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.

Wales 2026 World Cup Bid

Posted on October 31, 2013 by Steve Morgan

Dear Zed Lister and fellow Sweet FA delegates,

I feel it is time that I launched the Wales bid to host the 2026 World Cup. After all, you have provided Qatar as the clearest of blueprints for success. Listening to my cortege of footballing pundits I could have been mistaken for thinking this once every four years prestigious tournament was a true spectacle of the peoples game put on as a festival of entertainment for the delight of the people of the world. However, you have enlightened me to the true realities that it is a complex front for your eminence and fellow crooks, sorry administrators of the game, to engorge yourselves in luxury at the expense of the ordinary spectators. Why didn’t I see that earlier, it is just like the life us cats weave for ourselves on a more permanent basis in the homes of our servants.

As leaders of the world game I am sure you will be steeped in its history, so I will launch the Wales bid on an example of the selfless generosity of its historical contribution to gamesmanship. We clearly surpass Qatar in our our World Cup pedigree and history. They weren’t even in Sweden on that 1958 day when we generously allowed Brazil a quarter-final 1-0 win for them to go on to eventually win the cup. We realised at the time that Brazil may never be good enough to grace the World Cup stage again, whereas we would undoubtedly become permanent attenders at all future tournaments.

The most important element of any worldwide competition has to be the official mascot… what else does anyone remember a few days after it has all finished? Qatar are unlikely to fool anyone with their diamond studded pot of gold mascot, whereas we have the ghost of John Charles

to strike fear into all, and leave a memorable image of the gentle giant for the kids of the world to dream of emulating. Gareth Bale was in contention, but concerns publicly expressed by Harry Redknapp that “he spends most of his time working on his barnet” led my bid committee to be concerned about his availability outside of salon opening times. As for the constant playing with his hands and that heart thing… will someone just give him a mobile phone to play with!

As paragons of virtue and intelligence I thought you at the ‘Sweet FA’ were perfectly placed, in your plush Swiss offices, to be fully aware and on top of the necessary considerations about summer temperatures of 40-50 degrees. You offered Qatar and the football loving world a perfectly reasonable choice… an unnatural and phenomenal expense to provide an innovative green cooling system to reduce temperatures in all stadiums, or cause massive disruption to football leagues the world over by staging the tournament in winter. I promise you that here in Wales the summer temperatures are frequently 40-50 degrees, but a plan is in place to provide spectators with complimentary plastic macs and jumpers in their national colours, with the addition of the Welsh flag emblem as a gesture of multicultural friendship. I apologise unreservedly if this deprives you of an opportunity for skimming off the top any lucrative backhanders resulting from the need to impose grotesquely over-inflated and costly solutions to unnecessary problems. However, along with other cost-savings I will outline in our plan, this creates greater opportunities for us to lavish our expenses on you and your wives.

What about the cost of developing stadia? In the middle of the Qatari desert billions are planned to be spent on state of the art stadia, while here in Wales we will save all that money by playing most of the games at the Millenium Stadium, where the roof can be kept closed against the potential for steel rod like rain dampening the motivations of the young billionaires on the pitch. It is close to the railway station for teams and their supporters flying into the UK and then getting the train. It is also next to the river Taff, so we can extravagantly transport you and your delegates by Cardiff Bay pleasure boats from your hotel direct to the stadium.

More lowly ranked countries can play at the nearby Cardiff City Stadium, particularly those who are unsure what colours they should be playing in, and to avoid the sight of empty seats through smaller crowds in our national stadium. However, your presence would not be required at such a small venue… it would be so undignified in relation to your overblown image of yourselves.

Player accommodation at the St Mary Street Travelodge allows the majority of them to walk to the stadium; but an extra bus can be put on the route to the Cardiff City Stadium for players of teams who are not used to walking further than to their parked Ferrari’s. Of course, you at the ‘Sweet FA’ as world administrators of the beautiful game will be accommodated at the St. David’s Hotel and Spa at no personal expense.

For your many unnecessary visits we will meet you at the rebranded Wales International Airport, at Heathrow, and pay all of your fees at the Severn Bridge toll booths. During the competition all players and spectators will be directed through the clapped out Cardiff Airport, not to burden you with the need to meet or speak with the lesser subjects of your sport.

