Blogs

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AmeriCymru spoke to R T Berner about his book Wales Married To The Eye a photographic record of a recent trip to Wales. The book is available from Amazon and blurb.com.

Wales Married To The Eye on Blurb

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AmeriCymru: Care to tell us a little about your book ''Wales Married To The Eye''?

“The photograph,” Dylan Thomas once wrote, “is married to the eye.” The Welsh poet could have said the same thing about his beautiful country. From Mount Snowdon in the north to Mumbles in the south, the landscape of Wales is a photographer’s dream—and my wife and I overdosed during a nine-day visit in 2010 that came 17 years after our first visit for a conference at the University of Wales-Aberystwyth in 1993.

I am fortunate to have family in Wales and they were very helpful as we mapped out our trip. …

Where did we go? Besides Aberystwyth and Cardiff, we spent a night in Snowdonia National Park (Llanberis), Hay-on-Wye (where a yarn shop caught Paulette’s eye), Swansea, St David’s and Machynlleth, the birthplace of my maternal grandfather, Thomas F. Williams, and where Paulette took this photograph of me with the Western Mail. We also stopped in Aberaeron, Harlech, Brecon, Laugharne, Mumbles and Llangennith, the birthplace of John Morgan, a friend of ours whom met in China in 1994 and who spent his adult life in Australia. (See Now and Then: The Memoirs of John Morgan, available at www.lulu.com and in the National Library in Aberystwyth. ) We visited the National Slate Museum, the National Wool Museum, the National Library of Wales, the National Museum in Cardiff and the National History Museum, also known as St Fagans. We stopped several times just to take in the view (and photograph it).

St David''s Cathedral Interior ( Click for larger image )

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Between us, we took nearly 3000 photographs.

In Swansea, we stayed in Dylan Thomas’ birthplace and slept in the room where he was born. In Laugharne, we visited the last place he lived and I was able, for a fee, to photograph inside the house and the shed where he wrote.

AmeriCymru: What photographic equipment did you use to take these breathtaking
shots?

My wife photographs with a Nikon D40 primarily to have something to aid her painting. I was using a Nikon D7000 at the time, which I had programmed to shoot multiple exposures that I could then process as high dynamic range photographs. The interior photograph of St. David’s Cathedral is an example of the detail one can achieve with multiple exposures.

Brecon Canal ( Click for larger image ) 

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AmeriCymru: What is your most abiding impression from your trip to Wales? Where in Wales would you most like to visit again?

We want to spend more time in the north.

AmeriCymru: Where can our members and readers purchase the book online?

The book is available at www.blurb.com and Amazon.

AmeriCymru: Any final message for the members and readers of AmeriCymru?

You must visit Wales at least once in your lifetime. We found it very easy to drive about. I would recommend nothing less than 7 days and probably 14 so you can take your time and hit all of the major sites. We would also recommend flying into Manchester, England, rather than dealing with Heathrow. It doesn’t take long to drive out of the Manchester airport and reach rural Wales.

Aberaeron Boats ( Click for larger image )

“ Can I take the blindfold off now?” protested his long suffering wife.

“ Yes ..okay!” said Myles Soginist to his spouse Gertie.

Blinking in the strong Italian sunlight, the 75 year old lady didn’t have a ‘scooby’ where she was.

Her husband, not normally the romantic type, had booked a surprise ‘Golden Anniversary’ to celebrate their 50 years together married.

“ What do you think then?” he said triumphantly as she faced the sign Veneto Aeropourto.

“ Bit noisy isn’t it!” she complained but not for the first time ever.

“ What did you expect…it’s a bloody airport for Christ’s sakes!” he protested.

“ Nothing is EVER right for you is it ?” he said as he shook his head trying to keep his remaining solitary brown tooth still in its gum.

Gertrude was a professional whinger, a better moaner than La Gioconda.

She was also deafer than Peter Andre having a lap dance off Jordan.

“ I brought you to Italy to see one of the most beautiful cities in the World that is rapidly disappearing under flood water and rising sea levels!” Myles said dejectedly.

“ But I’ve been to Dawlish before on tinsel and turkey!” said Gertie adjusting her NHS issue hearing aid which was whining louder like a smoke alarm on a Malaysian Airliner.

“ You daft old Bird….we are in Venice not the English Riviera!” replied Myles.

“ Venice….are you sure? …. it smells and looks like the Somerset Levels….!” said Gertie jutting her top set of false teeth up and down as she spoke.

“ Did you pack any Denture Fix ?” asked Myles.

He remembered the last time he had slept with her had been a nightmare, as with her snoring, teeth chattering and lip movements in the night , he kept waking up from a dream believing he had found the missing race horse ‘Shergar’.

Boy had Gertrude Frump changed from the woman he had first married.

Not only her Maiden Name either.

She had trebled in size- no longer the legs of Bette Grable- more like the legs of Beth Ditto…her hair had turned white and thinned so much and what remained was so straggly he felt like she could have been an extra in the ‘Waking Dead’.

She had false teeth, a glass eye, titanium hips, and drooping breasts.

She also had so many blue varicose veins in her legs she looked like a human version skin of ‘Spaghetti Junction’ on a Birmingham sat nav.

Myles being so egotistical, couldn’t see that he had aged too.

He was of the opinion he could have done better and still could if only Gertie would finally give up the ghost.

He already had his eye on the bingo caller at the local OAP complex , who always looked at him suggestively when she called the number six and nine ….69.

Myles didn’t care about her reputation as a ‘Black Widow’….or even that she came from the disputed region of ‘Chechnya’.

With Gertie’s false teeth problem, he no longer was prepared risking having a ‘Marie Antoinette’ style execution of his oldest friend and toy in the World.

“ Gondola Sir?” asked the Italian, Gio Barcorola.

“ I thought I ordered a taxi to meet us at the Airport?” asked Myles.

“ Sir, you do realise that Venice is located in a lagoon in the Adriatic Sea?” said Gio.

“ So you can’t DRIVE there then?” asked Myles.

“ This is a ‘sea taxi’ ….Is this your first visit to Italy?” asked Gio.

“ It is my first time abroad…I’m from Merthyr Tydfil, South Wales !” said Myles proudly.

At the conclusion of this statement Gio took a step back which is very difficult thing to do in a Gondola.

