Democracy - A Steve Rant

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“Did you watch Eurovision,” Johnny asked. Only when the words were out of his mouth did he realise his mistake. Steve shifted into his rant mode almost immediately.

“Of course I bloody didn’t,” Steve’s horse seemed slightly higher than usual. “I’d rather stick needles in my eyes than watch that nonsense.”

Johnny smiled. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.”

“It is. In fact, it’s worse. I love how the Brits get so excited about Eurovision. We hate Europe for three hundred and sixty-four days, but suddenly, once a year, we love it. I reckon that the EU should threaten our participation in that if we vote to leave.”

“See, there you go,” Johnny said, although he knew he was poking a bear with a stick. “A positive for Eurovision.”

“And, it is a perfect example of how democracy is screwed.” Steve said apropos of nothing. “Did you see the discrepancy between the jury vote and the popular vote? Poland! An absolute massacre of a song, came third in the public vote, second in Britian. How on earth did that happen?”

“For someone who didn’t watch it, you seem to know an awful lot about it.” Johnny said. Steve ignored him.

“If you ask the people, you get Poland winning the Eurovision, or things like Boaty McBoatface, Jedward doing well on X-Factor and of course the end game of that is Donald Trump.”

Johnny shook his head. He couldn’t believe Steve had got from the Eurovision Song Contest to Donald Trump so quickly.

“But it’s not like a real election, is it?” Johnny argued. “People can vote as many times as they want in this.”

“So it just becomes a competition about who can attract the most gullible fools and fanatics who don’t realise they are paying a pound each time they vote.” Steve took a mouthful of beer.

“It was only fifteen pence,” Johnny corrected him.

“They are still spending their hard earned money on something ridiculous. As soon as you allow people to vote more than once, it descends in to farce. Not just this one, but all talent shows. And,” Steve was on a roll now. “Maybe we should to the EU referendum via a phone vote. That way the fanatics, like Twat McTwatface Nigel Farage can get on speed dial and get their way.”

Steve took a mouthful of beer, but he wasn’t finished. “And I bet the people who voted for Poland in the Eurovision, did it out of a sense of subversiveness. Oh it's so bad it's good. But then you ruin the credibility of the contest. It’s no longer find the best song in Europe, it’s find the best worst song in Europe. People will enter it with bad songs in the hope they get the cheese vote.”

“Finished?” Johnny said, a look of amusement on his face.

“Think so,” Steve looked like he’d just come out of a ranty trance.

“Good, it’s your round,” Johnny handed Steve his empty pint glass and Steve headed to the bar.

The Cruel Giant

This is another of my Welsh Folk Story made into a modern tale.  For other Welsh Folk tales click here.

Mair was flustered. She couldn't find the Worcestershire Sauce anywhere and her dad couldn't have steak without a drop of his favourite condiment on it. Why did they always change where things were in this damn supermarket? Every week the cereal was where the tea used to be, or the pasta was where the spices were. She looked at her watch, she had just fifteen minutes to get home before her dad woke up. He’d want a cup of tea and a digestive biscuit before Pointless started, and if she wasn't there to serve it then there would be hell to pay.
“Excuse me,” she said to the young man in the Tesco uniform in front of her.
“Yes?” he said
Mair was speechless. It was as if Brad Pitt was standing in front of her. Okay Brad Pitt with acne and a bum fluff but still.
“Um where's the Worcestershire sauce?” She asked feeling herself redden.
“I'll show you,” he smiled and her knees went weak all over again. She quietly read his name tag. Idwal, what a lovely name.
Mair went back to Tesco every day for the rest of the week but she didn’t bump into Idwal again. She was beginning to think she’d dreamt him. Mind you, she had no idea what she'd say to him if she did see him; she couldn't exactly ask for directions to the Worcester Sauce again could she? And she'd never really spoken to any boys. And anyway why would he care about her? She was just a little mouse, no match for a future Brad. But there was no harm in looking.
It was six days later that she noticed he was working on the check out. She stood in line patiently waiting her turn.
“Hey Worcestershire Sauce girl.”

She blushed. She couldn't believe he'd remembered her.
“Hi,” she said not looking for eye contact.
“I get off in twenty, fancy a coffee?”
Mair swallowed hard.  Idwal was asking her out. But there was no way she could go. It was almost time for Pointless, her dad would want his cup of tea.
She shook her head, handed over her cash and scurried away, her body awash with mixed emotions, excited about Idwal, but hating her dad even more. It was like she was in a prison, but Idwal offered just a glimmer of hope, hope of escape.
The next day she went earlier to Tesco but there was no sign of Idwal. as she was walking home she heard a voice.
“Hey,” she walked on quicker.
“Hey Worcestershire sauce girl.”
She smiled and turned around.
They met everyday for the next month and then her Brad-lite did something she never thought would ever happen, he proposed.
A single tear ran down Mair's face. A tear of happiness and despair. For she could never marry this man, despite love burning in her heart for him. Her father would never agree.
She shook her head slowly and said that she should never see him again. 

“Why not?” Idwal asked.

Mair said nothing, she just sadly walked away.

Luckily for Mair, Idwal didn’t take no for an answer. He caught up with the beautiful young woman and begged her to tell him what was wrong.

“It’s my father,” sobbed Mair. “He’s a cruel, giant of a man. He would never agree to me marrying you, because then he would have no one to look after him.”

“So why not run away with me then?” Idwal asked. “We don’t need his permission; this isn’t the nineteenth century.”

Mair thought about it and then nodded. She should run away.

That night Mair packed her things including a mirror, a jewellery box and a pendant that belonged to her mother and then, when she was sure her father was asleep, slipped out of her front door and into the arms of Idwal who was waiting for her.

It was 10.30 am the next morning when Mair got her first text from her father.