All of the money-saving initiatives are carefully designed to increase the pot available for bribing, sorry, entertaining you the world leaders of the professional game at the ‘Sweet FA’. As highly respected visiting delegates you will be provided with free use of the City Sightseeing Bus, with commentaries about all the cities in warmer climates where you would currently prefer to be. Your wives will be offered free gifts from their personal choice of stall in the Cardiff Central Market, with free shoe repairs while they wait thrown in for good measure. As a re-think on the Bale heart thing, commemorative hearts will be cast in gold for each delegate and their wives… wrought from the iron ore of Merthyr Tydfil, smelt by the power of purest Welsh steam coal, and borne of the sweat and toil of our working man, if he can be found or isn’t on a health and safety imposed permanent tea break. In this event there is always Plan B… a plastic replica made in China (helping to secure their vote). Free bags of Welsh cakes will be available throughout the period of the bid and tournament, but only to ‘Sweet FA’ personnel and their families.

We are fully aware of the tactics needed to win the strategic votes from around the world… a Welsh Baptist Minister in Patagonia is working on the Americas vote, with South America in the bag, and dispatched to target the bible thumping mid-west. Threats to sue over the title New South Wales should bring in the Oceania vote. The Cardiff City FC connections with Malaysia should easily secure the Asian vote. Craig Bellamy‘s predicted role as a future African President will guarantee the African vote. Europe as our home region initially appear a stubborn convert… but when we seduce Scottish support with our plaque at Cardiff City Stadium the vote will surely follow.

It is surely to our credit that we have many useless sporting administrators here in Wales, which should endear us to your core philosophy and ways of thinking; and with further mentorship from your delegates we should proudly ensure that nothing deviates from the main ethos established in your corrupt, sorry open and transparent, commitment to leadership. What we have learned most from the experience of Qatar is that we don’t need any relevant history in the game, or existing stadiums full of passionate supporters, or a climate suited to sporting exertion, or even respect for the ordinary fans. Whatever the available budget, as long as we demonstrate that the majority of it is directed to the comforts of you, the world administrators of the ‘Sweet FA’, and your shopping obsessed wives, then we can fill our boots and have ourselves a tournament. Where in Switzerland do I send the suitcases of unmarked bills?

I have been Juno, demonstrating my bid-leading credentials, and I am open to any bribes, I mean constructive suggestions, before I speak with you again.

FIFA awards the 2026 World Cup Finals to Antarctica (eveningharold.com)

Boss-4-Us

Posted on October 26, 2013 by Steve Morgan

Just when I was getting ready to step up to the leadership plate one of my dedicated followers says “Bosphorus in Turkey, not a boss for us!” Us cats don’t care too much for geography, we just need a little bit of immediate territory to dominate, and then it’s just a matter of employing personal travel advisers and taxi drivers. But ‘turkey’ does get the imagination going, and I am already dreaming of my favourite spot in Cardiff Central Market, ‘J.H. Morgan’s meat extravaganza and vegetarians nightmare’ since way back in Victorian times…

… and more importantly what it looks like on a plate at home:

How undignified, I am drooling at the thought of these images, when my so called companions are off out of the door muttering something about a Turkish restaurant with views over the bay and a place where east meets west in culture and tastes.

Looks a bit precarious to me… sitting over water inside or outside sounds more like an ordeal, but my personally appointed aquatic representatives say it enhances the views across the bay and gives it a sense of separateness from some of those run-of-the-mill chain restaurants clustering along the shoreline. The Bosphorus Turkish Restaurant seems to have an interesting menu, so I am slightly perplexed when the starters ordered suggest there has been an invasion of grass munchers:

What is it with the stuffed vine leaves and salad garnish with pitta bread? Looks well presented… if you like that kind of thing. Enough to drive a water-drinking cat to down that Turkish Efes beer in meat-driven desperation.

Relief soon arrives with the main course… I must learn to trust my surrogate food-tasters. My kind of culinary variety is meat, garnished with meat, with a side of meat, and maybe an isolated vegetable decorating the table to tantalise the weak and mild. I am more impressed by a vision of mixed shish v lamb cutlets, even if both plates do have to give up space for rice and salad accompaniments.

This was a very relaxing way to spend an hour or so satisfying the need for a mid-afternoon lunch while strolling around Cardiff Bay. It looks like it might also be a place for that evening meal or special occasion, as other reviews seem to largely suggest.

I’ve been Juno, and Turkey seems good to me either on a plate or as a restaurant. I will speak with you again soon when I have turned that vision of turkey on a plate into my own tasty treat.