“ That explains it then!” said Gio.

“ 50 Euros UP FRONT please!” he said lowering the arthritic pair into the narrow boat.

“ Explains what?” asked Myles sensing the condescending nature of the statement.

“ Why you are dressed in a wrangler jacket and jeans carrying your change of underpants in a carrier bag!” replied Gio.

“ The traditional Merthyr Tydfil Wedding suit and office briefcase!” said Gio.

“ Bit choppy innit that water !” Gertrude protested.

On the surface of the grey/brown sea water filling the Venetian Lagoon , particularly around the jetty there was lots of flotsam and jetsam.

A filled ‘Pampero’ nappy floated past the gondola, as the trio made their way to the Medieval City.

“ Is it far to Venice?” asked Gertrude.

“ About ten miles by sea from the airporto!” said Gio dabbing his pole in the water and levering the little watercraft away from the shore.

As he did so he naturally started to sing ‘O Solo Mio’ only in Italian.

“ I don’t know about you Gerty, but as we are now ‘culture vultures’ …I cant put my finger on it but I have a sudden urge that I could do with a Walls Cornetto right now!” said Myles.

“ After all - we ARE on our second honeymoon!”

“ Coincidentally, I have two in my on-board mini-fridge….they don’t cost the ‘Earth’ either…only Ten Euros each!” offered Gio.

“ Ten Euros!” exclaimed Myles ….” You know where you can stick them don’t you!”

“ That’s the trouble with you Myles…in all my 50 years of marriage to you …you have always measured everything in terms of money…..!” said Gertie.

“ Money never has been my God!” said Gertie.

“ I’ll have one !” said Gertie reaching into her Merthyr purse designed with a little bell on it to detect pickpockets.

She handed Gio , a crisp Ten Euro Note who then reciprocated her smile.

“ What about him!” asked Gio.

“ After 50 years of marriage to HIM , old empty bollocks can pay for his own!” said Gertie.

Myles just scowled at his wife.

He knew that on the first bite from her loose dentures, the ice cream would go the same way the nappy did.

As if to spite him, the dentures stayed in place as she bit the chocolate and nuts off the top.

He glowered at her with every successive bite, counting 2 Euros off a time- she even licked out the wrapper so he couldn’t get even a sniff.

After thirty minutes of heavy punting, the gondola arrived at the quayside near the old Arsenale Building leading to Grand Canal.

“ What do you think of the view of this Grand Medieval city- once the centre of the European Renaissance ?” asked Myles.

“ Doesn’t it make you quiver with excitement to think that Marco Polo himself may have stood on this very spot?” said Myles.

“ Not really….said Gertie….I’d rather be down the Club with Elsie…Bingo tonight and all!”

Myles paid Gio and turned to him and said loudly.

“ Do you see what I have to put up with now?....never marry for lust Gio …marry for brains… they last longer than looks!” saged Myles imparting his wisdom.

“ Meester… I never marry …too much hastle…I am like my Venetian ancestor, Casanova my friend, I would rather screw the tourists who come here looking for love, romance and entertainment…I take their money , shag their women and eat and drink their hospitality…marriage is for eediots from abroad ….like your Mr Pilkington on Sky tv!” said the down to ‘Earth’- Gio.

“ What do I owe you?” asked Myles.

“ 70 Euros…!” said Gio.

“ It was 50 Euros when we started!” protested Myles.

“ But in the last 30 minutes there has been a run on the £…!” said the rip-off merchant of Venice.

“ I do take it you will need a ride back home at the end of the holiday!” said the Gondolier in a mildly threatening voice.

Myles realising he was in a foreign country, on an island sinking into a lagoon, with no visible alternative return vessel , suddenly realised discretion was the best part of valour and handed over the 70.00. Euros.

“ And zee tip?” asked Gio condescendingly.

“ Don’t eat yellow snow…I’ll give you a tip when you meet us back here at the Quay at 12 Noon in two days time!” said Myles.

By way of compensation, the Merthyr Man waited for the gondolier to turn his back and pinched two cornettos from his ice box.

As he waved Gio off with his remaining hand, he smiled at the greasy Italian, secure in the knowledge that he was not as stupid a ‘punter’ as he thought he was.

Myles felt a tug on the hand behind his back and turned to see a rabid mongrel dog known locally as Gobbi, foaming at the mouth , running away from him on the quayside with one of the ice-creams.

Gertie had made her way selfishly towards some shade.

Picking up the remaining half-chewed ice cream, he went down on one knee and offered it romantically to his wife of fifty years.

His knee clicked and he knew it might take a lifting crane to get him back up.

“ Well what do you think of the splendid Baroque architecture, the pastel colours and the exuberance of Venice- the Bride of the Sea- then?” asked Myles.

“ It’s alright… but it’s no Mecca is it?” said Gertie sounding like she was in fact related to Karl Pilkington.

“ Besides it stinks to High Heaven here…it doesn’t show that on the postcards!” said Gertie.

“ Why do I bother?” said Myles finally levering himself up.

“ This way!” he said pointing in the direction of the main town.

“ I hope you have booked me somewhere nice and not just a ‘Travellodge’ like last time in Weston Super Mare!” said Gertie.

“ The Doges Palace!” replied Myles.

“ I am not staying in any dog’s place!” protested the old dear mishearing her husband.

“ NOT the DOG’s PLACE….this is the DOGES PALACE…..it is a Five Star Hotel….the Doge was the Ancient ruler of Venice!” said Myles trying his best to educate pork.

A feat he had not accomplished in 50 years of Holy matrimony.

“ As long as I have somewhere to rest my varicose veins and put me teeth in a glass I’ll be fine….!” said Gertie

“ and somewhere to rest my Dukes…..!” mouthed Myles knowing in anticipation what his wife would say before she said it.

After 50 years of marriage, his life had become so predictable, so mundane and deliberate he secretly hoped death would take him soon.

Or better still Gertie.

That was part of the reason he had taken his spouse to Venice.

He knew from reading history, that it had lost almost a third of its population to the Black Death or bubonic plague in Medieval times and hoped his wife might contract it.

“ You’ll like this next bridge ….it is one of Venice’s most famous attractions…Ponte del Sospiri!” said Myles pointing up.

“ It was recently refurbished with a UNESCO World Heritage Site Grant…..it is called the Bridge of Sighs !”

