Wednesday, 2 March 2016

St David's Day - A Steve Rant

For audio click here
For any newcomers to the blog, Steve is a recurring character who likes to rant to his long-suffering friend Johnny about the little things in life. Here is an example.  
“Happy St David’s Day,” Johnny said putting a pint of Guinness down in front of Steve.
Steve took a large gulp of his beer and placed the glass back on the table. “Don’t get me started on that.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with St David’s Day?” Johnny asked although he knew he was shooting himself in the foot.
“Well for a start I’m not religious but like everything in this bloody country you can’t have a celebration without religious overtones. I wish they’d just called it Wales’s National Day or something; make it secular. Leave god out of it.”
Johnny shrugged, he’d never thought of it as being a particularly religious day. “Is that it?” he asked.
“No, it’s just well, we’re so hopeless at it. Remember back in school?” Steve got himself started. “Back in school we had half day off for St David’s Day. Made us feel like it was something special but now we’re grown up, it’s just a damp squib. A few people wear a daffodil or a leek and that’s about it. Look at the Irish, they know how to do it. That St Patrick’s Day, that’s a bloody worldwide celebration. People wearing green and drinking this stuff.” Steve took a swig of his Irish stout. “The streets of Cardiff are carnage on the 17th March. Cardiff, mind you, not Dublin or Belfast or New York but Cardiff and Olomouc and Budapest.  But look around you.”
Johnny did as he was told.
“We’re in the centre of the capital city of Wales and you wouldn’t know that it is the national day. This pub is empty, deader than a sixty-nine year old musician. No one out for a drink, no one wearing red. I doubt that people in New York, or Olomouc, or Dublin or Budapest even realised it’s Wales’s national day. We’ve got so much heritage, so much to give; folk tales, poetry, song, food. But instead of celebrating it, we are almost too modest. We hide it behind a bushel. It’s just rubbish.”
“There was a parade in town earlier though.”
“Ha yeah did you see it? Some bloody parade. They didn’t even close the roads. Due to cuts or something. They had to stick to the pavements. For fuck’s sake. Can you imagine that in Dublin? And then how many people where there? A thousand? Hardly worth the effort. We need to stand up and shout about it. Make the 1st of March a proper celebration of all things Welsh.”
“Did you go?” Johnny asked.
“On the parade.”
“No of course I didn’t,” Steve looked almost offended at the suggestion.
“Well there you are then,” Johnny said, “you’re the cause of your own problem. It’s like complaining that people don’t vote and then not voting yourself. Don’t wait for other people to make it a success and then jump on the bandwagon. Get the bloody thing moving yourself.” Johnny sat back, the slightest of smirks on his face.

Steve’s mouth opened but no words came out. The smirk turned into a smile.

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