Wos occurring?

Posted on October 19, 2013 by Steve Morgan

I understand that Cardiff is the location of a rift in time and space, which acts as a portal for all extra-terrestrial life arriving on our planet; or so the Torchwood legend would have us believe.

But is there any evidence that intelligent or other life has actually come through this portal, and does Torchwood really protect us against any threatening invaders? The jury is out on both cases, but I thought I would stroll around my local area to search for any evidence. My initial discoveries suggest that strange creatures may well have made it through:

Recent reports suggest that the local football club has been infected by destructive forces. Either that or the future of male fashion has been unveiled, and it isn’t a pretty sight! The first shock wave came when a ‘Tan the man’ invader conjured up a spell that changed the cherished local blue of 100 years into red. If that shock wasn’t enough for the baying hordes, the fear factor was ramped up even further as an experienced bureaucrat with superior HR powers was suddenly turned into a novice painter and decorator. Spectators at the next home game should be very fearful of the powers of this footballing ignoramus, unless, that is, there is evidence of intergalactic protectors in the local area.

The first positive signs appear in the unlikely form of a sci-fi/Jimmy Hendrix cross-over shed like affair. Just to portray the right kind of strong message it stands defiantly in blue.

Didn’t the whole Torchwood hub idea emerge out of the legend of some doctor with a sonic screwdriver. ‘Doctor With’ doesn’t have the right ring to it, so I send a call out for anyone to come up with a better name for a Doctor Who type of character instead (CV’s strong on foul-mouthed government experience preferable)! However, this cat wants a bit more evidence than just some oversized shed, before I believe we might be saved from the Malaysian Megalomaniac.

Didn’t the old space and time travellers use some sort of police box as a way of getting around? Given their current press coverage I am not sure that connections with the police should be that reassuring regarding our future safety. But if our potential saviours have only nicked police property to effect time travel, I am slightly more reassured when I find evidence of a possible time machine not far from the afore-mentioned shed. What’s more, it has successfully managed to navigate itself outside of the inevitable trap laid by the ubiquitous supermarket trolley… one of the most environmentally recognisable icons across the landscape of the UK.

At first I receive a big set back, it seems that one of our possible saviours is no longer. Hopefully this shrine is only a fiction, designed to give a false sense of security to alien visitors; but these humans have form when it comes to ridiculous collective outpourings of grief for people they only know through the media!

It seems I am not alone in the desperate search for our Torchwood heroes, as heavily disguised Cardiff City FC fans scour the area where the team had previously been sighted entering their secret hub. If they are still here somewhere in the city there might be some hope that the soccer slayer from the far east might be stopped.

Much to my surprise and delight, it seems that even super heroes leave their litter outside of the office. Sure signs that earth-saving powers are on hand.

Being the location of a threatening space and time rift through which evil can arrive on earth is one thing, but this cat isn’t easily scared by just one example of the dark arts identified across Cardiff. Having said that, a few more examples are tending to give me some vivid nightmares of late:

I have been Juno, bringing you reasons to be fearful, but if Torchwood is still out there I will be more confident about speaking with you again soon.

Tales from Dumbfuckistan [2]

Posted on October 10, 2013 by Steve Morgan

It really makes my day when the self-proclaimed centre of the universe applies my rules to the way it operates. Take that Obama guy, he seems like a really cool cat, but he is learning that the job is a bit like trying to herd us cats.

Why, just the other day, when I was talking to my in-house staff, it was difficult getting them to understand that decisions are really important, they are what keep the order in our little world, they prevent the chaos from taking over. What we decide together is just fine… that is, until I decide I want to do something else. Take for example the food thing… we can all agree that eating healthily at reasonable intervals is a good thing, and even Adolf the Vet was recently making some speech about it while prizing open my mouth and muttering something about plaque build-up. I fully support the idea, and I see where everyone is coming from… but right now I demand my rights under whatever amendment to the constitution states that my bowl is to be refilled even if there is another couple of hours until so-called ‘reasonable time’!

As we venture out into the busy city I fully support the need for all these traffic lights. I get that the roads would be in an even bigger state of carnage if there was a highway free-for-all attitude. However, as much as I am one of the first to sign up to that decision, there is the matter of my constitutional right to uphold my personal rainbow ethic, and to

proceed forward on whatever colour I wish…

I am the first to say that the whole health thing is important for all of us. I don’t know how I would get by if my servant staff were to succumb to ill health… it would probably cause an inconvenience to my usual sleep patterns… I might have to put up with as little as 20 hours a day.