“ What about it ?” moaned Gertie disinterested.

“ I don’t understand ….you normally like misery….especially mine …!” said Myles

“ Do you know why it is named that?” he questioned.

“ No….and I don’t really care…I could have won the National tonight!” said Gertie.

“ The prisoners from the local jail that were sentenced to death were paraded over this very bridge.!” continued Myles relentlessly.

“ You see my dear….in Venice…you are never far away from death…the Grim Reaper casts a shadow much greater than that of St Mark…!” said Myles chillingly, in a way as if in some Freudian way , he had finally made up his mind once and for all.

“ What are you mumbling on about …you know I am deaf …especially here in Venice…your bloody snoring did that….!” moaned Gertie.

For the rest of the journey to the Hotel, the pair moved in silence , through the narrow streets and alleyways in a similar fashion to those Venetian prisoners condemned to die had moved all those years ago.

When they reached the Doges Palace Hotel, exhausted from heatstroke and sweating like bingo players waiting on the final winning number, they collapsed inside.

“ Can I take your suitcase Madam?” asked the concierge.

Gertrude handed him her Aldi carrier bag containing one pair of C & A knickers and a spare pair of socks.

Merthyr people pack lightly- as they are too mean to pay excess baggage fares at Cardiff Wales Airport.

“ Is Madam staying long?” asked the fawning Italian hoping to get a tip for service.

“ He tells me he’s paid for Four days!” she said pointing uncaringly at her Spouse.

As if telepathically, the concierge looked at the underwear and back at Gertie.

“ Wear them once forward, once backwards, then inside and out and they are marked C & A so I know which direction to wear them!” she said to her Venetian ‘flunkey’.

The look of horror was enough to know that not only would he not get a tip, but that imagery would stay with him for life.

The other cultural ambassador for Merthyr walked up the reception desk with his little ‘pinky’ finger crooked upward in a vain attempt to appear posh.

“ Bueno Vista Mon Amigo…I have reserved the Honeymoon suite for my wife and I for four nights under the surname Soginist…!” said Myles.

The Italian didn’t even raise her head in courtesy from her mobile phone.

Myles coughed politely.

Gertie looked around her at the foyer and the extensive decoration of Venetian Gothic design with over elaborate golden gilded pillars and cameo reliefs in white alabaster and Murano stained glass.

“ Myles …..are we sure we can afford this?…it is like going into one of those Cardiff Solicitors offices…I don’t want to pay for all this!” said Gertie.

“ Don’t worry my dear…you have to live every day at our age as if it is our last….you might die tomorrow…you never can tell !” he said and then muttering under his breath….” I live in hope!”

Finally, the Italian Belladonna looked up at him with beautiful brown eyes….eyes that he could happily drown in for ever…..she looked like a younger version of Sophia Loren only even more attractive.

Louisa the receptionist, looked at the odd couple before her and immediately felt pity for them.

He had more hair coming out of his nose and ears than he had on his head with a bulbous nose that W C Fields would have been proud of.

Whilst she was more wrinkled than a walnut belonging to the character, Madge in the TV series Benidorm.

Her drooping lop-side faced made her look like a Basset Hound chewing a wasp.

Louisa looked through the booking list and asked for the passports to verify identity.

As she opened up the passports and photocopied them , she noticed that the British Government Uncivil Servants in the Passport Offices still had a sense of humour.

Whilst specific instructions were given not to smile, the Passport office had added holograms to the photographs which made Myles look as if he had a nose ring and a huge elephant ears , whilst Gertie had snipers crosshairs on her fore head which made her look like John F Kennedy in Dallas, Texas in 1963.

Sniggering to herself , she handed them back to Myles, who took this as a sign ‘he had pulled’.

“ Grazi Senor!” he said to Louisa.

Louisa signalled for Mario to collect their belongings totalling one Aldi carrier bag and one more expensive Asda bag.

When Mario asked about the same, Myles quipped that unfortunately he had now ‘two bags for life’.

A joke that was totally lost in translation.

But the simulation of wanting to strangle his wife was not.

Louisa felt particularly uncomfortable at the crazy look in his eye and the aggression in his face.

The lift ride was also uncomfortable as due to Gertie’s deafness , what she thought were silent chapel farts in the small claustrophobic elevator, could be heard by most people on most of the Hotel Floors and at one point did scatter the pigeons in St Mark’s Square- a mile away.

As they reached the 13^th Floor, Mario opened the lift doors and guided the ancient pair towards their even more ancient room.

He bowed gracefully but in all honesty mainly to get more oxygen in his lungs, he held out his hand for a gratuity.

Myles took it and shook it and placed a Werther’s original butterscotch sweet in his palm.

“ No need to thank me son!” he said slamming the door in the servants face before he could react.

Gertrude looked around at the four poster bed and ornately decorated room that would have not been out of place in a Sky Atlantic set of the Borgias.

“ Do you like it?” asked Myles still hopeful there was just the faintest glimmer of the girl he had married there under the surface.

The flame of love was quickly extinguished.

“ I can’t stay here!” protested Gertie.

“ But it’s beautiful…..it’s the Honeymoon suite ….to celebrate our 50^th Wedding Anniversary!” proffered Myles.

“ Golden walls for my Golden Girl on her Golden Anniversary in a city known as the Bride of the Sea!” he said romantically.

“ Don’t like it….you know I have condition called Khyzdophobia!” she snapped.

“ But those aren’t dwarves up there on the walls Luv…they are Cherubs…winged naked little boys known as ‘Putti’ to us Art lovers and culture vultures!” he said voice tailing off knowing that he could never reason with a closed mind.

The last 50 years or the ‘Golden Age of Matrimony ’ as he liked to call it had proved that very fact.

“ I can be putti in your hands tonight!” he said hopefully.

She just glared at him with her single eye.

“ Okay…I have Nanosphobia …I don’t care …..it is like being backstage at a 1970’s BBC Top of the Pops set….I can’t sleep with all those naked boys staring at me all night!” said Gertie.

“ You’d never make a good DJ then!” quipped Myles.

“ Those paintings are the work of the famous Renaissance artist Tintoretto….Philistine!” said Myles.

“ Never heard of Philistine!” said Gertie ….” Although that is a Goliath of a painting…who is that little shepherd boy using his catapult on that Orc …..is that the Lord of the Slings?”

