Okay so full disclosure, we are huge Minas fans over here. And we may be biased, but we think his artistic takeover at CULTVR on 17-18 November is going to be VIBES and you should buy tickets IMMEDIATELY if not sooner.
MINAS: WAITING ROOM @CULTVR
An immersive, story-driven live event by genre-busting Welsh Music Prize nominee, Minas.
Fresh off the back of a triumphant UK tour and Sŵn Festival closing set, and a Welsh Music Prize nomination for his debut solo album, All My Love Has Failed Me, Cardiff-based artist Minas presents Waiting Room – a narrative-led event featuring live music, 360-degree visuals and live performance.
The two-night Soundspace Sessions event at groundbreaking digital arts centre CULTVR is supported by Welsh Government, Cardiff Council and Cardiff Music Board and forms part of Cardiff Council’s Music Strategy.
Act One, on November 17th 2023, will feature live music from Tamarebi, Lily Webbe, Freddy Forbidden, Foxxglove, Half Happy as well as Minas himself.
Act Two, on the following night (November 18th) will see Grove, Shlug, Minas, Sorry Stacy, Razkid, Mogan, and Spit Hood perform, as well as a DJ set from Gemiiniize.
Speaking about the event, James Minas, said: “I’m so gassed about this event, it’s a chance to do something on a different scale to anything I’ve done before.
“I don’t want to give too much away, but it’s going to be kind of intense.
“The creatives I’ve been working with to put this all together have been immense, so talented and together I think we’ve created something that takes what we do live to a whole new level.”
For those tune lovers seeking out a night of solid entertainment in the city, we heartily recommend a night spent with Technicolour – the choir that brings you shows like no other!
Whether you’re seriously into musical theatre or a casual lover of a good sing-along, the Technicolour events are one of Cardiff’s best secret nights out. Think immersive theatre meets club night – a bit like Secret Cinema on a more intimate scale.
You’ll experience the power of a 120-member strong choir remixing show tunes, layering in their own special harmonies, and bringing you new fresh versions of classics. Their shows are colourful, vibrant, and full of energy.
For their next performance ATLANTIS (Sat 3 June, Cardiff Student Union – Atlantis tickets here), Technicolour invite you to get your glitter on and travel to a magical underwater kingdom, where you’ll be entertained by a rollercoaster of energetic vocal performances (think your favourite musical theatre hits – but in mash-up style). Then get your dancing shoes on for the afterparty, where the DJ spins up-beat party tunes and the festivities go all night long.
Each show is a unique experience (you’ll never see the same show twice), and the choir uses a variety of venues across the city to match the vibe of the performance.
Want to see a taste of what’s to come? Here’s a sneek peak at past show Masquerade …
St David’s Hall has found itself in the centre of public debate lately, as news broke last week that Cardiff Council was considering a proposal from a private firm, Academy Music Group, to take over ownership of the beloved concert venue. As of this writing, more than 15,000 people have signed a petition calling for St. David’s to be protected as a vital performance space for classical music in the heart of Cardiff.
On Monday November 28, as if to reinforce its importance to Cardiff’s vibrant cultural scene, St David’s hosted the Sinfonia of London, billed as a “super orchestra” of top musicians hand-picked by artistic director John Wilson. Originally established in 1955 chiefly as a recording orchestra, Wilson revived the orchestra in 2018 and in a few short years has propelled it to sold out concerts across the UK, not to mention reviews so universally gushing that they border on the hyperbolic. (The Sinfonia of London is not to be confused with the City of London Sinfonia– a case of absurdly confusing nomenclature worthy of a Monty Python skit).
Opening with William Walton’s boisterous comedy-overture Scapino, Wilson and his musicians established their trademark bold attack and swaggering virtuosity right off the bat. Walton composed the work in 1941 as a commission for the Chicago Symphony, home to one of the world’s great brass sections, and the Sinfonia brass negotiated the spirited music with ease. Wilson’s approach to conducting is remarkably economical and un-showy; like a master jockey, he can control this powerhouse ensemble with the lightest touch, and mostly knows how to stay out of their way.
The Sinfonia’s feel for panache and razzle-dazzle was on full display for Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. Joining the ensemble was 26-year old British pianist Martin James Bartlett. Bartlett certainly has technical chops and musical charm to spare, but his Gershwin felt over-thought and overwrought. His playing was fussy and precious, with odd rubato choices that he perhaps thought sounded more “jazzy”. The sexiest, most impressive versions of the Rhapsody happen when the pianist relaxes into the pocket of the music, letting Gershwin’s bluesy growls and soaring skyscraper melodies speak for themselves.
The balance of the program was devoted to works by the French impressionists Maurice Ravel and Claude Debussy. For this refined repertoire, Wilson’s approach needed more polish and shimmering French elegance. In both Ravel’s Valses Nobles et Sentimentales and Debussy’s La Mer, his focus on rhythm and impulsion created a sense of drama and cinematic excitement (at one point his baton went flying into the viola section), but it was too often at the expense of more nuanced orchestral colour and patient, sustained legato. The rarely performed original version of Ravel’s Bolero, composed in 1928 for the flamboyant Ballets Russes dancer Ida Rubinstein, sounded glaringly Spanish rather than achieving a more subtle effect of Spain viewed through a Frenchman’s wineglass. Some of the orchestral solos missed the mark here, in particular the tenor and soprano saxophones. Still, there was no denying the musicians’ visible enjoyment in performing this satisfying work, nor Wilson’s skill in allowing the dynamic tension to build until its explosive final flourish.
