Bloody winging.

I had a strange night last night. I got drunk with my friends which was pleasant. 

-Ive just had difficulty accepting the grammar of what i wrote and deleted because im apprehensive about what i want to write. Here goes…-

It was a splendid night really. All were merry and bright with love and warmth and cider. Most of the night i sat next to Jenny (ex girlfriend) and we talked like grownups, as we both are. Then we kind of got into it. It wasn’t so much me, i think. I was just answering her questions whilst trying to encourage her. I was being nice because she is my friend.

“Why don’t we talk anymore?”. What a silly question. I know the answer; i’ve got nothing to say. It’s a two way street, sister. You never asked. I never wanted to know, either.

Im getting pissed off now. Jenny has a pretty strong relationship, a well paid job and doesn’t live with her parents. Although the last one is getting scrapped for about six months while she saves up to buy property! FUCKING GOOD FOR HER!

But last night thats not what i was saying to her. I still have a soft spot for her which pisses me off but i can’t help it. She was talking about how she just isn’t happy with what she has. I was trying to make her see how good she has it but then gave in and asked her what was wrong. I now know about her relationship, her sex life, how much she hates jealousy now. Thing’s i don’t fucking want to know! But she feels better now that she gets to tell me like a grownup. We’re totally great friends aren’t we? Fuck off.

Last night i was pissed and growing smitten. For a person i know i should never be with. It’s partly to do with the fact that im getting extremely horny of late. It’s a problem.

Jenny could talk to anyone about her shitty relationships and how she’s a bell-end and would feel fine the next day. But she’d feel even more elated if she told her ex and then realised how much better she’s doing than me. Then she can say “Oh, hey you’re doing fine. You know what you want to do now, you have a goal.” So she can feel like a good person too.

How is it that Im stuck in a shitty place in my life, yet im making someone who’s doing pretty well feel better. Im helping her. Im making her feel more secure about herself when i absolutely shouldn’t have to and she shouldn’t expect me to. She’d think that i should because im her friend. She’s my friend too but i don’t want to talk to her about shit like that. 

But we did. For a hefty portion of the night. And it felt lovely to talk to her. There was an attraction between both of us i know it. But as soon as her girlfriend (that’s right) picked her up, im sure she completely forgot it. And i was left singing songs in a room on my own because i was happy. It’s awful.

I’ve been hungover all day and i’ve reached many conclusions about the whole thing. The main one being that i need to get my end wet pretty soon.

But today is a new day which will grow old by tomorrow. I must spend these days creating something better for myself. That’s the plan. (Enigmatic and positive closing statement.)

Role reversal

Had myself a funny ol' experience this evening. I was indulging in my favorite activities of being a hermit, wondering how i could be somewhat creative tonight. Life struck me in the ears as i was told to pick my mother up and take her to hospital.

When you're told "Daf? you need to pick your mother up, she's had a fall and it's nasty apparently." you instantly know what your name is. Also your mind wanders. I've seen people with gashes and i've seen myself with gashes. I've seen my mother with a bit of a shiner from when she fell over some time ago. But when it was up to me to conjure up an image of what it would look like, It either looked really nasty or really stupid.

I rushed to pick her up and after parking awfully I got into the house and had a look to asses the situation.

"What do you reckon? Do i really need to go? Your father is a little all over the place."


"Yes im taking you to hospital." The words were calmly spoken before i even thought about how it looked. It looked real. And nasty. My mam with a nice chunk of skin hanging off her face. There was blood on the floor, leaving a trail to the washing machine so she could wash her new jumper so she could wear it tomorrow. Bonkers.

The conversation in the car was spoken with a general tone, even making jokes hear and there. "Fair play, you're the only one who doesn't panic" she said in the most matter of fact voice she has. She was comparing me to my brother and sister, who are both very good, although i remember when i badly injured my leg my sister drove me to hospital and nearly crashed the car. I told her about that to make her laugh, and she did. I must follow her in reaction to emergencies because she was as composed as a symphony.

When i think about it, the situation has been reversed many times over as I have always been silly/clumsy/daft/brave. And if i remember rightly she was always calm and making me laugh while i was happy and interested in the journey to the hospital. I've always tried to have a good look at the thing i've done to myself.

It's a really weird process; looking after your Mam. Even for something as small as a gash on the face.

She had to go to a different hospital for a specialist procedure or something which meant i had to go home and tell my dad the whole story, then buy him supper to make sure he has a full belly.
She's home now with a bunch of stitches near her eye. The doctors have done a great job i must say. She looks really cool! (She's requested that i don't post pictures and i don't blame her.)

Tonight's been a weird night.