Myles just shook his head at the woman that thought Stephen Fry was in the TV show IQ and that Meerkats from Russia could actually talk.

He wondered what he had ever seen in this human equivalent of a Booby bird.

That’s right…. it was her pert breasts fifty years ago.

Now they were so elasticated she had to tuck her nipples in the top of her stockings.

He knew he would get no peace tonight, if he didn’t ring reception.

He held his hand over the receiver and pretended to speak to Sophia.

“ I am very sorry to bother you !” he said in his best telephone voice even if it was to tell a complete lie.

“ But my loving wife is not satisfied with the best room in your hotel or even in fact it is the best in Venice but we need to switch to a much more inferior room ….if possible one without a sea view or overlooking the beautiful Campanile of St Mark ….yes I know she’s awkward try living with her for 50 Golden years…but Madame here doesn’t like it because she has a phobia of the little people ….it affects the older generation that’s why it is called NANosphobia…..yes try googling it ….it really is a true condition it just affects old awkward battle-axes who complain about everything….yes I appreciate there are gender differences….men are from Mars and women from Venice….but hey the customer is always right…..any chance you could move us to the lowest cockroach and rat ridden basement below canal level if possible next to a sewerage outfall ….just to give my spouse something genuine to moan about?.....sorry….what was that?” asked Myles in a Fawlty-esque conversation.

“Fully booked love!” he exclaimed.

“ Something to do with the Carnivale and of course - a Sky Film crew filming a documentary here!” said Myles.

“ Well , you will have to draw the curtains around the bed then so I can’t see them!.....I am exhausted I haven’t had my afternoon nap….I’m fit to drop!” she moaned collapsing on the four poster.

Myles seeing his opportunity tried his luck.

After closing the velvet drapes he asked his beau.

“Shattered are you?.....”

Gertie opened her one eye like a Cyclops.

“ Do you have a headache too then?” he enquired further.

“ No….!” said Gertie.

“ Well that’s the first time in a decade then….time for a bit of rumpy !” said Myles.

Gertie was trapped.

She like Boy George preferred a good cup of tea to sex.

Unlike Boy George she didn’t like the same kind of teabags.

It was her Second Honeymoon….how could she refuse?.

Myles was off like a shot popping a blue Cialis pill as he rummaged through more sets of drawers than a Gurnos burglar.

After removal five layers of lady undergarments, he knew he was close …either that or the Rialto Pescheria fish market was working late.

She may be hard of hearing he thought but not herring.

He looked down a sight he had not seen for ten whole years.

Surely it hadn’t closed up from lack of use?

Was that a vaginal cataract or just a cobweb?

Myles didn’t care.

The dog had seen the rabbit and was off on a chase.

To him an old one closing was just as good as a young one opening.

30 seconds later the old dog was a spent force.

He looked up to the painted Heavens on his Honeymoon Suite ceiling.

He felt like King David , Peter Andre and Gareth Gates must have after they had scaled the peaks of Jordan.

“ Have you finished yet?” asked Gertie looking down over her ‘Chat’ Magazine.

Due to the chemical enhancement Myles tool didn’t stay down long.

It was like it was spring loaded.

Like the Grand Old Duke of York before him, the new Doge of Venice grabbed his wife and began to use ‘Doge- y style’ on the poor woman.

If it got any hotter Myles knew he would have to dip it into the other ‘Grand Canal’.

Very soon the old man became de-hydrated as there wasn’t much liquid left in his body- but the same could not be said for Gertie who was like the ‘Orinoco Flow’.

He had not seen such foaming at the mouth since that rabid cornetto- thieving dog two hours ago.

Despite this marathon love session Myles was still intent on killing his spouse.

Unfortunately, this was no longer the preferred method of choice.

He collapsed on his side of the bed and tried to beat down his knob with his a piece of Venetian Carnivale costume.

It added a new meaning to the ‘Masked Ball’.

Gertie laughed in her sleep at his performance almost like a comedy of errors at the nearby ‘La Fenice’ Opera House.

She slept for four hours after his exertions.

Gertie’s mood suddenly darkened and then her face became twisted and distorted as her dream suddenly became a nightmare.

Inside, her mind played out a scene, where she was trapped on a Venice Bridge, surrounded by little people with jagged knives all out to kill her like the psychotic dwarf dressed in a yellow raincoat in the Julie Christie/Donald Sutherland film ‘Don’t look now’.

It was almost as if her body sensed that her husband now stood next to her with a pillow ready to suffocate his miserable wife.

Myles was weighing up in his mind whether or it was worth it or not.

On the one hand he would nag free, but on the other he would be sent to prison for the remainder of his natural life.

But the question he pondered was whether or not four square meals a day, no utility bills and peace and solitude would be that bad – after all at 78 years of age he was not like to be anyone’s prison bitch.

Gertie made up his mind for him, as she opened up one eye (full of eye-snot deposited by the Venetian sandman from the lagoon ) and asked suspiciously what exactly her husband was doing with that pillow in his hand , as he hadn’t made a bed ever in his 50 years of marriage.

He replied that he was protecting her from mosquitos in the absence of a net.

Gertie slept with one eye open for the rest of the night.

As did Myles, although it was on his Cialis enhanced knob which eventually tickled him under the chin to wake up to a glorious Venetian Morning.

They both dressed for breakfast and went down to the Breakfast Room in an uneasy silence.

The room was quite full with most of the seats and tables taken.

There was a full Sky TV film crew and several well- known actors buzzing back and fore for the continental breakfast.

Myles recognised the one off the television as being Ricky Gervais.

“ Don’t look know’ but there is that bloke David Brent from the Office!” said Myles quite proud of the fact he was in the presence of celebrity.

“ What Orifice?” asked Gertie loudly holding her ear-trumpet aloft.

“ Didn’t you have enough last night….you dirty bugger!” she continued.

“ Not the orifice…Extras etc…..!” he said innocently.

“ No Extras for you Myles …you had more than enough to last you another decade last night!” said Gertie.

Myles gave up.

He was intrigued to see a ginger tall man with glasses that looked like the bottom of milk bottles arguing with a bald Mancunian and what looked like a baby in a High Chair.

He couldn’t remember any of their names but they were all friends of Ricky Gervais.