The National Health Service is a great reassurance to me, and I am of the opinion it should remain free at the point of delivery for all those who can afford to pay for it… upfront… no scrounging.

Then of course there is the democracy thing, where everyone gets to have a vote… the only problem being that sometimes the majority get it wrong. Can Turkeys really be trusted on the vote about christmas dinner? Of course us cats believe in democracy, why else would we throw a big tea party to celebrate the generosity of imposing our minority vote on the masses who are plain too dumb to get it right by themselves?

[All images downloaded from free ‘images of…’ sites on the internet].

I am the leader of the Juno party, and as soon as my subjects understand the principle of what is mine is mine, and what is their’s is mine, the sooner we will re-establish the true order of democracy. These are the fine traditions on which our supremacy is built, and on which we are able to impose the freedom of democracy on all other groups in the animal kingdom… it is our responsibility to keep despotic dawgs on a tight leash, until they learn our way is the only way. I fully intend to share more of my thoughts with you again, as soon as I bring the domestic economy of my deluded house mates crashing down… and let that be a lesson to them.

Call this an adventure?

Posted on October 7, 2013 by Steve Morgan

They seem to think that I am not listening and taking in everything they say on the phone… not using the V-word eh? Seems like my resident nazi sympathiser has a trip planned for me; but little do they know I saw the postcard (addressed to me!) about my annual health check and booster vaccination being due. “It will be an adventure” they say, while slyly referring on the phone to some “trip to Hull and back” or a similar phrase. Well, I have my own plans regarding this forthcoming adventure I can tell you. Firstly, I try the hiding thing,

… but I guess the whiskers against the plain door kind of gives the game away. Never mind, there is always Plan B…

Looking busy, counting the number of sheets of photocopying paper in the box beneath the printer. Being helpful should do the trick… Damn, this wasn’t supposed to happen, where did this cage come from?

All that work in the office and I must have taken my eye off the ball, and the devious servant’s only gone and rubbed a couple of brain cells together and come up with their own plan. So, if this is going to be an adventure at least I can expect a luxury limo to match my regal status as I glide around town…

… Ok, so I own a parking space, but who nicked the motor?

It looks like it is going to be the bus again. All that rickety, bumpy stuff, with both ends of the human age range asking their inane questions like “what have you got in the basket? Can I see the cat?” I might be mild-mannered in appearance but why can’t the disobedient one just invite them to put their fingers in through the grill?

So here we are at last, in the devil’s waiting room. They try to fool you with nice young ladies smiling and calling me by name, when I know all too well that this is where I get groped and prodded, a sharp spike in the back of the neck, and the ultimate indignity of providing an indelicate home for someone’s thermometer! Why can’t they just ask me what my temperature is?

After an interminable few hours (ok, minutes… but quite a few of them), with me desperate to get back into that cage that I originally never wanted anything to do with, we are heading for the door. Escape at last… never did a bus look so good.

Thankfully, ‘to Hull and back’ is only an annual ordeal, but while I suffer the indignity of missing out on the chance to recline in a stretch limo, licking my bits and waving a paw to my subjects on the streets, I can at least move to Plan R… revenge on my resident trickster who tried to con me into thinking this was going to be an adventure. I could show them what post-adventure trauma looks like… perhaps coughing up fur balls on that light coloured carpet; or even feigning post veterinary dementia by thinking the litter tray was behind the TV in the corner of the room.

I guess hell is a place we all have to go to once in a while so that home can look a little brighter as the evenings draw in and the darkness of winter looms ever closer. The things a cat has to do around here to get a few morsels of the poached salmon!

I am Juno, I have experienced the road to hull, but I am back. If this is adventure I will stick with my complex lifestyle of sleeping, eating and, well you know the rest… I will speak with you again soon.

Introducing Fat Freddies Cat

Posted on September 27, 2013 by Steve Morgan

This week I want to introduce you to a true polymath, a cat of infinite talents… the Leonardo da Vinci of Grangetown…

Whether it is beer or photography, travelling or just knowledge of the all-night sounds of downtown radio ‘FM San Francisco’, Fat Freddies Cat is the go-to guy. His knowledge expands across many fields, from the iconic Ninian Park in Cardiff (now only a lifetime of memories) to the Estadio do Maracana in Rio, via the greener parts of Scunthorpe and Walsall. Santiago and Kilimanjaro are no strangers to this world traveller; very much at home at any event in Cardiff; an occasional drifter into Fagins Ale & Chop House in Taffs Well; but never cooler than when he is purring through the old streets of Bath. If you don’t know Bath you just haven’t lived, in this cat’s eyes.

