Haggis hunting

Posted on January 16, 2014 by Steve Morgan

My ‘deluded gastronome‘ has an occasional penchant for testing the powers of curiosity bestowed on my species. Just the other day I was issued with a food-related challenge, and being perpetually tired of a bland rocks & water diet I thoughtlessly accepted the challenge. “It’s haggis shooting season at the start of each new year” I was dubiously informed, and ““they taste at their best when cooked freshly caught.” Anything to get away from the vet’s Science Plan products, so off I went on a clueless trail in search of the mythical haggi.

Cardiff doesn’t seem to be over-supplied with haggis emporia, and after a brief sniff around the market and Wally’s Delicatessen in the Royal Arcade I realised this was going to require a serious adventure. Stowing away in the baggage compartment of what I can only describe as a flying shed (that’s the plane, not Cardiff Airport, or is it both?) the next stop was…

At least I understood that these creatures were quintessentially Scottish, so let’s go search the capital… but were in Edinburgh do you start, the World Heritage architecture is everywhere:

Jenners department store and the Old Waverley Hotel provide an imposing backdrop to the Scott Memorial on Princes Street.

Historic buildings line the hillside from the castle at Arthur’s Seat and Holyrood Park all the way up to Edinburgh Castle.

If the castle is where the haggis hang out they seem to be well protected by gun emplacements. But all of these tourists ambling around would surely be aware if a gastronomic delicacy was hiding out in such a popular venue.

Then there are the myriads of old courtyards and alleyways to scurry about and hide away in:

To make things more difficult I spy one of those ubiquitous tourist buses on the Royal Mile… hopefully they are not all searching in packs for the same quarry as me?

One thing I am learning quick is that the haggis is difficult to catch; they are full of heart and lungs, and once sighted they are offal! I have to admit to being temporarily fooled by the sight of what I thought were haggis’s left out to dry, before sale along the Royal Mile:

But I quickly realised there is a plethora of bald Scotsmen graciously giving up their pelts for the benefit of the older American tourist trade. In fact this one had donated so much of himself to tourism that he now needed an external stomach complete with a feeding tube… serious sacrifice man!

I certainly hope these haggis characters haven’t chosen the underneath of the kilt and sporran combination for warmth and a secure hiding place… I for one happen to be too much of a lady to check!

I was beginning to lose heart in my quest… was the haggis really just an illusionary character from fiction established to taunt the unwitting newcomer to these parts? But then I had a significant tip-off as to where I might satisfy my mission, and appetite. The haggis had recently been seen on Cockburn Street:

Following the lead I was surely closing in on my prey. The signs were promising indeed:

The Arcade on close inspection resembled nothing like an arcade. At least Cardiff had one over on the Scottish capital when it came to real arcades! But in this context who cares… the sign says ‘Haggis and Whisky House‘; with any luck my prey might even be sozzled enough to make capture simple.

The journey and challenge results in a most worthwhile prize, and the haggis comes with a whisky sauce to compliment the tatties and neeps layered beneath the gallant but vanquished foe.

As I recline, stroking satisfied whiskers after consuming the melt-in-the-mouth feast, I have to admit that the haggis may be claiming a late victory, as I am now what can only be described being close to the Royal Mile as regally stuffed. I have a choice… for some strange reason The Arcade seem to have anticipated the effect of haggis overload on certain customers, so they advertise breakfast on the ceiling for those who find the horizontal to be the most comfortable pose in the hours after the haggis has been consumed:

If even more eating isn’t the ticket for you, why not try the remedy favoured by the fitter few locals, there are plenty of steps for exercise:

Personally, I chose to look in on the famous Rose Street in the New Town part of the city… probably one of the most challenging pub crawls any cat could wish to attempt.

The Kenilworth offered a couple of Harviestoun Brewery’s finest… a ‘Blond Bombshell’ and the end of the seasonal ‘Sleigh Driver’. All that was left to say was bon voyage haggis, as it was carried away on a sea of fine lotion.

It was time for me to bid a fond farewell to the never less than dramatic city of Edinburgh and return to my ‘resident scribbler‘ to relate my triumphant response to the challenge… and to suggest a place where the old git could retire to:

Enough of the flying sheds, I think I have found an altogether more space crafty way of returning back to Cardiff. Well if Dr Who can do it!

Until we speak again I am Juno wishing you all an ‘och aye the noo’, and good luck in your haggis hunting.