“ Are these seats taken?” asked a young American Tourist.

“ No… help yourself….I’d only have to talk to her otherwise !” replied Myles.

“ Hi… the names Hank Marvin Haggler and this is my new wife Gloria….were from New Joisey…and we’re on Honeymoon!” said the young Yank.

“ Hello!” said Gertie looking up at the stranger, who was completely the opposite of her own husband being tall, dark and handsome.

Gloria sat down opposite her husband and looked longingly at him.

Myles looked at the beautiful young woman and then back at his wife of 50 years and wondered how a butterfly could turn into a caterpillar and then a deaf’s head moth.

“ Pass the sugar….sugar?” asked Gloria.

“ Okay …..pass the honey…honey !” asked Hank in reply.

“ Do you know …..interrupted Gertie….I have been married to him for 50 years and he has not ever once said anything like that to me!” moaned Gertie….getting in her first of many moans of the day.

Myles looked at his wife and said without a hint of emotion on his face.

“ Pass the milk you old cow!”

The silence was deafening apart from Gertie’s hearing aid of course.

More whine than the whole of the Italian vineyards.

“ This Venice water….it’s not like the clear blue stuff you get in the Venetian in Las Vegas !” said Hank sounding disappointed and trying to change the subject.

“ Well that is because everything in America is fake….fake water…fake cosmetic surgery and fake orgasms!” said Myles bitterly.

Another awkward silence prevailed followed with the American couple moving to another table as soon as one was free .

Gloria whispered to her husband ….” I hope that doesn’t happen to us!” .

“ It won’t !” said Hank…..” Say isn’t that the bloke who upset all the Hollywood A Listers at the Golden Globes?” said Hank pointing at Ricky Gervais.

On the adjoining table, the Sky TV Film crew was in uproar, as Ricky kept pinching food from the plastic tray in front of Warwick Davies and bouncing croissants of the bald-head of Karl Pilkington.

His sidekick, fellow bully Stephen Merchant sniggered at the scene and at their misfortune in a Twonks Tea Party.

Multi- millionaire Ricky had all the power and money and what he said went.

Like a real producer, telling his henchmen when to laugh and how to laugh.

Poor Warwick and Karl had to kow-tow to his bidding like ‘Idiots Abroad’ on a whim.

It was not like Ricky had done them any favours…other than make them World Famous Millionaires.

You could say if you weren’t an atheist like Ricky - that they had sold their soul to the Devil.

Gloria turned to Myles and said….” And that is the reason we never had children” she said pointing at little Warwick.

“ That’s a bit harsh isn’t it…even by your standards!” said Myles.

She then pointing at Karl, Stephen & finally Ricky.

Who just laughed like a hyena and made Derek-like expressions at the old pair.

Gloria finally plucked up enough courage to ask the celebrities for their autographs.

Ricky happily obliged asking politely who the autograph was to be made out to.

“ My husband Hank Marvin…please !” she said .

Hank waved from the other table.

“ I’m Hank Marvin too!” said Ricky picking up a sausage and eating it greedily.

“ He is a ‘shadow’ of his former self !” said Merchant following Ricky’s lead.

Both attempts at humour were lost on the young American woman, who was too young to remember the 1960’s band or that Cockney rhyming slang existed.

“ Do you want any of the others?” asked Ricky passing the pen to Warwick Davies.

“ Ewok from Star Wars…Willow Huffgood…and of course DER LEPRECHAUN !” said Ricky in a scary voice.

Warwick duly obliged in ‘shorthand’.

“ Him?” asked Ricky pointing at the bald Mancunian Twonk .

“ I’m sorry I don’t know who he is!” said Gloria.

Ricky thought this was hilarious.

The American woman didn’t have a clue who Karl Pilkington was.

“ I am sorry I should have introduced you….pointing at Karl….An Idiot…and then at the newly married New Jersey woman….A Broad…!”

Laughing at his own joke Ricky nearly fell off his chair.

Warwick Davies punched the plastic food tray with his fist in hysteria like a spoilt baby.

“ And him?” asked Karl in turn pointing at Stephen Merchant.

“ It’s okay I already have ‘Beaker from the Muppets’ autograph from Disneyland!” said Gloria.

It was Karl’s turn to join in this time as Merchant’s face went redder than a baboons arse.

Myles and Gertie had decided they had heard enough and needed to get some air away from the puerile banter.

Even their own company was preferable to this lot.

Grabbing his walking stick and her tripod wheeler walker, the pair stepped out into the magnificent Italian Sunshine to explore the Ancient City once the centre of all World Trade.

As she passed a stall Gloria picked up a postcard showing the Grand Canal and the shining white Rialto Bridge.

“ I must buy this one- if only to make Elsie at number 42 jealous that I have been abroad, do you know she hasn’t stepped one foot off British soil ever- the closest she came was as a Land Girl picking tomatoes in Guernsey….she’ll love this!” said Gloria.

“ Don’t forget to tell her that Venice is a lovely place but that all the streets are flooded!” said Myles sarcastically.

“ Good idea!” said Gertie ignorant of his jibe.

“ Do you want to go to go to see St Theodore and his crocodile in St Marks Square or the Rialto bridge that featured in Shakespeares’ a Merchant of Venice?” asked Myles hopefully.

“ What about a visit to the Pound shops or Charity shops followed by a McDonalds or KFC?” suggested Gertie.

“ Gertie- this is Venice not Merthyr- thankfully they don’t have a High Street dominated by multi-nationals unless you count Guchi & Prada…!” replied Myles.

“ But they have an Ann Summers shop…..look at all those masks in the window!” said Gertie.

“ And that one has a massive nose…is that for their Italian Prime Minster…Silvio Pinocchio …I think he is…the one who held all those Zumba Zumba parties!” said the Sun reader.

“ That mask my dear is to denote people of influence in Venetian Society ….the Doctors mask always had a bigger nose than anyone else…the mask was used as a primitive defence against the bubonic plague as people were more ignorant…like you…as they believed the disease to be carried by airborne germs rather than by fleas on the back of rats….!” said Myles trying but failing to ‘Educate’ Rita.

“ So if the disease was carried by rats….why didn’t Merthyr people get it?” asked Gertie.

“ One really big reason…Merthyr didn’t exist in the 14^th Century!” said Myles.