Thought

Some/most of the time i don’t feel like that my thoughts are worth writing down. They’re not inspired/intelligent/poignant enough to be worthy of documenting. It’s strange because my doodles are far from artistic but i can fill a sheet of A4 paper with my rubbish drawings.

When i think i often attempt to work things out to a solid conclusion. When i’ve reached one of them i’ll write something. However, i seldom reach conclusions now-days. The worlds too big. There’s too many things inside it.

I don’t know who im trying to impress with my “conclusions”, though. I think it’s mainly just to pass the time but it’s got to be worth something, hasn’t it?

I can spend a universe of time (exaggerating harhar) thinking about complex issues or even simple sums but reaching a conclusion wont change my life. It only gives me something to passionately boast about when i’m drunk, which i often do.

The thoughts that HAVE changed my the way i live or think i.e. change my life, are the ones that happen in a whip-cracks worth of time. A sudden jolt of realisation and my whole worlds been altered. 

I don’t know what im going to do with this minuted train of thought. It will be some sort of paradox unless i get drunk and passionately boast about it.

Here is one conclusion i’ve reached tonight: Drawing a doodle is easier than drawing a conclusion.

Tooth

Tonight i was minding my own business, playing my guitar in my room when my niece walked in for a chat and a sing. She does that every so often. It’s brilliant. 

This week she’s had a wobbly tooth and she was eager to show it off, even though i’ve seen it. She told me she was a little worried about getting it out and asked me to tell her stories of when i had mine out.

I was a clinical kid when it came to my body. I had a high pain thresh hold and i wasn’t afraid to hurt myself, really. So stories of my teeth coming out were boring. “I just pulled them out when they got loose”. This did baffle her but she wasn’t interested.

“Have you got any other stories? About teeth, now.” Asked she.

Well, I know a boy that lost two teeth to a wham bar at a school disco. I also know a girl lost one to an apple. I know one boy who tied cord around his tooth and attached it to the door. When he slammed the door he lunged forward. It didn’t work, although when he ran away in disappointment, his aunty tugged the string and off came the tooth. I also know a boy who wouldn’t stop wiggling his loose tooth. His friends goaded him into letting us pull it out but he wouldn’t let us. He was so afraid of letting us have a go, upon leaving the room he opened the door into his face, which knocked out his tooth.

The less brief version of all these stories entertained my niece for twenty minutes. 

“I don’t like my tooth now because I haven’t eaten an apple for a week” She said.

When i was in primary school, four different boys, at different occasions asked me to pull out their teeth, and i did.

“Can you pull mine out? Will it hurt?”

Why, i thought you’d never ask! It’s been a while since i pulled out a pearl. I explained that it’d hurt a little but it will feel better when it was out.

Bless her, she trusted me. But not for long. It was itching to come out and i managed to loosen it by half it’s hinge. Then she got scared at the taste of blood.

She then sat between her parents who were very excited but anxious at the thought of the loss of their daughters first tooth. They also didn’t appreciate me brandishing a cork-screw and growling, like a pirate “Let’s get us a tooth!”. 

The trio of chickens sat there on the couch for an hour before deciding to go to bed. I cooked and eat my supper of steak (rare) and chips. They constantly ignored my request to finish the job. So i sent the family to bed and started to watch True Grit.

Within five minutes of leaving my niece stew, too scared to pull her tooth out, she called her mother who said. “Leave it alone or I cant believe im saying this let uncle Daf Pull it out. He won’t hurt you.” 

She came down stairs. I was excited. I washed my hands and contemplated grabbing the cork-screw for a final jape. I thought better of it and got straight to the job. Within four seconds her tooth was out. Courtesy of her top uncle. Me.

She’s looking forward to having her tooth fairy money, now. “I’ll pull my own out next time. It wasn’t really that bad!” She said in excitement. Im very proud. And relieved. The whole house is.

And that was my sunday night. :)

Hello and happy late January.

It is sunday the twenty first of january and all is well!


I haven't written here in a while it seems. I left it at "Im about to do a gig...Bumph". The gig went well and i was very pleased with myself. My only irk was that i feel that i didn't have enough material. I dropped two bits. One out of uncertainty of funniness and the other out of negligence. I forgot it. However, the bits that i performed seamed well rounded. I came across as playful which i am. So that's good, isn't it?


It's the new year and i haven't even tried to do another gig. My focus has been a little all over the place and i don't know where to start. Im still writing material but im not arranging or practicing it. I've written some songs that im very pleased with and want to give them a go, so my excuse is "I want to do music first" so im going to do that. However a month has passed and i've not tried to get a gig. Silly me.


