Mama Mia, Mon Dieu!

Ah, the dark days when football dominated the sports headlines are over and we are back into the glorious season of the Rugby Union RBS Six Nations Championship. Rugby Union, really the only sport that merits the name sport and light years away from the namby-pambyism of the soccer-pitch.

Anyway, yesterday the 2014 season of the Chamionship kicked off to an excellent start with two very good games.

Wales, the current holders of the Championship, had the honour to host the first match against Italy, played in Caerdydd, and this was followed across the Channel in Paris, where France hosted the team from England.

Four teams and three decent anthems to get the season going: Wales's rather sentimental, but stirring Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau (introduced by the French commentator on France 2 as Land of My Fathers for some peculiar reason: if a Frenchman is going to give a title in a foreign language, he can just as well use the language of the song as English, surely?); the Italian anthem, which, let's be honest, bears more resemblance to an opera in two parts than to an anthem, but is wonderful; and then the superb battle-cry of La Marseillaise. Three wonderful, powerful numbers, bellowed out by players, staff and supporters alike and in stark contrast to the call to a mythical being to look after an old woman (God Save The Queen), as sung (if one can use that term) by the English.

Both matches offered some pretty good rugby, with Italy showing still more improvement and giving Wales a good run for their money, even if Wales was never in any real danger. Wales came through well and showed plenty of promise for the rest of the championship, but more work is required and indiscipline (get rid of prop Paul James) can't be tolerated.

The final score of Wales 25 Italy 17 was a fair reflection of the play.

France scared England with a try almost from kick-off and continued to scare England throughout the first half. England came back well in the second half, but Gallic guts won the day and the last ten minutes were all for France, who bravely won an excellent match with a final score of France 26 England 24.

It might be helpful to mention something about the national flags. An English supporter in Paris was frantically waving a Union Flag (commonly called a Jack); the plonker was wrong on two counts: firstly, it is not the flag of England, but that of the United Kingdom (the red cross of Saint George is the English flag); secondly, the flag was flying upside-down. Normally, flying a flag upside down signifies a call for help, so perhaps, given the result, this was deliberate…

Santes Dwynwen

Forget Saint Valentine. Heck, it’s not even certain who the chap was (Valentine of Rome, Valentine of Terni,…?), but whoever he was, he wasn’t British.

Dwynwen, on the other hand, is a genuine British product, saved, yet again, thanks to the Welsh. (Honestly, where would Britain be without them?).

Saint Dwynwen was one of the daughters of the 5th century British king, Brychan Brycheiniog. Poor old Brychan had 24 daughters, but Dwynwen was said to be the prettiest and she fell in love with a local chappie named Maelon Dafodrill.

Brychan had other ideas, however, and had already promised his daughter to some other scoundrel. He therefore forbade the two lovers from seeing each other. In a fit of rage, Maelon raped Dwynwen (well that’s one story) and left her. She then prayed for help and an angel appeared and gave her a potion which she persuaded the dastardly Maelon to drink, immediately turning him into a block of ice.

Ever persistent, Dwynwen then prayed for three wishes, which were miraculously granted: her first wish was that Maelon be defrosted, as it were, and this wish was granted; her second was that God (she was a Christian and believed in that sort of thing, as people tended to do in those days) take care of all true lovers, and this wish was granted; her final wish was that she should never marry. This wish, too, was granted, in that Dwynwen moved to a nearby island and lived there as a hermit until her death in 465 CE.

The island on which Dwynwen lived is now known as Ynys Llanddwyn (Welsh for the island of the church of Dwynwen) and there one can still visit the ruins of a church dedicated to Saint Dwynwen (Ynys Llanddwyn is a tidal island off the west coast of Ynys Môn). Dwynwen’s well can also be visited on the island and there, allegedly, a sacred fish swims, whose movements predict the future fortunes and relationships the couples that contemplate it. Visitors to the well also believe that if the water boils while they are present, then love and good luck will surely follow.

Saint Dwynwen’s day (Dydd Santes Dwynwen), 25 January, is celebrated in Wales in much the same way as Valentine’s day is elsewhere. So this year, celebrate your love for someone in a truly British fashion with a "Happy Saint Dwynwen" or, even better, a "Diwrnod Santes Dwynwen Hapus!"

Where did March go?

Nope, I don't understand it, either, but we are now already a fair way into April. So, where did March go?

Well, SWMBO and I went back to Belgium for a couple of weeks in March, so that, together with the preparation and recuperation (you can't believe how tiring it can be, visiting different people each day) took care of a good deal of the month in question. Miracle of miracles, in the two weeks that we were actually in Belgium, it didn't rain once! That's some sort of record, I'm sure, and I am also sure that the boeren (farmers) were on the point of complaining about major drought conditions when we left to return home to Spain, though their wailing was pre-empted by a sudden return to more normal meteorological conditions (dull, cold and wet, in other words). It was quite warm during our stay, too, but it was that unpleasant, clammy sort of warmth that one gets in the north of Europe whenever the temperature dares to exceed about 20ºC.

Anyway, March was also glorious for the success of the Welsh rugby team in the Six Nations Championship. Not only did Wales beat England, a feat frequently accomplished, but always relished, but the fine young team also won the Triple Crown (beating all the national teams of the British Isles), the Championship itself, and (are you listening muvver?) the achievement of achievements, the Grand Slam (beating all five other teams in the Chapionship). Total and utter winners. All together now: "We are the champions," no, no, better a verse or two of Calon Lân.

We left for Belgium on the day of the coach accident in Switzerland, in which over twenty Belgian children were killed. Very sad, of course, but sadder still, perhaps, was the exaggerated attention paid to the event in the Belgian media and the way that the tragedy was exploited by politicians and clergy. Probably just as many children died that same day and every other day from illness and disease in Belgium, yet these were ignored and the hype that was instead built up and maintained over several days was, in many ways, an insult to all the unfortunate children and their parents, relatives, and friends.

Back in Spain now and Semana Santa is all the go at the moment. Yesterday, one of the time-wasters on the news was an item about the pope person washing some feet in Rome. Well, big of him. I wonder if he will also wash the feet of the Spanish nun who has been charged with stealing a just-born baby from its mother thirty-odd years ago to give (give? For how much?) to someone else. Numerous such charges have been attempted, but this is the first to be accepted by a judge. It is thought that thousands of babies were estranged from their birth parents in this way and only now is anything being done about it. And will he also be washing the feet of his minions who abuse the children in their care? Probably not. Semana Santa, my foot!

Oh, and did I mention that Wales won the Six Nations Championship, including the Grand Slam?

Anyone for rugby?

Sorry about the quality of the photo, but it's one taken of the television image, showing Scott Williams scoring the winning try for Wales against England in Twickenham (that's England HQ).

Final score: Lloegr (England) 12, Cymru (Wales) 19 (the try in the photo was converted, adding two points to the total). Music to the ears.

There's nothing more need be said, is there? (Well, perhaps we could give the English a "Poor dabs," but chwarae teg, Wales deserved the win, so we won't bother.)

Two more matches left for Wales, who are now in with a very good chance for the Championship and, France permitting, of the Grand Slam, too.