“ It was a hamlet back then!”

“ See Merthyr people have smoked for years ….cigars that long ago!” said Gertie once again displaying she had gone to a failing school.

Myles just shook his head in desperation.

He may as well talk to her about the plot of a tv soap.

“This is this World famous St Mark’s Square!” announced Myles triumphantly.

“ Good, I’m knackered !” said Gertie without even a glance at the beautiful architecture.

As she sat down at a chair outside the a café bar called ‘La Dolce Vita’ Gertie was pleasantly surprised as two handsome Italian waiters fought over her attention.

“ 10 Euros Pleeze…!” said the first one Don Giovanni.

“ But I haven’t ordered anything yet!” protested the Pensioner.

“ It is a charge levied to sit down at a seat in this square and its view of the Basilica!” said the oily skinned lothario.

“ What about the table?” asked Myles.

“ Nothing- but who in their right mind sits on a table?” replied the second Italian Hale Caesar.

“ Me…!” said Myles putting his foot up on his wife’s tripod and sitting cross-legged like the Dalai Lama on the glass table and obscuring the view of the Basilica with the back of his hand.

The waiters upon receipt of the Ten Euro note from a disgruntled Gertie, left the eccentric Mad Dog Eenglishman out in the Mid-Day Sun.

“ You always have to show me up don’t you….you think you are so clever….so superior to these Spanish …..!” replied Gertie.

Myles didn’t both to correct her ….he hated Latin in school but hated being ripped off as a tourist even more.

“ Where too next then my little bundle of Joy?” asked Myles sarcastically.

“ Il Ghetto…the Jewish Quarter….La Fenice or the Rialto ?” he asked hoping the haul around the narrow claustrophobic streets in this heat would see her off.

“ What about that Bridge that Alec Guinness built ?” said Gertie.

“ Your ignorance astounds me sometimes !” said Myles.

“ You have less Culture than Tory MP Maria Miller!” he said snidely.

“ Max Miller…..I used to love him…Wheeltappers and Shunters on a Saturday Night…and then bingo!” said Gertie nostalgically and very deafly.

“ Does everything in your sad World revolve around Bingo?” asked Myles.

“ That’s roulette!” replied Gertie.

Myles looked at her …her deafness had got worse and was now almost equal to her stupidity.

She was now only hearing certain words that she chose to hear…selective deafness …a condition known to affect men but not normally women.

“ C’mon I’ll show you the way to the local BINGO hall…!” he said .

“ Great!” said Gertie moving a little quicker on her tripod walker following the mention of her favourite word.

After another 15 minute walk they arrived outside the magnificent La Fenice Opera House.

“ That’s not a bingo hall!” protested the gasping old dear.

“That’s where the posh people go to hear fat people singing at stupid prices!” said Gertie.

“ The Three Tenors!” sighed Myles looking up at the hub of Venetian Society for over 400 hundred years.

“ More than that to get in there…..is that fat black woman singing there tonight?” asked Gertie.

“ Who?” asked Myles wondering what gem his ignoramus of a wife was on about this time.

“ Oprah….Oprah Winfrey?” she spouted.

Myles closed his eyes in temper.

If it had not been for the presence of a French Tourist filming a video he would have happily strangled her on the spot.

“ Time now for the piece de la resistance - !” said Myles.

“ Oh yes….I am busting too….it’s like Merthyr Town centre since they closed the Bus Station toilets…I have to find a bog soon or I will have to pee in that canal there!” said Gertie letting out a loud sulphurous fart.

“ You will have to excuse my wife…she is a little deaf!” said Myles apologising to Jean Michel Jarre .

“ Apologies….you may need more Oxygene soon!” said Myles.

“ Zut Alors!” came the reply as the cameraman wiped some shit off his lens.

The pair shuffled on like the ‘waking dead’ to the white Structure known as the Rialto Bridge.

“ This my dear is the most famous sight in Venice- this bridge dates back to Medieval times when Venice was the capital of Europe if not the World….the hub and trading centre for famous merchants like Marco Polo!” briefed tour guide Myles.

“ I like his mints but I think Trebor ones are better…you don’t get the hole in the middle!” said Myles taking the piss out of his wife before she had the time to react.

“ I know Marco Polo didn’t make mints….I’m not completely stupid!” said Gertie.

“ Who was he then?” asked Myles.

“ I don’t have to tell you!” replied Gertie defensively.

“ Come on I promise NOT to laugh….who was he then?”

“ That guy from Gladiators….they one they banned because of his drug taking….or that bloke from Made in Chelsea!” said Gertie trying to hedge her bets .

Myles broke his promise and pissed himself.

“ Marco Polo was an explorer and Venetian trader who is reputed to have started the ‘silk road’ to China!” said Myles.

“ Why would he have a Milk Round in China?” asked Gertie once again mishearing the important part.

“ Never mind!” said Myles treading the boards at the entrance to the famous Italian Bridge.

“ I’m sorry Sir but the bridge is closed today for the filming of a television series!” said a heavy duty bouncer .

“ He looks like Marco Polo from Gladiators!” whispered Gertie.

“ You can’t just close a bridge off to the public on a whim ….on whose Holy Orders…. A Papal Bull from the Pope in Rome?” asked Myles.

“ Higher than him….Ricky Gervais!” said the Scottish Bouncer Big Lonsdale Braun.

“ But there are other people on that bridge too!” protested Myles.

“ They are the crew!” said the impassive guard.

“ Oh those must be the ones Ricky asked me to get the ice cream for at breakfast this morning at our Hotel!” said Myles using brains to defeat Braun.

“ What hotel are you staying at ?” asked Big Lonny suspiciously.

“ Doge’s Palace….we were the couple arguing at breakfast!” said Myles.

“ Okay….if you’re getting the ice cream in ….mine’s a cornetto…have you seen the price on them here?” said the muscles from Musselburgh.

Myles limped away to the ice cream vendor and was disgusted to find they were 15 Euros each.

He had to buy ten.

It was a real job to carry them all.

Hidden behind a rubbish bin, lurked Lurkio the rabid dog.

He had already stolen one ice cream off Myles the day before and saw him as easy meat for a second one.

As the pair of pensioner were waived passed by Lonsdale, busily chewing on his cornetto bribe, both Myles and Gertie made their way onto the most famous bridge in all of Christendom.