Tales from Dumbfuckistan [3]

Posted on January 9, 2014 by Steve Morgan

“It’s colder than a well digger’s ass” or so Tom Waits once said. So, with recent news of record-breaking low temperatures my warm heart goes out to all Dumbfuckers (a.k.a. the residents of Dumbfuckistan). I was stunned to see all of those red states turning blue, in the climatological sense, that is… heaven forbid that a good shafting from a polar vortex would bring any political sense into play.

Here is a recent photograph taken in Michigan:

Anyone for a show, how about Chicago on ice?:

Ice builds up along Lake Michigan at North Avenue Beach as temperatures dipped well below zero on January 6, 2014 in Chicago, Illinois. (Scott Olson/Getty Images/AFP)

Views of the Ohio River bring memories of the Robbie Robertson song Somewhere Down the Crazy River (though apologies to frozen readers, as this track is altogether steamier):

Picture of a barge on the Ohio River surrounded by steam coming off the water.

But then my ‘resident ghoul‘ came up with the heart warming news that a new series of the US TV programme Criminal Minds had started. Nothing better for bringing some new year cheer than some gory tales of the work of sadistic serial killers. There must be enough raw material in Dumbfuckistan to keep a Behavioural Analysis Unit in business for eternity…

What with the Crime Scene Investigation (CSI) franchises, the Law & Order franchises, NCIS, and practically the whole output of the Universal and FX Channels, my ‘in-house amateur sleuth‘ just can’t get enough mayhem and carnage for one lifetime. Just as well we cats are reported to have nine lives. However Dumbfuckers, I am sorry to poke your already frozen brain cell with an icicle, but by my calculations most of your population by 2020 will be divided into vics & perps… which will make sleuthing easier, because, by definition, anyone not yet croaked must be a serial killer! Good luck with the running and screaming vibe… just when you think you have escaped one serial killer there is another just around the corner.

In the meantime Michigan, and Ohio, and Nebraska, and Oklahoma, and y’all, if you think this is what I am looking like at the moment…

… think again. I am sending you some virtual warmth, but until we speak again I am keeping the real stuff for me, a warm and cozy Juno.

I’m watching you:

A bite on the bullet

Posted on January 4, 2014 by Steve Morgan

As a cat saunters through the St David’s shopping mall in Cardiff I would be surprised to be confronted by the Japanese scene of Mount Fuji, but that is exactly what my ‘sedentary world travellers‘ reported on their New Year’s Day stroll.

I am told the style of design for the restaurant is themed on the famous Shinkansen Bullet Train… a kind of meals-on-wheels if I am thinking about my ‘resident old git‘.

It has a further sense of the unique, as most shopping mall eating joints seem to be all-too-familiar chains of look-a-like, taste-a-like, draw them in, feed them, and move them on establishments. Shopping malls are about shopping first, with eating as the add-on. However, the Mount Fuji idea is currently in a chain of two (also available in Birmingham) and focused on the eating experience, with claims to present authentic Japanese cuisine from the Mount Fuji prefecture in Japan.

My ‘intrepid experimenters’ both went for the same starter of Chicken Gyoza:

This was a pleasant but reportedly unremarkable dish of chicken and vegetables in a pasta shell, with the taste improved by the accompanying soy sauce dip. But this place comes into its own as the main dishes of Pork Stir Fry Donburi (with pork strips, rice, onions, peppers and a ginger sauce) and Chicken Fillet Teriyaki Bento (with rice, salads and pickles):

A green tea and a nutty-flavoured Japanese latte complemented the early afternoon meal, but the restaurant offers a range of wines and sakes for early in the day alley cats taking a break from their liquid breakfast in a paper bag (no judgement on prospective shopping mall customers there then)!

Friendly and helpful staff were on hand to offer any explanations needed about items on the menu, particularly when selecting from a couple of lattes that you will never find on the menu at Costa, Cafe Nero or the imperious Coffee#1.

Service was leisurely, which makes most of us cats feel welcomed and unrushed; so don’t expect this bullet train to be providing fast food at fast pace.

Another close up of the Chicken Teriyaki certainly makes this cat’s taste buds move into overdrive:

I have been Juno, bringing you another sample of the great cuisines from around the world, and until we speak again… sayonara.

