
Before Cameron Mackintosh and Andrew Lloyd Webber created their blockbuster stage musicals, the longest-running show in the West End was “The Mousetrap” and it’s still on after 75 years.
As it’s a play with a small cast and one set, it would have made its money back many times over. *
However, lavish musicals cost millions to produce and there’s no guarantee they will ‘run and run’.
If a musical does run for decades, unexpected problems can arise, as they did when a famous West End musical was transferred to another theatre.
None of the stage crew were the originals so, consequently, they had no experience of a ‘Get Out’ (removing the scenery, lighting rig etc.) or a ‘Get In’(setting it all up in the new venue).
So a temporary crew experienced in ‘getting in and out’ had to be hired!
The phenomenal cost of producing a new musical and then paying the cast, crew, musicians and front of house staff every week, plus rent and business rates, has to be reflected in the prices charged for tickets – some of which are eye-watering!
If you’re in London, fancy a theatre show and you’re not set on any particular one, you could always try the famous Half-Price ticket booth in Leicester Square which opens around tea time and offers reduced price tickets to fill empty seats still available late in the day.
But you’ll be very lucky to be offered a good seat for a top musical.
I intended to treat some friends to tickets to “Paddington -The Musical” for their anniversary, as the show has had great reviews. Then I found out good seats for a Saturday cost £250 each. They’ll be getting a bottle of Prosecco and a marmalade sandwich instead.
*After 75 years, everyone knows who the murderer is . . . aagh!

Residents of Willow Street witnessed a dramatic last-minute dash on Mothering Sunday when nine-year-old Oliver Jenkins suddenly remembered he had, in fact, a mother.
The realisation reportedly struck at 4:57 pm, moments after Oliver finished his third biscuit and overheard his mam muttering, “Not even a card.”
Mothering Sunday, which dates back to the 16th century, originally allowed people working away from home to return to their “mother church” and spend time with family.
Historians agree this tradition did not include panic-buying petrol station flowers five minutes before tea.
Oliver’s father confirmed the emergency.
“He went pale and whispered, ‘Is today the day for mams?’ Then he legged it to the kitchen with a crayon.”
Within minutes, Oliver produced a handmade card reading: “Happy Mothring Sundy. Sory I forgot. Love Oliver.” The card also featured what experts believe is either a heart or a slightly squashed potato.
Local historian Margaret Davies praised the effort. “In the old days, children would bring simnel cake home to their mothers,” she explained. “Young Oliver has revived the tradition of hurried improvisation, which scholars believe has existed since at least 1974.”
Oliver’s mam, Sarah Jenkins, accepted the card with what witnesses described as “a long, knowing sigh.”
“I suppose it’s the thought that counts,” she said, before adding, “though ideally the thought would arrive before late afternoon.”
Oliver later confirmed plans for next year’s celebration.
“I’ve already set a reminder,” he said confidently. “For Monday.”

At a quarter to midnight last Tuesday, I was still wide awake.
Just as well really, because I was driving back home with a takeaway.
That, friends, was an example of how a joke, like a magician’s trick, can deceive. You assumed I was wide awake, sat up in bed, then, “Hey Presto!” I pulled the rug from under you by revealing I was in my car.
Although, as it was a joke I made up, I wasn’t really.
Confused? I’ll be asking questions later.
Regular readers will recall I explained how I thought jokes are similar to magic tricks a couple of years ago.
This idea popped back into my head recently when I was watching magician supremo Paul Daniels on a repeat of the 1970s TV show “The Wheeltappers And Shunters Social Club” on Talking Pictures TV.
As an aside, the fact that, with so many ‘glossy, exciting, amazing’ (according to the publicity bods) new TV series arriving on terrestrial, digital and streaming week in and week out, I chose to watch a 50-year-old TV show, says a lot . . . about me, mainly!
I believe it was Paul’s first appearance on national TV and was first broadcast in a primetime Saturday night slot.
Taking that into account, what I found even more astonishing than the obvious wig which he wisely ditched when he became a star, was the phenomenal confidence he exuded for an unknown performer making his TV debut.
Magic tricks and props can often go wrong, especially when a magician interacts with audience members, but Paul not only appeared to be completely at ease with the crowd, he had the audacity to keep up a constant flow of gags, quips and mock insults.
This   comedy ‘patter’ diverts attention from the magician’s sleight of hand and Paul demonstrated how skilled he was at both.
I’ve no idea what prompted me to talk about Paul this particular week, but when I checked to see when he left us, I discovered it’ll be 10 years ago next week. March17th!
I’d try convincing you this was a coincidence . . . if I believed in coincidences.

