Wales – London’s Singing Organ-Grinder

Joan de Son Rapinya: English lesson no. 1

There’s a clever name for phonetic language parodies which I have forgotten because it’s hot and I have been undergoing ye notorious Spanish wine torture: Shades of Maria Luisa Puche, the undisputed champion. My favourite one actually makes more sense than the poésie concrète I wrote for a political campaign some years ago and is…

Do Welsh expats incline to rain-drenched hills?

Nature vs nurture in the Italian Jones tribe.

Solving the crisis in Spain’s public finances, part LXXII: It’s time to ban socks

The Spanish government is determined to retain the 500€ note as a crucial weapon in the fight to reduce tax evasion and money laundering. Getting rid of socks would achieve that same goal effectively without inconvenience to honest citizens and would also provide a stealth-protectionist boost to the economy.

Why I’m called Trevor

Or rather, how my grandfather seems to have been named after a minor railway station.

Horny goddess

MG Cole writes from a farmstead on Bala Lake: I am disappointed that you, a Welshman, don’t publish more stories of interest to dope-crazed New Age pillocks and consumer goods purchasers like myself. Here then is an authentic photo of Hungarian stag-princess, Violant, on her way from the Lands of the Morning to her wedding…