A christmas message for QE2

Posted on December 21, 2013 by Steve Morgan

Dear smile-free zone, the President and Vice-President of my fan club were delighted with your card on the occasion of their 60th wedding anniversary, but I am reliably informed by my resident ‘Welsh Republican‘ that the photograph looks a bit formal and poker-faced. So, I thought I would cheer you up a bit on this festive occasion with a couple of pictures of my compatriots… some might tolerate this nonsense but your ‘local detractor‘ tried to get me into one of these poses and can now be contacted at the local hospital in the vicious lacerations department for their efforts.

Talking of ill-fitting circumstances, I was wondering how the Greeko-Germanic axis was functioning in your marriage these days? I get the distinct impression from various news sources that this type of relationship usually takes the form of German supremacy with a sprinkling of unorthodox Greek political incorrectness… does this sound familiar? Not difficult to see who wears the headscarf of power in central London, and who risks a beheading if he steps out of line:

Your ancestry seem to have cornered the xmas market; in fact German christmas markets are the rage everywhere, even here in Cardiff:

As for the perplexing question of what you buy the monarch who has everything for christmas, it seems that the good people of Cardiff have wrapped a castle (as if you didn’t have enough already!):

They have a Royal Arcade in these parts and seem to have found a setting to use up a number of spare light bulbs…

But, also in honour of your historically dis-functional family there is an icy scene to greet you on the Hayes:

All-in-all it seems like christmas in Cardiff this year is struggling to find any wise men (particularly at the local football club, with the exception of the local messiah Malky Mackay), but there is no shortage of stars to guide late night revellers down ‘inebriation walk’:

And in keeping with the Dr Who 50th year celebrations there even seem to be a few ethereal stars floating around the city centre in search of a TV christmas special to participate in:

I have been Juno, and before we speak again I wish you seasonal greetings; but I intend being busy at 3.00pm on christmas day away from any TV, so send your reply in the form of a New Year honour for me to graciously decline.

Nelson was a cool cat

Posted on December 10, 2013 by Steve Morgan

For all he did for black cats everywhere I am truly saddened to hear the news of the passing of Nelson Mandela. Though amongst the millions of sincere outpourings of grief and reminiscence, it does leave me coughing up fur balls to witness some of the politicians clambering onto the number one bandwagon of the moment. The great man himself said in the Pretoria courthouse in 1962 “If I had my time over I would do the same again. So would any man who calls himself a man.” Fortunately for South Africa and the world he had another 51 years left, and fulfilled a considerable promise.

As I contemplate lunch… … and lie back to listen to the ongoing tributes, I am sure that the Gorgeous Georges’ of the US & UK (Dubya and Osbourne) would act on Mandiba’s advice, in not hesitating to do the same again. Though for them it would more likely be a case of screwing over the many for the benefit of their already rich mates. David Cameron spoke of ‘ his heart going out to [his] family and the people of South Africa’… I say prep Operating Theatre 1 for surgery quickly.

Desmond Tutu, the patron saint of the drawn match (2-2, come on, keep up!), said of Mandela “He was renowned the world over as the undisputed icon of forgiveness and reconciliation.” I am sure I can adopt that lead, when my ‘appointed servant’ gets their act together and provide me with more of that roast turkey from Cardiff Market. Bill Clinton said “Nelson Mandela taught us so much about so many things…” Personally, I do hope that Mandela was not a cigar smoker, as even Bill must have had some original thoughts of his own.

Perhaps I need to cast our memories back a few decades (or ‘dickheads’ as Nelson pronounced it) to find the true essence of the person. Some old dame or another became famous for repeatedly referring to Mandela as a terrorist… well the first thought that comes to my mind is that it takes one to know one, particularly if you build a career on terrorising the weak and the poor of your own country in order to break the spirit of the hard working people in the industrial communities. The following image sums up contrasting leadership styles: a warm smiling generous spirit who can stand upright and proudly face all people, and a hunched evil purveyor of misery always looking over their shoulder (make your own choice as to which is which)…

Margaret Thatcher and Nelson Mandela

The only real tribute this cat can pay to the passing of an icon is to try and follow the lead he embodied through his life. With this in mind, I am stoically trying to shoulder the pressures and burdens of my imprisonment in my own personal Robben Island:

And I can only sit and wile away the time as I contemplate my own personal long walk to freedom. When I am finally released I promise to treat all cats equally… the strange albino types, ginger toms, even those fluffy persian types (who I am sure have nothing to do with any accusations of terrorism based solely on their middle-eastern sounding origins). Until we speak again I have been Juno, and I can only sign off today with an R.I.P. Johannesburg Cool Cat.

