Any of you even slightly interested in my day? Well I'm going to tell you about it anyway because I need to vent.
This blog might turn into more of a rant than anything else but here goes.
So off I went to this open day. Ri-ight!
Turns out it wasn't an open day at all. It was a celebration of St. Davids Day. Now this I don't actually mind. I live in Wales, St. David is the patron saint of Wales so lets all celebrate. Personally I think it should have been a welsh bank holiday, just as I think the English should have St. George's Day and the Scottish should have St. Andrews day off. The Irish have St. Patrick's day off don't they?
Anyhoo... Brad helped me set up then he buggered off to the pub. I sat myself down and made myself comfortable to await the crowds as at this point I was still under the impression it was an open day for all the local services. Elderly people came in, obviously tying to get out the cold and grab a free cup of tea and see if there was an free cawl about... which there wasn't... just welsh cakes.
I decided that this was going to be a waste of time so got the laptop out. The battery had 4% left! Bollocks! Back in the foof it went and out came a pad. I thought I'd make some notes about some further blogging ideas I've got. Then my worst nightmare happened.
Bursting through the door came 100's of kids! All from one of the local primary schools. All dressed in either welsh dresses or rugby tops. It was like a million little welsh dolls were stomping towards, trying to get revenge for all the anti-welsh jokes I'd ever told! The teacher, who spoke only in welsh, order them all to sit on the floor facing the stage and then the event organiser stood up. She thanked us all for coming in her bestest welsh... which was shit! My welsh is better than hers and, as the blog title hints at, I'm not fucking welsh!
Next thing I knew three girls, all in traditional welsh dress, were stood on the stage... singing... in welsh! Singing badly I must add! The finished, everyone applauded, grannies wept and they started singing again! With that done and the clapping still going on they sat down and two other girls got up and each recited a poem and a man called Mr. Tree. There was a general mumbling of "awww's" giggles which went around the room like a one-armed mexican wave.
Madame Organiser stood up again and informed us all we'd be watching a video made my the local comprehensive school about St. Davids day.
Five minutes later it still hadn't played and the woman working the machinery at the back of the room admitted she hadn't got a clue what she was doing and announced it as a technical hitch.
The teacher was back at the front and announced that the 11 year olds were going to do a "dance dance" (his words) for us. So on came the campest bit of dance music ever... in welsh! Up stood 30 kids all dressed in red and black all looking like FatalAttraction had dressed them. The music was stopped as the kids weren't ready and another teacher, who looked like she really had no clue what they were supposed to be doing, starting to organise.
"Face the front children!" she shouted.
"But miss," one of them said.
"Don't but miss me Aaron Jones, you face the front!"
A general whispering was heard from all the kids and finally one of the girls dared to put her hand up.
"Yes Ffion?" said the teacher.
"Miss, we start off facing the back," she said, obviously shitting herself.
"Well why didn't anyone say? Face the back children, come on face the back!"
She hit play on the knackered old tape deck she'd brought with her and stormed out!
Halfway through a routine that proved none of them were at dance school they all started mumbling and I heard on lad shout "Gavin you're supposed to be over here!" and a few seconds later the kids all stopped and begged to start again! In thundered Miss, sighing a lot, rewound the tape and started again.
This time it was better, but essentially still shit, even for primary school kids.
So with that over we had the video. It still wouldn't play so the next event was the choir. With the choir mistress stood directly in front of them, and as tall as she was wide, no one could actually see the kids on the stage. All she did was wave her baton about. Even I know how to do that with the smattering of music training I have and could tell she didn't really know what she was doing with it but it made her feel special. I'm sure of the songs they were singing was about Garnant Toilets!
A presentation was then made (it should have been the video but this was still up the swanny) to kids who'd taken part in a poster competition about what it feels like to be welsh. It had been judged by two old farts who no one seemed to know. Even the organisers were sure who they were and when the finally arrived at the front, after zimmering at top speed through the crowd, it transpired the bloke was the wrong bloke so he had to go back and woman didn't remember doing it. She did, however, remember when she began crocheting her St. Davids Day outfit and how she'd worn every St. Davids since then or at every Eisteddfodd. It showed. Finally, with the prize given out we have another attempt at the video but still nothing. The organiser announced we'd have a 15 minute break while they sorted it out and the crowds seemed to disperse quite quickly.
I brushed myself down and made myself presentable thinking that if anyone was ever going to approach my stand this would be the time they would do it... when they have nothing better to do.
And sure enough I was inundated with old ladies... and the vicar.
The vicar who asked me who I was representing, when I moved to Wales, if I liked it, was I married, did I have any kids blah blah blah.
He went on and on that I thought the only way I was going to shut him up was to point out I'm a raging poofter. I waited for him to ask the next question... an inevitable question considering all the others... "and your partner, where does she work?"
"We both work for the same company," I said, "HE is the Development Officer."
"Ah!" he said, "keep it in the family and all that." He winked and walked off but spent the rest of the fucking day staring at me and I'm damn sure at one point he winked suggestively!
The intermission ended and at last we got to watch the video.
Cue a picture of Tom Jones appear 9ft high in front of you. Cue 40 old ladies suddenly getting aroused.
I will leave the smell and noise to your own imagination.
At this point I began to pack up.
All in all a very pointless day... apart from...
One thing I didn't mention. The winner of the poster competition. An eight year old deaf boy with the biggest brightest cutest eyes you've ever seen. I saw his hearing aid and he saw mine and, in sign he asked me if I was deaf. I told him I was hard of hearing and we had a small conversation in sign language. His poster was quite obviously the best, having looked at the other pieces of tat handed in and it showed a picture of a bird flying above the Welsh valley's. Sitting on top of one of the mountains was a tiny Welsh Dragon and dotted all over were daffodils and then some leeks. I asked him if he'd done or if mommy had done and he'd coloured it in but he said it was all him and his mother agreed; It was fucking fantastic and he deserved the prize. Actually no, he deserved a better prize than the piece of crap the organiser handed over. What is an eight year old boy going to do with a plant and a lockable diary?