In a world where we can order socks, sushi and a shed with the tap of a screen, it turns out the real superhero move isn’t faster Wi-Fi, it’s shopping local.
Yes, really. No cape required (although no-one’s stopping you).
Supporting local businesses might not feel as dramatic as saving the galaxy, but it quietly saves something just as important, our community.
For starters, it’s a win for the environment.
Buying from the bakery down the road means your loaf hasn’t clocked up more air miles than your last holiday.
Fewer delivery vans, less packaging, lower carbon emissions, it’s basically giving Mother Nature a well deserved high-five.
Then there’s the economy . . .
When you spend locally, your money sticks around.
It helps create jobs, supports families and keeps the high street alive.
Think of it as a financial boomerang, what you spend has a habit of circling back to benefit your neighbours.
And let’s be honest, we’d all rather see our favourite coffee shop thriving than another mysterious “coming soon” sign in the window.
There’s a health bonus, too.
Local shops often stock fresh, locally sourced food, the kind that hasn’t been on a cross-continental adventure.
Good for your body, good for the planet. A proper feel-good Cwtsh from the inside.
Most importantly, shopping local builds connections. A quick chat over the counter can turn a routine errand into a moment of community.
So, next time you need bread, gifts or that artisanal cheese you absolutely don’t need, go local. Superhero status awaits.

Copying a familiar tabloid headline, I’m about to ‘Break my silence’.
Even though I haven’t been particularly silent lately.
But first, a word of advice . . .
If you intend watching any of Disney’s “Winnie The Pooh” cartoons, do be aware one ‘Bouncy, flouncy ounce, pouncey’ character (whose top is made out of rubber and bottom out of string) constantly behaves in a manic, over-enthusiastic manner.
That was a Tigger Warning.
I was so annoyed by a recent TV news broadcast, I switched off and went into the kitchen to do the washing-up.
I’d have liked to have done it in the living room, but its distance from the hot tap made it impractical.
As I stood at the sink ruminating, (still legal in most of Wales) , the song “If I Ruled The World” came on the radio and I started thinking that, if I ruled the world, I know what I’d do to improve TV news broadcasts.
Not the actual news – nobody can alter events that happen at home and abroad.
No, I’d make changes to the presentation and some of the over-used phrases.
Take ‘Psycho Drama’. That sprung from nowhere and now it’s all over the news. I used to think a Psycho Drama was one of those not-very-thrilling thrillers Channel 5 churn out.
It might cause some readers to remember Anthony Perkins being revealed as the murderer, wearing his mother’s dress and a Hylda Baker wig at the end of Hitchcock’s classic.
That’s hardly a spoiler. ‘Psycho’ is 66 years old.
Psycho Dramas are what news reporters and pundits call political party’s internal squabbles, a perfectly adequate term that, if I ruled the world, I’d insist they reverted to.
I’d also stop the practice of meteorologists giving names to every potentially destructive storm heading our way. It’s ludicrous and pointless. Also, have you noticed we’ve been getting a lot more of them since they’ve been given names?
I complained about this a year ago, but they’re still doing it. They’ll take notice when I rule the world . . . mark my words.
Then you’ll see the headline…
PHIL EVANS BREAKS SILENCE OVER STORM-NAMING PSYCHO DRAMA!

Get ready for a musical theatre extravaganza that’s more magical than a unicorn in tap shoes!
There’s a real buzz in Cefneithin, Cross Hands, as the young stars of New Heights Performance Academy prepare for an exciting milestone that promises to be more dazzling than a disco ball at a wedding!
Each week, the academy is alive with energy, enthusiasm, and creativity as children dive headfirst into the world of musical theatre.
With two dedicated classes, New Heights ensures every child is supported at the right stage of their development.
The first class welcomes little ones from Reception to Year 5, introducing them to singing, acting, and dancing in a fun, confidence-building environment. Think of it as a delightful mix of “The Sound of Music” and a bouncy castle!
The second class, for Year 6 and above, allows older students to refine their performance skills, strengthen their stage presence, and grow into confident young performers, like caterpillars transforming into butterflies, but with jazz hands!
Now, all that hard work is building towards something spectacular. On March 14, the Cefneithin Cross Hands students will join forces with the Waunarlwydd academy for “New Heights Live, A Magical Journey Through Musical Theatre,” taking place at the Ffwrnes Theatre, Llanelli.
This vibrant showcase will whisk audiences through the golden eras of musical theatre, celebrating beloved classics from the 1940s to the present day. With uplifting music, movement, and storytelling, it’s bound to be a night to remember!
At New Heights Performance Academy, the focus is always on building confidence, nurturing talent, and creating unforgettable experiences. So, mark your calendars, on March 14, the curtain will rise on a truly magical journey!