A Cat and the Dude go Greek

Posted on December 8, 2013 by Steve Morgan

Having a ‘personal food taster’ can be a bit tedious at times; particularly when they refuse to taste what they put in my bowl, yet seem only too happy to travel back to my original homeland and let me know how good the food was! Why go eat in London… it couldn’t have been a longing to see the old place? Having said that, London has many merits to get people into the christmas spirit without necessarily having to shop… like Tower Bridge at night:

Or a view into Hayes Galleria near London Bridge. But it still primarily harbours madness… millions of people constantly rushing around to be somewhere else, and taking photographs of anything that doesn’t move (and a few things that do) just so they can be digitally stored with all the others that are hardly worth giving a second look… or simply adding to a blog post to interrupt the reader’s urge to fall asleep!

On this occasion, the local cat was simply in the mood for meeting up with the recently inaugurated ‘Dude‘, who’s last visit to this side of the bridge necessitated a viewing of The Big Lebowski in celebration of his newly acquired title. I am told that they decided to take a stroll along the South Bank of the Thames, and kind of drifted towards their favourite Greek place. After all, I am told that if you can come up with a great idea the dude abides. The South Bank is where you can see some great examples of old and new next to each other, such as Southwark Cathedral and The Shard (you will have to guess which is which)…

… which kind of puts you in the mood for good food. However, most of the cuisine will be of a modern variety along this stretch of ‘nouveau tourism overload’. So, in order to combine old culture with modern cuisine Greece is the most likely source of satisfaction.

This Real Greek place on Bankside has a great location opposite St Paul’s Cathedral, and if you chose to sit outside (not a particular treat for December) you might just take in a view of the latest developments in the world of the super-rich over the river in the City of London.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, closer to the Greek economy itself (as opposed to the poor bankers having to make do with reduced bonuses in six figures rather than seven), a joyful feast awaits anyone with a couple of hours of time to relax and a budget of no more than £20/head including some fabulous Retsina wine.

On this occasion, the ‘One who should be more respectful of my culinary limitations‘ went on mouth-wateringly about souvlaki’s, greek salads, dolmades, calamari; and even spoke lovingly about ‘chips’… and then some more about the unique resin flavour of the Retsina (so much so, that the waiting service always ask if you have tried it before each time you order it). Something to do with respecting your tastes rather than any godforsaken health and safety requirement, I imagine.

Talking about imagination, I am Juno, left with the feline cuisine of rocks and water yet again. I will just have to continue dreaming of good greek food until we speak again.

US Congress: Health Benefits of Greek Cuisine (usa.greekreporter.com)

When Dr Who Called

Posted on December 4, 2013 by Steve Morgan

It was only a matter of time before my laid back life in Cardiff would be interrupted by a call from the doctor.

Castle Arcade 10 There were suspicious goings on in the Castle Arcade, as a Dalek was spotted trying to canvas support for their application to appear in an episode of The Simpsons…

After all of the tense and challenging situations the doctor has experienced in combat with his greatest foe you would have thought this should be a simple matter to expedite. But then again, you would have thought after 50 years of trying, and several different drivers, that someone would be able to

land the Tardis in the right place, instead of missing by a few hundred yards and getting stranded in the local castle without an admission ticket!

So a mayday call arrives through one of those strange Torchwood like portals of fire and brimstone that Cardiff has become renowned for (or not, depending on which dimension you live in)…

Unfortunately Captain Jack and Gwen were off to some fancy dress shindig in Splott or Grangetown, or another exotic sounding part of Cardiff…

So, this was a job for a cool cat with intense concentration. A momentary stare from me and the Dalek’s resistance was futile… Exterminate!

The End.

While you have been oblivious to the perils of the world, I have been Juno. Now, if only I can find the key to the great mystery in the sky before I speak with you again…

Breathless bone-crunching

Posted on December 1, 2013 by Steve Morgan

Rugby does offer something in the Cardiff cauldron that football is rarely praised for… opposing fans occupy the same space hours before kick-off for banter and liquid refreshments. But my ‘In-house Rugby Correspondent’ tells me to make no mistake about pondering the cuteness of these cuddly Wallabies…

they have a plan…

… and the green and gold finery only masks a core of steel when it comes to slaying dragons. Australia have a historic stranglehold on this fixture… 25 wins to 10 for Wales. However, the real pain for the home team is the 20-2 in terms of wins for Australia since Wales beat them in the 1987 inaugural World Cup. And even further pain is heaped in the last couple of years where Wales have been within a score of winning with a minute or so to go on three occasions, only to miraculously snatch defeat from the jaws of victory on each occasion.