“I’m coming to get you.”

Mair was terrified. How could he know where they were? She took her mother’s things out of the bag and looked at them. She held the jewellery box in her hand.

“Mum, please help me,” she whispered, and the jewellery box disappeared.

Mair’s father stood on the platform of Swansea train station waiting for the train to Cardiff. When he found out who had had the nerve to take his Mair from him, he would rip that little weasel into a million pieces.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please can you exit the station. Please exit the station.”

Mair’s father stamped his foot. What was going on?

“Ladies and Gentlemen, there’s a suspicious package on platform 2. Please can you exit the station.”

It was 1pm when Mair got another text.

“You can’t stop me that easily Mair. I’m on the train.”

Mair was terrified. The bomb scare hadn’t worked. She took her mother’s things out of the bag and looked at them. She held the pendant in her hand.

“Mum, please help me,” she whispered, and the pendant disappeared.

Mair’s father sat on the train with a smile on his face. Not the smile of a pensioner thinking of his daughter, but the smile of a psychopath devising ways to make the person who took his daughter away, suffer.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are sorry to announce that there are leaves on the line and that we will need to move slowly through the next section of track. Apologies for any inconvenience caused.”

The train crawled along the track, the warped smile had gone from the angry giant’s face.

It was 4pm when Mair got another text.

“You can’t stop me that easily Mair. I’ve got to Cardiff.”

Mair was terrified. The leaves on the line hadn’t worked. She took her mother’s mirror out of the bag and looked at it. She held it tightly.

“Mum, please help me,” she whispered and the mirror disappeared.

Mair’s father stood on the platform waiting for the train to Barry. He was getting close, he could almost smell his daughter and the man who had taken her from him. He punched his fist into his hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen we are sorry to inform you, that all Valley Lines services have been cancelled.”

Mair’s father couldn’t believe his ears and he knew what was coming next.

“There will be a rail replacement bus service.”

The giant let out a roar that echoed around the whole of Cardiff. Even Mair in her bed and breakfast in Barry heard it. Mair’s father couldn’t go on. He’d been defeated by the ineptitude of the Welsh railway system.

I couldn't find the original on the internet so here it is from my stories of Wales Book. 

Robin Black

This is another of my Welsh Folk Story made into a modern tale.  For other Welsh Folk tales click here. 

Robin Black sucked air in through his teeth and looked at the assembled staff members in front of him. Fiddlesticks, he thought to himself; this wasn’t as easy as it should have been. As a detective, he prided himself on his people reading skills. He could tell if someone was lying by the way they sniffed, or scratched their nose or avoided eye contact. Other things could give it away too, maybe the story was too well-rehearsed or the guilty party didn’t use I or me or protested too much; so many tell-tale signs that gave people away. But this lot, this lot were either all telling the truth or one of their number was an expert. There was not a fidget in sight, no one cleaning their glasses or changing their story.

So the mystery remained, who was the thief? It must be someone; bottles of whisky didn't disappear on their own and the inventory at the Fox and Hounds showed that they were twelve bottles of spirits down over the last three months. Someone was on the take. Brian, the Manager, had poured over the CCTV but had not been able to identify the culprit, so he’d called the police. 

There was only one thing for it; Robin was going to have to do the old lie detector test. 

“What I need,” he said to Brian, “is a bottle of tonic water, a tin tray and your bank note checker.”

“Okay.” Brian looked at Robin like he had gone crazy, but he wanted to catch the thief ,so did as he was told. 

Robin poured the tonic into the tray and then placed it on the bar. Then he assembled the staff in the back room. 

“What I want you to do is to go through to the bar one by one and place your hand in the liquid. This liquid reacts with hormones in the body that are produced by stress, it turns your hand red if you are lying. That's why it is called being caught red handed.” he said. 

“Bullshit!” murmured Billy the head barman. 

“Sorry?” Robin stared at him.

“I said bullshit. What kind of cod science is that?”

“Well let's see shall we. Why don't you go first Billy? Seeing as you are so adamant.”

Billy didn’t move. Tonya shifted from foot to foot.  Robin sucked air through his teeth. Eventually Billy shrugged.

“I ain’t got nothing to hide,” he said and went through to the bar and moments later came back with his hand wet but still pinkish. Next went Tonya, then Clive, then Lisa then Mark, all came back with wet but normal coloured hands. 

Finally Marta the polish cleaning lady went through. 

“She'll come back red handed,” said Billy.

“I thought you didn’t believe in it,” said Robin.

“Well, if it works, that is.”

“Yeah thieving foreigners” said Tonya, 

“I knew it was her,” Clive chipped in. 

But Marta came back with normal coloured hands.

“I told you it was bullshit.” Billy moaned. “Call yourself a copper? This is pointless, I’m going home, c’mon Tonya.”

“Wait, the test hasn't finished yet. Let's use this.” Robin turned on the bank note checker.

Marta come and put your hand near this. Robin said. The cleaning woman did as she was told and the others gasped as her hand lit up blue.

“Guilty!” said Billy

“I knew it!” said Clive.

“Not so fast,” said Robin. “Billy you try.”

Billy stuck his hand near the lamp and also lit up.

“I didn’t steal nothing.” Billy said. Robin just stayed quiet.

“Clive,” Robin said. Clive's hand stayed a pinky red.

“Interesting,” Robin sucked in air again. “2-1. Tonya?” Tony stepped forward, her hand turned blue. “3-1, Lisa? 4-1. Mark? 5-1.”

“What does it mean?” Billy asked.

“Do you want to explain, Clive?” Robin said.

“I didn’t put my hand in the liquid,” Clive looked at the floor. “I was scared it might turn red.”

I couldn't find the original on the internet so here it is from my stories of Wales Book.