Nothing and nowhere in the animal kingdom or pub environment is a stranger to his inquisitive eye:

Just take a picture of this… is that a fisheye lens? asked the bull as many of God’s creatures collide in a cat’s eye perspective of a cow through a fish-eye.

max boyces £1 each Always an eye for a bargain, with Max Boyce’s apparently available for £1 each.

And when the famous or infamous disrobe, beware, for Fat Freddies Cat just might be there to catch anyone on a day off… even the Grim Reaper (sans cloak and scythe)!

But never is this cat happier than combining interests, such as the unique ongoing series of ‘A pint in…’

The City Arms, Cardiff… a pint in the city arms II

a pint in the packet The Packet, Cardiff.

The Couer de Lion, Bath: a pint in the couer de lion

a pint in the green tree The Green Tree, Bath.

And when a watering hole is not the priority, you can always rely on this supreme opportunist to be on hand when the special moment happens; such as the relatively unknown ‘Welsh incident’ where an inexplicable giant cake-icer transformed Flatholme island…

from the delightful to the delicious: welsh incident

And then there is Bath… did I mention Bath?

Any time of day or night, lamplight any angle or perspective… and most of the city centre pubs… fall prey to this inquisitor.

Circus

evening falls on bath

Nowadays our friend the cat focuses his prying eye on people, and a curious bunch they can be (cat’s eye view of people)… check out the ever-growing gallery and you will find a merry band of folk celebrating all kinds of life on the streets of Cardiff… oh, and did I mention Bath? Click on and open the following links for Lindsey the tightrope walking violinist 9695091724; Cardiff LGBT Mardi Gras 2013 9638382836; Ninjah 9431888430; and Jah Scouse 9485654736. And if you’re talking beer and pubs you can’t help but entertain a cameo slot from my old friend Sean… still at home in his world: 9370359347.

So… did I mention Bath? If I didn’t just call in on The City Arms, and look for a cat on a stool at the bar, the one with a fish-eye to hand. Talk to him nicely and Fat Freddies Cat will organise special tours, even with the occasional reference to the history and architecture of the old roman city… between the pubs that is! Little do the tourist information folk in Bath realise, but there is a thriving franchise frequently to be seen boarding the buses and trains out of Grangetown, armed with a camera and more enthusiasm than Julius Caesar himself. As for me, I’ve been Juno, and all I got was a trip to Newport! See you again soon.

Tales from Dumbfuckistan

Posted on September 24, 2013 by Steve Morgan

I seem to recall one George W Bush referring to many of the Eurasian countries as ‘the Stans’, which served well to demonstrate his expansive knowledge of world geography. While it came across to me as a simple way of grouping together totally separate countries, such as Pakistan, Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and others, he was clearly overlooking his own backyard… Dumbfuckistan.

I mention this because, being a cat for a stat, I was completely blown away (excuse the advanced pun) by a couple of articles about life in the US recently. The first was all about my cuddly cousins, with an all out assault on our favourite pass-time of baiting and killing other dumb creatures.

According to academic sources we kill ‘billions’ of other creatures in the US each year. Not to be outdone, we clock up millions each year in the UK apparently, though my resident protector of the environment doesn’t allow me to join in, I just get to exercise vivid imagination, particularly where ‘dwaugs’ are concerned……. So, somehow we are the villains of the peace, when all we are trying to do is rid you lot of vermin and bring you warm gifts. At least we are doing our bit to keep researchers in jobs for obscure biology conservation institutes.

Did I mention ‘a couple’ of articles? Well it was the more recent one by Henry Porter in the Observer newspaper on 22nd September 2013 that had me nearly falling off my cushion… ‘American gun use is out of control. Shouldn’t the world intervene?‘

With all the uproar about cats killing other creatures it seems to me that we have nothing to learn from you folk; at least we rarely go around randomly killing each other. These stories from the US about yet another gun massacre is one thing, but when you see all the statistics lined up end-to-end it blows your brains out (sorry!).