What makes today a real grudge match is the British & Irish Lions 2-1 series win over the Wallabies in their own natural environment earlier this year, particularly the mauling of the final test match. The majority of the Lions were Welsh players, but time is long overdue that they do it under their own colours. Make no mistake, fire-breathers versus furry cuddliness means only one thing… war!

It is time for this… to smoke this… Let’s not pretend that such an outcome will be easy following the Lions win down under. The Aussies arrive in God’s Own Millenium Stadium having lost 20-13 to England before cutting a swathe through Italy (20-50), Ireland (16-32) and Scotland (15-21) this month on their way to this extra fixture (not originally planned, so flavoured with a little extra spice!). Over 67,000 settle into their stadium seats, the roof is closed to add to the pressure cooker effect, and the rest of the home nation strap in ready to assault their TV screens with passionate advice and abuse.

Home expectations could not be higher, fuelled by images of one Welshman outnumbering the Aussies down under earlier this year, and the cuddly ones looking rather perplexed:

The game lives up to all the expectations, as first Wales take an early lead, then Australia are in the ascendency for the latter part of the first half. Australia extend their lead early in the second half before Wales make yet another heroic comeback. Then, guess what? Lightening really does strike in the same place many times… with breath-taking moves and bone-crunching tackles all over the pitch, and Wales having all of the cards falling in their favour, they manage yet again to fall one score short of winning. The final score is Wales 26 Australia 30, or more importantly for the visitors 9 wins in a row against the northern hemisphere champions.

Reports suggest the match was so good the result was less important… try telling that to the locals around here. Wales have two years before they meet Australia in the World Cup group to find that extra score; then the locals will accept a little more how great the match was.

I am still being Juno, as long as I avoid some of those rugby tackles until I speak with you again.

It was 1972…

Posted on November 28, 2013 by Steve Morgan

My ‘Resident DJ’ is gazing at the old vinyl collection and reminiscing about something or another. ” What’s new pussycat, Pussycat Dolls, Stray Cat Strut, Cat Power, Cat on a hot tin roof” I helpfully suggest; but ‘Nostalgia Freak’ is not impressed, and mutters something about me being deported back to England if I don’t develop some musical respect.

Oops, time to hide… “Year of the cat, Cats in the cradle…” I proffer from my new-found bolt-hole. ‘Now your’e getting nearer’ I hear.

Spillers Records [1] It seems that Cardiff is home to the oldest record shop in the world. It has been 119 years since Henry Spiller began selling shellac phonographic discs from a little shop in the long since disappeared [original] Queen’s Arcade. In true Dr. Who style (a newer Cardiff legend), the shop’s second incarnation from the 1940s coincided with vinyl becoming king; and with a new century seeing the CD struggle against downloads it has more recently moved to its third home in the Morgan Arcade.

Step into this old emporium of the different formats and it still brings back many fond memories as well as great music to all lovers of a good tune. Everyone who knows Spillers Records are likely to have their own definitive year; something about their personal musical era, or the first time they visited the little shop of big expectations. For the ‘Native Old Git’ it seems 1972 was the year… with record player barely a year old, and a few albums bought in a subterranean part of Woolworths on Queen Street, it was time to enter the dark world of the music shop on The Hayes. I am reliably informed that John Kongos became that first purchase, shortly followed by a couple of albums by The Who, and the changing musical directions from Stevie Wonder. Alas, these uplifting reflections are tempered by a flickering thought of the loss of the other album purchased in Spillers that year, but subsequently lost in the intervening years of travelling.

Hmmm… this John Kongos guy looks a bit like a cat, but I am a bit wary of meandering around someone who says He’s gonna step on you again! At least Stevie Wonder knows how to cheer a sun worshipping cat up.