Gertie motoring up the incline on her little tripod that afforded her mobility.

Myles still capable of walking unaided listened intently as the TV scene played out.

“ An Idiot Abroad Scene 5 Take 3….Gobbo the Hunchback on the Rialto Bridge” shouted Derek-tor Ricky Gervais to the entire cast and crew.

“ Action!”

Warwick Davies, all 3 foot 6 inches of him came out of the scenery dressed as Gobbo Di Rialto, the Hunchback of Venice in a bright red raincoat.

“ Don’t Look Now” said Myles.

He knew full well that his wife of 50 years always did the opposite of what he asked her to do.

Gertie opened her eyes wide as what was a remake of her nightmare unfolded.

Karl Pilkington appeared on the scene , naked bar a golden oak leaf to hide his ‘acorns’, as Ricky had put it , chased after the little blighter towards Gertie with a serrated knife shouting “Come back Gobbo you’ve pinched my nuts….come back with my Pound of Flesh!” in the worst Venetian accent ever.

The pair were heading straight in the direction of the frightened woman, who leapt onto the top of her Tripod three-wheeler for safety, away from the onrushing dwarf.

At the same time as Gertie was distracted, Gobbi the rabid dog seizing his chance ran at full pelt towards the shopping tripod and the now unguarded cornettos.

His bulk and frame combined with the wheel movement on the sloping bridge sent the old woman tumbling over the side off the Rialto Bridge into the turbulent waters of the Grand Canal below.

Myles couldn’t have planned her death any better if he had set it up.

As Gertie flew through the air….horrified bystanders saw her false teeth fly out and land with a splosh in the grey lagoon liquid.

The film crew were in uproar as they thought it was part of a stunt act hired by Ricky himself.

Stunned Ricky stopped the scene and shouted at Warwick.

“ It’s your fault get after her…!”

He picked the mini-actor up by the scruff of the neck and slung him off the bridge.

“ You too Golden Globes!” ordered Ricky to Karl.

“ I ain’t going in there Pal….I’m seen the Manchester ship canal and that is bad but this is a SHIT Canal...!” he protested.

Arriving on the scene came the local Jewish Venetian Policeman, Massal Toff to investigate the accident.

“ Did he try to kill her?” said Massal pointing at Myles to the gathered crowd.

“ He was reported as being unstable by the receptionist at the Doges Palace yesterday?”

“ No…it was an accident…!” said Karl defending the old man.

“ A Hunchback dwarf and a rabid dog knocked the old lady of the bridge!” said Stephen.

“ And you are …..?” asked Massal.

“ Stephen Merchant!” replied the googly-eyed ginger.

“ Of Venice!” quipped Ricky.

“ What are you some kind of comedian?” asked Massal aggressively.

“ Well I am actually!” said Ricky.

“ Idiot!” replied the detective.

“ No that’s him!” said Merchant pointing at Karl.

“ And if you are a Venetian detective….you must be….SHYLOCK HOLMES?” asked the all -powerful Ricky.

“ Any more outbursts from you and I’ll arrest you for obstructing the course of justice!” warned Massal.

“ Look Tom Cruise & Brad Pitt couldn’t shut him at the Golden Globes in Hollywood …what chance have you got!” said Karl.

“Am i reading this statement correctly….Gobbi the rabid dog…gobbled Gobbo the Rialto Hunchback…that sounds like Goobeldegook to me!” said the Policeman.

“ Are you taking the piss….hunchback dwarf….rabid dog…? …that sounds like a bad plot in ‘Extras’ on Sky TV!” replied Massal.

“ So you do know me then !” said Ricky smiling inanely.

“ No !” said Karl realising he had finally for once the opportunity to get one over on his Boss.

“ Ricky here threw Warwick off the bridge in temper!” said Karl.

Ricky looked at Karl with daggers coming from his eyes.

“ You do realise that ‘Dwarf Tossing’ is still illegal in Venice?” questioned Massel.

“ That’s why Warwick didn’t bring his wife on location with him!” responded Ricky trying to laugh it off.

“ Is it a strict liability offence?” asked Karl.

“ Meaning that WHOEVER you are …no matter or not if you are a celebrity you cannot be seen to be above the law in Venetian society?” asked Karl stirring the shit (with a huge pole into the Grand Canal).

“ And who says travel doesn’t broaden the mind!” said Ricky looking at the monster he had created.

“ Yes….!” Replied Massal…“ but sign this autograph for my kid and I’ll let you off!”

A call came through on Massal’s mobile.

He listened intently and then ended the call .

“ Good news Mr Soginist…they have found your wife clinging to a red and white barbers pole 300 yards down in the Lagoon….they have taken her to the Santa Maria Dei Miracola Church to give thanks…the same thing happened in the 15^th Century where a man survived after half an hour underwater….the bad news is they haven’t found her false teeth or that Dwarf yet…!” he glanced at Ricky disapprovingly.

Myles put on a happy face as he put his Wife’s Life Insurance Policy back in his pocket grudgingly.

Ten minutes later Massal got a second call.

“ Luckily for you… Mr Gervais your little friend was literally fished out of the Lagoon by a local fisherman who couldn’t decide at first, if he had caught a baby humpback whale or a demon in his net …..it was only when Warwick quoted Shakespeare to them did they believe his story he really was an actor in a Mini Theatre Company!”

“ Ah well ….said Ricky looking pensive from the centre of the Rialto bridge…The Quality of Mercy is not strained eh Massal….” All’s well that ends Well!”.

“ Get that dwarf dried out and let’s get on with the next scene….it’s costing me money!”

"The novel is set in the south west of Wales, in northern Pembrokeshire, where I live now. Even today, it’s isolated, west of the mountains, with poor road and rail links. In the nineteenth century it was one of the few areas where the population remained static or fell, while everywhere else it was exploding."

BOOKS BY THORNE MOORE

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AmeriCymru: Hi Thorne and many thanks for agreeing to be interviewed by AmeriCymru. Care to introduce your new book ''Time For Silence'' for our readers?

Thorne: A Time For Silence tells of a girl, Sarah, a one-time singer, from the home counties, near London. She’s going through numerous crises, including an impending marriage to an up and coming company lawyer and a career in advertising that she got into by mistake, and she’s feeling trapped. Returning from a visit to her mother in Ireland, she’s passing through Wales when she chances upon the ruined cottage, Cwmderwen, where her grandparents had lived, and it prompts her to enquire a little more about that side of her family.

