Mrs Katie Lewis was known to all as Klepto Kate. This was because of her uncontrollable need to steal small objects and hide them away. She was a good old soul though and no one took offence when the odd cup or ornament went missing because it was understood that there was nothing vindictive in her habit and all things borrowed, as it was called, were easily retrievable and were often returned by Katie a day or two later.She was married to Denzil Lewis a small miner and part time accordion player who could empty a room when the blues were upon him. They were a contented pair and were married for some forty years. This was partly due to love and partly due to the fact that Katie was almost stone deaf and Denzil took a delight in objet dart to relieve the boredom of his constant toil.Later in their lives Katie was taken ill and fell into a deep depression in which her usual cheery smile became a thing of rarity. Such was the concern for her health that she was placed in a hospital that specialised in elderly care. Denzil would visit her daily in the hope that she would recover. He tried the accordion but was banned from bringing the instrument to the hospital after it was decided that the nerves of the residents and staff were simply not up to the banshee like sounds that emanated from it.Some time after Katie was admitted to the hospital the staff had begun to get complaints that small items of some patients personal affects would go missing for a short while and mysteriously reappear a few days later. It was a perplexing problem as the articles taken were replaced. No one knew of Katies past habit and so as no damage had been done the incidents were merely logged and forgottenThe problem was solved however on the day that Denzil Lewis walked excitedly into the sisters office after visiting his wife. He was full of praise. How did you manage it? he said. The sister was baffled. Managed what Mr Lewis? Its Katie. Shes smiling again with the brightest smile Ive ever seen. I cant thank you enough. The sister now beyond curious decided to investigate Denzils claims and sure enough there was Katie with what could only be described as a dazzling grin on her face. The sister was flummoxed until on closer inspection she discovered that Katie had four sets of false teeth in her mouth none of which belonged to her.The clue to Katies depression was soon solved and she returned home to Denzil where they lived for many years as happy a couple as one could wish to see.

The game was a frightful event. Englishmen, built up by a media frenzy, were portrayed as 'The Doomed' . Nothing could be further from the truth. The Saxon played a defensive game but it was only a ruse; the Taff looked stale on times and had ardent followers rolling their eyes in disbelief.We won without class or style.

On this Saint Valentine's day the Saxon foe has dared set foot on God's own once again. Everyone from mam gu's to dwrts are checking the armoury - just in case.If any one has ever been to an international game in Cardiff they will instantly recognise the fact that the Celtic, Gallic and Latin nations of this world have an instinctive camaraderie that finds it outlet in passionate song ,dance and poetry. Not so the Angle and Saxon. When they descend it's like attending an undertakers convention where competitions take place to find the coldest grave to curl up in.There seems to be a reticence in the English that prevents them from 'letting rip' as 'twere. Of course this being rugby union the poor fellows are caught in a bit of a culture clash;rugby in England being in the domain of the middle classes whilst in Wales it is owned by the proletariat.Never mind. We will persevere in our attempt to humanise them. Nothing warms a Welshman to an Englishman more than giving him a sound tuning in Cardiff and escorting him back across Offa's Dyke in the sure and certain knowledge that they have been put in their place.CYMRU AM BYTH

Good-NightGood-night? ah! no; the hour is illWhich severs those it should unite;Let us remain together still,Then it will be good night.How can I call the lone night good,Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?Be it not said, thought, understood --Then it will be -- good night.To hearts which near each other moveFrom evening close to morning light,The night is good; because, my love,They never say good-night.Percy Bysshe Shelley

A BARREL OF FUNAlan Fry, Clarence Williams and Herbie Lewis were cider drinkers of staggering proportions. All three were retired miners who had shifted more coal than they ever wished to recall. Their local watering hole was The Working mens Club Treorchy - commonly called The Beach. The reason for its name is lost in the mists of time but rumour had it that because it was located near a river it was possible to smell the sea.Rough cider was their apple of choice; ten pints a day were no object to them. After their daily sessions they would return to their homes, serene and contented knowing that on the morrow there would be no need to worry about cave - ins, overseers or quotas.All was well with this situation until the steward of The Beach was accidentally delivered of a barrel of Red Storm cider. This stuff was known to make meek men start wars and women weep. The problem was that no one would knowingly drink it because of its strength. The steward, being a man not given to lose a chance of profit, decided that the best course of action would be to introduce the two ciders to each other. And so it was that the two gut rots were put together in a barrel and mixed and stirred to form as fiendish a brew as had ever been concocted.Alan, Clarence and Herbie arrived bright and early that Sunday. The opening hours were from noon to 2pm so consumption would proceed at around five pints an hour. After the second pint they started to giggle. After four pints the thought of leaping over furniture seemed to be a reasonable proposition. After six pints they were staring into space and toyed with the idea of fighting everyone in the club. By eight pints they were nineteen years old again and knew they were the epitome of every womans desires.Now as fate would have it another one of the club regulars called Bob Eynon was a part time hypnotist and fully paid up member of the irresponsible party. He decided that in the interest of public safety he would hypnotise our now hopelessly deluded sumpers into believing that they were in fact sober. Unfortunately the effect of the cider meant that the mellifluous words that shot out of Eynons neck were misinterpreted. Alan, Clarence and Herbie took on three personas that left an indelible impression on everyone present. Fry straddled a chair and started to gallop turning occasionally to shoot the imaginary Indians who were chasing him. Williams burst into song using a language that involved a lot of high clicks and yodelling and Herbie kept saying over and over that the birds were twerping in the trees far too loudly for his liking. This continued for some twenty minutes until Mrs Daphne Jones - widow and willing- was driven to the point of hysteria and emptied an ice bucket over Williams head. The effect was electric. Williams went down on one knee and declared undying love -this came as a shock to everyone as he was a long distance bachelor, Alan Fry collapsed exhausted after he reached Fort Dobbs and Herbie stood still for a long time until Eynon cajoled him back to reality.The following day all three turned up at the club as usual and couldnt understand why everyone was looking at them in a strange way. Mrs Daphne Jones would shortly become Mrs Daphne Williams, the Steward never said a word about the cider mix for twenty years and Bob Eynon was banned from the club sine die. Happy days.