As for The Who, I am left wondering what there is to do in Leeds… apart from leaving their mark on the concrete column. Their songs about Young Man Blues and Teenage Wasteland suggest they should try somewhere else. Cardiff comes to mind…

Back in 1972 vinyl wasn’t ‘cool’, vinyl was ‘everything’. It is hard to believe that this venerable institution was already 78 years old at the time ‘Nostalgia Junior’ was ready to spend the hard earned (by somebody else) pocket money. Then again, apparently not; we are talking about a time when smoking was still a widespread profession rather than the Public Enemy No 1 badge of today, and most places had a darker dingier feel to them… and Spillers on The Hayes was no different. This second incarnation of Henry’s gift had already absorbed 25 years or more of people loitering and browsing with intent; of passionate staff and inquisitive punters engaged in musical inspection and introspection.

Unlike any other music selling joint of the time, this was a place where you could even disappear into a private booth to listen to a few tracks before deciding on what to give the cash up for. That first album personally bought in Spillers was known for its couple of previously released singles, but what of the rest? In the claustrophobic atmosphere of that booth John Kongos sang of nostalgia, and the deal was sealed. This was no place or time for absence of thought and rash musical whims. After all, when you walked out of this place and set off around town, your vinyl album under your arm said something about who you are; it would become part of your teenage peacock-like display. CDs slipped into pockets or bags project nothing, and as for downloads… beam me up Scotty.

Old & New

It’s another world we live in, compared with 1972, but today Spillers became the ‘Old Git’s’ destination for the first time in 30 years… there was unfinished business, a long lost album to be rediscovered. The shock of the airy brightness soon recedes as the same old Spillers values of love for music becomes clearly evident on the racks and in the banter between staff and visitors. It’s nowhere to be seen in the CD racks on the ground floor; but what’s this new invention… a smaller upstairs room housing the vinyl… could it come to the rescue? Still no sign of the elusive lost album, until without hesitation the welcoming staff immediately offer to order it. With three additional live tracks, my ‘Native Bottler’ throws nostalgia to the wind and orders the remastered CD version, and in a few days I am promised the treat of Santana Abraxas providing the soundtrack to my universe. At least it isn’t the download version, God knows where I would have to plug something in to listen to that!

It seems that The Oldest Record Shop in the World keeps the fire going for those who love their music, but it is more than a collection of hardware, I am reliably informed this place is a purveyor of memories, a definer of ages, a repository of personal histories. I have been Juno, and until we meet again it looks like I am going to be transported back to the early 1970s.

The Avengers

Posted on November 16, 2013 by Steve Morgan

My kindred spirits the ‘pumas’ are in town, and the locals are a little bit edgy.

Wales have only won 9 out of the 14 meetings with Argentina, a record of success that the home fans would demand improvement on. The last time this match was staged, last November, Argentina won 26-12 here in Cardiff. The light blue and white pumas…

… are now established players in the southern hemisphere annual tournament against the top three teams in the world, but will it be enough for the southern also-rans to compete with the northern hemisphere champions? The flags are fluttering their support along St Mary Street close to the Millenium Stadium:

The anthems reflect the passion of both sets of supporters and the 2.30p.m. whistle blows to let battle commence. A penalty kick for Wales, a converted try, and a further penalty while still reduced to 14 men through one taking an early trip to the sin bin. Twenty minutes gone and Wales are 20-0 in the lead. Half an hour passes with Argentina having more than a couple of chances of their own before they score a penalty kick… 20-3. Its a half about taking your chances, as Argentina provide plenty of positive statistics, but with a further penalty as the last kick of the half there is only one important stat… Wales 23 Argentina 3.

With two tries and the magic boot of Leigh Halfpenny, the majority of the crowd are happy to see the visiting pumas playing good rugby as long as the home team remain dominant on the scoreboard. The second half often sees a modern day Welsh team step up a gear against any opposition…

Meanwhile the pumas start to tire, and are in desperate need for a new tune…

PUMA AND PIANO. B&W. Picture on Modern BOX-CANVAS. A1, 20"x 30"

Los Pumas are soon looking more like Lost Pumas as Wales add a further two converted tries and a penalty with only a single penalty in reply.

The final score is 40-6, and Wales return to winning ways against southern hemisphere opposition after a long run of heroic failures. Triumphant dragons can retire to the hostelries of Cardiff and let the celebrations begin.

Cymru Flag (wales) clip art

I have been Juno, and until we next meet let the local cats keep celebrating.

	David on Searching for Lebanon
	Kirt on NOLA: UK-style
	Wanda Rusiecki on Frohe Weihnachten
	Steve Morgan on Turkish delight
	Wanda Rusiecki on Turkish delight

JUNO's VIEW

Seeing Cardiff and the world through the eyes of one cool cat

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