Total number of Americans killed in all wars from Lexington 1775 up to Afghanistan today is officially recorded as 1,171,177. Total number of civilians killed by guns (including suicides) from the killing of Edward Kennedy in 1968 to today is 1,384,171. Almost a quarter of a million more in 45 years than in the last 238 years of warfare. And still they demand their rights to an outdated second amendment to keep and bears arms, drawn up in days when the wild west was in vogue and coffee (or is that corrfee?) came in only one option, hot and wet.

Henry Porter reminds us that since 9/11, when just under 3000 people died in that atrocity, there have been 20 terror-related deaths and 364,000 caused by privately owned firearms. Apparently, if the US witnessed that sort of carnage taking place in another country they would be hurtling down the United Nations by-pass on a mission to restore sanity, introduce democracy, and relieve the locals of their richer natural resources. For a nation notorious for its lack of passports and ambition for travel, perhaps the rest of us cats should be thankful… the less of their culture they export the better! If the obesity doesn’t get you the bullet probably will.

If Syrians had any humanity they would threaten to invade the US; after all, any country where over 32,000 of its own are being killed by its own every year has some serious anger issues, and probably needs some externally sourced mediation!

Then there is the advertising and accessorising of guns for little kids… a truly remarkable statement of a sick culture.

[All cartoons accessed from ‘images of…’ sites on the internet].

The style of entertainment has been slightly different this week, but I am still Juno, mainly because I don’t live in America. For those of you who do… stay indoors, lock all your doors, and listen out for the sound of the safety clip being released.

Searching for Lebanon

Posted on September 13, 2013 by Steve Morgan

This week my global food navigator set the dial for Lebanon; we are eating Lebanese they said, without any further explanation as to how or when this event was going to occur. After all, we are in Cardiff; this isn’t exactly the multicultural banqueting feast that a London or a New York could boast of. Quick as a flash I jokingly replied… what breed of dog is that again? But my humour-deprived, equal opportunities promoting, sage of political correctness only threw me a look of disdain.

This search wasn’t going to be easy. So I consulted my world music collection for some background inspiration. Alphabetically pawing my way through, I arrive at Kyrgyzstan (top 10 crooners of the 1950’s)… Latvia (Elvis thrash metal tribute)… ah, Lebanon (Middle Eastern Motown Soul). Purring to the rhythmic sounds of a Beirut night, I try out the computer gizmo in search of the place they locally call ‘Naroush’. They are supposed to have a website, but the first part of the difficult search failed to locate it. Thanks to TripAdvisor the internet delivers again; and the reviews suggest a real treat is in store. ‘In store’ is an interesting phrase regarding this particular culinary delight; from the outside you get the picture that you have arrived, but… how do you get in?

The entrance looks like it is a clothes shop rather than a restaurant. Good observation, because it is a clothes shop! This suddenly brings back fearful memories of old American movies where you always have to go through some kind of a laundry at the street shopfront, and there would be some gangster types operating out back. Is this going to be the Hezbollah Kebab Shop? I wondered. Am I going to be the hors d’oeuvre?

All fears are laid to rest as we turn at the top of the stairs. We walk into a brightly lit all-white decor restaurant. It turns out to be a good omen, being blinded by the decor was a prelude to being blinded by the cuisine. Fortunately, my personal food taster had the ingenuity to have booked a veranda table in advance, so there was less need for me to continue using the shades while eating.

620 × 414 – kittentoob.com [Picture from images of cats in sunglasses].

Don’t eat much before coming to this place, as the quality is great and the portions fit for a fat-cat. We tried the Mixed Mezza and a Fatoush Salad to share as starters:

Chicken Musahab and the Sea Bass rapidly followed (even before we had completely digested the starter):

There is no alcohol license here, but never fear you don’t need the ‘falling down juice’ when you have the best selection of mixed fruit cocktails and boosters we have seen. They more than compliment the food. Just for a change from my usual water bowl I tried the Mango, Strawberry, Kiwi & Mint combo… delicious. My fellow cat tried the Fig, Strawberry and Papaya. The only shame was the other 14 options of cocktails we didn’t get to try out. We left ‘pleasantly stuffed’, and with the feeling this is definitely somewhere to come back to again soon.

The staff were friendly and welcoming, but we did need to chase up the order of drinks a couple of times. But it was certainly great value for money; which just goes to show how much gets spent on the alcohol so often in restaurants.

That is it from Beirut in downtown Cardiff. Until I get the chance to spin that globe again and put a paw on another country, I have been Juno your good food finder, and I hope to speak with you again soon.

	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

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