When she discovers that her grandfather, John Owen, did not simply die there, but was murdered – a small matter that no one has ever thought to mention, she starts to escape into an obsession with the place, buying the cottage, and embarking on a determined investigation of a crime that happened in 1948. She’s hampered by the fact that the few people still alive who remember it are unwilling or unable to talk about it. Worse, she is a successful English career-girl, living in the twenty-first century, divorced from her grandparents’ world by time, economics, education, language, religion and attitudes. As a result, she misinterprets most of what she is told. But finally, she does come to realise what happened back in 1948.

The reader is there before her, because interwoven with Sarah’s tale is the story of her grandmother, Gwen Owen, from the day of her marriage to John Owen in 1933, through the war years, with a POW camp down the valley, to the aftermath of his death in 1948, and to the reader it is very quickly clear that life in the little cottage of Cwmderwen bore no resemblance whatsoever to the rural idyll, with roses round the door and songs around the piano that Sarah has imagined. It’s a life of grinding poverty and increasing oppression that is doomed from the start.

Once Sarah learns the truth, she realises the pain and trauma that went into ensuring that one good thing emerged from the tragedy, and it’s up to her, now, to make it worth while.

Frenni Fawr, Pembrokeshire From geograph.org.uk Author Dylan Moore Creative Commons Licence

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AmeriCymru: Can you describe the area of Wales in which the novel is set for the benefit of our American readers?

Thorne: The novel is set in the south west of Wales, in northern Pembrokeshire, where I live now. Even today, it’s isolated, west of the mountains, with poor road and rail links. In the nineteenth century it was one of the few areas where the population remained static or fell, while everywhere else it was exploding. While the south of the county, known as

Little England, is rolling open farm-land, and almost exclusively English speaking, the northern area of Cemaes, bordering on Ceredigion, is a little lost kingdom all of its own, very wooded, very wild, with tiny bronze-age fields and hills littered with prehistoric monuments and hut circles. It’s the area from which the blue stones of Stonehenge were dragged. In fact, across the road from me is a hilltop circle that has been suggested as the original site of the bluestone circle. The area is still very Welsh: my niece was educated in Welsh before disappearing to the far end of England for university.

There are a lot of images of the area on my website at http://www.thornemoore.co.uk/gallery.html

AmeriCymru: Much of the story is set in in pre-war rural Wales. How did you research the period? What are the most significant ways that rural Welsh lifestyles have changed since those days?

Thorne: I moved to this area 30 years ago, from industrial Luton, and it’s changed a lot in those thirty years of course, but I was startled, when I first arrived, by how different it was to the world I knew. I ran a tea shop in a village where some elderly and talkative customers had memories stretching back to the start of the century, and they used to tell me stories about life in earlier years, as servants in big mansions, or working in the local quarries (long greened over now).

When I moved to my present home, a few miles from the village, I was told of an old cottage nearby where… something had happened (read the book) and everyone knew about it but no one, including the police, had said anything.

I was intrigued, because I could not imagine a situation back in the area where I’d grown up, where it would be possible for secrets to be maintained in this way; someone would have said something. So on a visit to the National Library in Aberystwyth, I took a look at some old copies of the local newspaper, in the vague (and utterly forlorn) hope of finding a mention of the story.

What I did find was a wealth of information about the area in the 1930s and 40s, which painted a very vivid picture of it, including health reports detailing just how poor and malnourished life could be out on the tiny farms. I was particularly struck by a story of a village eisteddfod, just after the war, being won by a German prisoner of war from the local camp. I met several former POWs, who decided to stay on after the war and marry local girls. They were fluent in Italian or German and Welsh, but not so strong on English.

The story that had most effect on me however was a report from a magistrate’s court, in which a young girl was charged with a ‘wicked’ crime that wouldn’t be considered a crime today. The way it was dealt with made a huge impression on me, and I determined to write about it. It has changed, in my book, but the essentials are there. If I am not being explicit, it’s because I don’t want to give the plot away.

Welsh was another matter I had to research, while tearing out my hair. I speak some theoretical Welsh, but in real life every valley seems to have its own dialect, and the Pembrokeshire dialect (probably died out by now) was odder than most. I needed a perfect translation of a couple of phrases, so I sought help from my neighbours, a very local couple and their daughter who chairs the Welsh Language Society: surely they would provide me with the definitive answer. For one three-word sentence they came up with four possible options. I took a deep breath and chose one. I am still waiting for an angry email telling me I got it WRONG!!!

North Pembrokeshire has changed a lot since the time described in the story. It’s changed a lot since I first moved here. Despite Welsh-speaking schools, it’s probably a lot less Welsh-speaking, thanks to an influx of English, retiring here or buying holiday cottages. What industry there was, like quarrying, and even the Ministry of Defense, has more or less vanished, and even farming is on the back foot, but the industry that now overwhelmingly dominates is tourism (please come). We have the most spectacular coast in the country. The world. The universe.

AmeriCymru: Where can people buy the book online?

Thorne: It’s available in print and as an e-book through Amazon, Waterstones, Barnes and Noble and probably many other places.

AmeriCymru: What''s next for Thorne Moore? Are you working on anything at the moment?

Thorne: My second book, Motherlove, which is also set partly in Pembrokeshire, is due to be published some time in the next 12 months (I haven’t been given a date yet) and I am working on polishing a third book, set very much in Pembrokeshire, which is called Shadows at the moment, although the title may change.

AmeriCymru: Any final message for the readers and members of AmeriCymru?

Thorne: Come to Pembrokeshire. Just remember to bring hiking boots and waterproofs.

"The aircraft was being delivered from the United States to the UK, it's crew had flown across the Atlantic via the Southern route, a route frequently used in the winter months. They had arrived at RAF Valley and were to fly the final leg of the flight to Watton in Norfolk. Poor weather delayed their departure for 24 hours, and during the afternoon of the 7th January they crew took off from RAF Valley, along with a second aircraft, a Boeing B-17G which was being flown by a ferry pilot on the same route, which was Valley - Rhyl - Chester - Kettering - Watton." Read More Here