The game at Murrayfield was a wonder to behold. The Scots in overwhelming numbers decided to throw themselves on their dirks almost as an afterthought.The Taff played the kind of rugby that only a teatotal New Zealander could countenance and they looked like world beaters until a blase attitude let the Jocks attempt the best comeback since Lazarus.It made for a boring match but we're on our way to the next 'Slam'. Next Saturday it's England at Cardiff. I can't wait to introduce myself to the illegitimate sons of the Roman hordes once again : ).

Characters abound in the Rhondda. None more so than one Teifi Thomas. Thomas was only four foot eight tall and had a love for large cars, beer and Tom Jones. He was also an expert skip filler who had developed a method of skip filling envied by punters from far and wide.Teifi owned a large Ford Zodiac in which the seats were of such capaciousness that he had to place three cushions behind his back in order to reach the pedals. This being Wales and the Welsh being the Welsh with a gift for hyperbole, he soon became known as Teifi Ten Cushions and would spend great periods of his valuable drinking time explaining to the great unwashed the reasons for his moniker.As I said Teifi was an expert skip filler, boozer and a lover of Tom Jones. On one memorable evening those three aspects of his persona would collide in a manner that was to change his life forever.To understand this better I must first explain that Teifi would perform a party piece at the local pub when hed had just a few too many to drink. He would select the song Delilah, sung by Tom Jones, from the juke box in the bar. He would then stand outside the bar door and wait until the song started. As the first few strains of the ditty began he would fling open the door and begin to mime the song accompanied by gyrating movements that would have had him arrested in less polite company. This performance had become an acceptable and almost tedious part of his drinking routine and was tolerated by all and sundry.However, on one particularly memorable day Teifi had secured a skip filling job with a local builder called Dic short fuse. Dic was a fair man in business but had a terrible temper that would erupt at a seconds notice if he felt the equilibrium of his day was being upset for no obvious reason. He knew Teifi quite well and knew he could be trusted to do the job at hand and so he had no qualms about paying him in advance. And so it was on the day in question that Dic took Teifi to the skip and left him there to fill it at midday.It was with some surprise therefore that Dic spotted Teifi walking into the local pub an hour later. Curious, Dic went to look at the skip and sure enough it was full to the brim and above with dirt and detritus. Impressed, he decided he would call to see Teifi later and buy him a few extra pints for his speed.Meanwhile in the pub Teifi proceeded along the well worn path of roll your own fags, betting slips and beer. Outside it had started to rain .Three or four hours later Dic had done enough work for the day and decided to go and see Teifi at the local. On the way there hed passed the skip Teifi had filled earlier and noticed it seemed to have been emptied. When he took a closer look he could see that Teifi had filled three quarters of the skip with cardboard boxes and had topped them up with about a foot and a half of rubble. The rain had weakened the boxes and the whole of the contents had dropped to within eighteen inches of skip bottom. His blood pressure started to rise alarmingly.In the pub, Teifi had now reached the intoxication level required to perform his act. He made his way to the juke box and noticed that there were at least three records in front of his to be played. He checked the song that would be played before his choice, placed his coin in the jukebox and selected Delilah. He calculated that he would have enough time to visit the toilet and be back to perform his party piece by the time the three other songs had played. So off he went out the bar door towards the toilet at the back of the pub. While he was there Dic short fuse walked into the bar and enquired after Teifi. He was told that hed gone out for a minute and would be back soon. Dic looked around and noticed that several of his fellow builders were sitting at a table just inside the pub door and so, as was the practice, bought them all a round of drinks. He was making his way across the bar with about eight pints of beer on a tray when a familiar tune started on the jukebox. In a flash the door was flung open and eight pints and a tray went spinning through the air. I saw the light on the night as I passed by your windowwwww Teifi howled.He hadnt got as far as I saw the flickering shadows of love on the wall before he was punched back across the passage and straight into the lounge.It took some time to revive Teifi but the whole experience seemed to have had a Damascene effect on him. He quit drinking, Tom Jones and skip filling in that order. His love of cars remained however and he can still be seen cruising the valley propped up of course with Ten Cushions.

May I as a representative of the most cultured nation on the planet congratulate the colonial President on his inauguration. The Mem Sahib and I look forward to tea and tiffin with Shell and Bara on a regular basis.