Taffy was a Welshman

I am Welsh, HONEST!!

My mum was Welsh, her parents were Welsh, their parents were Welsh and my Welsh blood can be traced all the way back to some horny Centurion with his Gladius in hand and lust in his eye. My heritage is good enough to make me eligible to play rugby for Wales and I still patiently await my red jersey.

At the age of 66 after 58 years away I returned to the green valleys of my birth. So here I am, a plastic Welshman in Little England Beyond Wales. What to do? Retirement? I needed a hobby.

A good friend Tony had told me to buy a camera. I did and it re-ignited a childhood passion with a vengeance. My wife went into her “what have you bought now” mode and I carried on. Lenses, tripods and filters. Then COVID-19 hit the fan. Lockdown 2020? Bring it on, I had a hobby, a wife and a dog.

I had a mission. The Sunday before lockdown in March we ambled along Newgale sands. I’d grown up on that beach and remember 3d lollies and knitted swimming trunks. These were the days of the Navy Lark, Round the Horn and endless sunshine. The only thing that I had forgotten was how beautiful Pembrokeshire really is. I’d forgotten the amazing diversity of the wildlife, flora and fauna. 

2020 slipped by in almost continuous lockdown but my camera and I snapped at everything local. Birds, plants, ruins and trees. It is now 2021 and it all starts again. Mark Dickford has told us to stay indoors, wash our hands and not pick our noses until we have. 

This year I’m ready! No more Facebook, no more endless advertisements and stupid puzzles, just my little blog. A few words, a few pictures and a few non pc comments. My way of combating depression, boredom and the yearning for a pint of Brains in a Welsh Pub.

All I ask is that you subscribe, sign up for emails and comment as you see fit.