All that's going to change. Well, not all of it. I'll still write stuff. I'll still do what i usually do, which is labelled under the file "Stuff Dafydd Evans does, mostly". What im saying behind the two paragraphs of pedantry is that im going to get myself on a small stage to perform some original Dafydd Evans Art at the bother of willing audience members. But before that Im going to do some washing.


This month I've had some more work than usual. I've been invigilating. The most boring thing you can do in a school apart from pulling staples out of a wall. I've taken my time to slightly bend the strict examination rules/conditions and write more ideas. This month has been rewarding as i've written five-ish sketches whilst invigilating. Naughty, productive me.


I enjoy writing things. It's a wonder why i don't do these diary-style updates more often because i always feel good after writing one. I suppose im just making sure that it doesn't ever feel boring, which is silly.


Ok, i've just thought of a new-late-january-onwards-resolution. Let me explain. This month there's been a few moments where interesting/funny things have happened to me. I've told my family/friends about them and we've all had a nice chuckle about them. But have you heard anything about them, dear internet? No. so my new-late-january-onwards-resolution is to write about the silly things that happen to me.


At this point in my life, for some reason, it feels important to not "do nothing". The idea seems naughty to me. I just want to try and do something at every opportunity.


Basically, I want to try or create new things in my spare time. As much as possible.


I've written id down now so it means something, doesn't it? We'll see.

So this week,

This time next week i shall hopefully be lying down after patting myself on the back after a good gig.

Im hosting an acoustic night and they've asked me to be funny, too. Of course im taking my guitar and im going to sing some of my daft/shit/fucking-hilarious songs. I've written and prepared material, too. It's all performance stuff which requires some sort of acting to pull off. Im not sure it'll work but i won't know until i try. Im very busy all week so i can't try the stuff out at an open mic that's relatively nearby, either.

Earlier the event organizer plugged the show on my facebook on my behalf. It made me laugh to be honest. I've been worrying a little too much to ask my friends to go. I don't need to now.
My main problem is nerves. I think i'll always get nervous. And when im nervous I can get robotic which needs mending. I need to flow like a stream ice-cold water on a buttered river bed.

So this week, i'll mostly be practicing my bits and my bobs. My talkie bits and my songs. Also i hope to prepare things to ad-lib which defeats the object i know but i want to be cool, like that water flowing over the buttered river bed.

What's becoming a pain in my arse is (not piles, yet) the fact that all my weird, cooky, useful, fun ideas come at roughly 2am. I can't not write them down straight away, either, or i will lose them. It seems that when i want to sleep, my mind flows like cold, cold water over a buttered river bed.

Now my insecurities have been addressed I want some toast. Buttered. In bed. A water bed.

School Play.

My niece is currently crying after watching a video of her school play. She says it’s because she’ll never get to sing the songs again.

When did five year olds get so passionate?

I’ve wanted to write about my nieces play since i saw it on wednesday. Only now i’ve had the oomph to attempt it. I’ve been very tired. boo hoo for me.

Primary school plays are not very popular with people my age. Unless they’re parents which is actually a higher number than i originally thought. (right now i feel old and awesome). I wasn’t expecting the play to be anything brilliant. I was expecting to feel proud of my awesome niece doing her bit and laughing at the little ones for mainly being cute. I also expected a nativity play being as it’s the christmas season.

It wasn’t a christmas play. It was a play that paid tribute the the school itself.

Backstory: My niece’s school, Llwyncelyn, is the first welsh speaking school based in the Rhondda Fach, where i live. My brother and sister went there. I, coming 10 years later, went to the second welsh speaking school which isn’t as good but i loved it there and this sentence isn’t important.

The school is 61 years old this year and the play showed the growth from start to present day. It commented on the community’s attitude towards welsh speakers and welsh speaking schools. At first it wasn’t good. It only had 13 pupils. 61 years later it has over 300.

It also commented on the friendliness of the parents who did accept the welsh speaking ways. The play was actually bilingual, though mostly welsh. It was very good.

The pupils were obviously the actors, depicting the typical scenes you’d get in a school in a brilliant form of observational comedy. The songs were actually quite clever and very catchy (which helps if kids have to sing them).

Even though the writing was very good and told a very good story effectively, the main credit goes to the directors and the kids. There were quite sophisticated jokes worked into the play. Jokes you wouldn’t expect kids to understand. But they did, and performed them very well.

One five year old boy fell over on purpose and actually didn’t hurt himself which a friend of mine could learn from.

All in all it was a success and though i didn’t expect it to be a play about the schools history, the things i did expect did come through.

The little ones were very funny but for more reasons than “mainly being cute”. They were clever and very well organised. And my niece is definitely the awesomest creature in the world and i am stupidly proud of her. 

She’s stopped crying about not being able to sing the songs now.