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Natasha Gauthier has been writing about classical music in Canada and the US for more than 25 years. She is the former classical music critic for the Ottawa Citizen, in Ottawa, Canada. She currently writes for Early Music America Magazine, Opera Canada and Ludwig Van, among other online and print publications. In June she was a teaching fellow at the Rubin Institute for Music Criticism at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. She moved to Cardiff in September 2022 to complete a postgraduate degree at Cardiff Uni. When not attending concerts, she spends her free time here breathing in the sea air, admiring the clouds, learning Cymraeg and trying to make friends with the magpies.
Today’s piece is a lovely reflection on living in Cardiff, written by Mary Ocana, who originally hails from South East LA. Also just like to say it wasn’t a deliberate move to publish this on the day the President Biden was inaugurated but what a nice piece of synchronicity, eh?
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“Croeso i Gymru” – “Welcome to Cardiff” is a sign I read as soon as I exited the M4 towards Cardiff. A warm and honest welcome.
Cardiff Bay
I have lived in Cardiff for the last three years and every second has been nothing short of a wonderful time. Wales is a country that I have come to see as widely diverse and exciting, and Cardiff now holds a special place in my heart. While it may not be the place where I was born, or where most my family and friends are, it has grown to feel like home in many aspects.
My love for Wales started in 2016 when I first stepped off a train in Ebbw Vale. At that moment, everything felt both foreign and welcoming to me. I remember the surrounding trees and splashing of water from the river stream nearby, and the giant valleys leaning over as if to say “welcome”. Driving around the winding roads, I could hardly grasp what I was looking at. It was beautiful – the only thing that I could compare it to would be scenes in films I had seen in the past, like the green Irish countryside in P.S I Love You. I could see hundreds of sheep sprinkled like sugar atop the valleys, quietly whispering to myself “I’m home”. The cold-yet-inviting air that filled my lungs that day is something I’ll never forget; sometimes it still happens when I get off the train in Ebbw Vale or Rhymney.
Bryn Bach
See, I grew up in South East Los Angeles, in Maywood, California – home to a large Latino population. My parents uprooted their life in Mexico and settled here in their early 20s. It has now become their home and is far more familiar to them than anywhere else. Maywood is only 1.8 miles in diameter, but it is filled with a lot of character and is still a place which harbours memories that will stay with me always. As an only child and the daughter of two low-income immigrant parents, it was difficult to think of the future. I felt like a failure after graduating High School because I did not get into the colleges I applied to and I ended up attending community college.
At the time, it felt like I would never get to have a study abroad experience – which is something I had always wanted to do. I appreciated LA and the OC, but I just simply wanted to see what else there was outside of my comfort zone. Even if it was just upstate, somewhere like UC Davis or somewhere in Rhode Island, far away. I wanted to experience growth in this way.
A few months away from my Cypress College graduation, I found myself staring at an opportunity I had only dreamed of all these years. It was difficult to imagine that I, a 21-year-old from Maywood would ever get the chance to study abroad, but yet here it was – a study abroad experience in Wales. It was a frightening thought, as it meant moving 3,000 miles across the Atlantic ocean and creating a life far away from everything I had ever known. It is a decision I am truly grateful I had the opportunity to make. I am glad I went for it.
Tredegar
Two months after arriving in Wales I found an apartment in Canton. It was a small one-bedroom apartment nestled by Thompson’s Park, and only a 30-minute walk from Cardiff Metropolitan University. It wasn’t long before I eased into my new life in Cardiff. This was something completely new and exciting because I had never lived on my own. I started to develop my own routines and found solace in walking to places like the Canton Fruit Market – partly because of the 50p banana bowls, but mainly because everyone I ran into was so pleasant. Breakfast at Crumbs, coffee from Lufkin and sandwiches from Bee & Honey quickly became my new favourite treats.
On the days that I had to go into university, I walked through Llandaff Fields, I used to cut through the field because I liked the way wet grass felt on my boots. Walking to school was a huge breath of fresh air – back in LA I was used to driving in one-hour traffic just to get to my 8AM lecture, but here I was, walking, witnessing dogs off their leads and the trees welcoming the autumn season. I could not be happier.
Taffs Well
I discovered that, for the most part, Wales is a rainy and cloudy place. This wasn’t a bad thing, however. Coming from a place where it hardly rains, experiencing the rain, whether it was manic or calm, was a lovely contrast.
The first few months I lived in Cardiff, I visited all the “tourist-y” bits. I took a train to Penarth, walked through Alexandria Park (a favourite of mine) and Penarth Pier. Beaches were not foreign to me, but this was the first time that I had ever seen a pebble beach – pebbles as far as I could see and seagulls waiting for the opportunity to swoop in and steal my chips. I took a train to Cardiff Bay, to see the Wales Millennium Centre and the Pierhead Building, it was interesting to read about the history and see what Cardiff Bay used to look like. Barry is one of my favourite places, too, and I feel as though the beaches around Cardiff are hugely underrated.
Ogmore
But, by far, my favourite place I visited and still escape to often is St. Fagans. Turog – the bakery there – is the perfect place to grab a snack to hold on to whilst walking around. When you are at St. Fagans it truly does feel like you are experiencing a piece of history, it is a wonderful feeling. The best thing about visiting all of these places is that they are not far. They are only a short train or bus stop away.
In LA, driving is an absolute necessity. Public transport is decent, but I have to admit it is not the safest or most reliable. In Cardiff, however, I have the pleasure of walking everywhere. If I needed to go into town I could just hop on the 61 bus and be there in ten minutes. On my first day of school, I remember walking down the River Taff trail through Pontcanna Fields and through Bute Park, and it was the first time I witnessed Cardiff Castle – I had never seen a castle in my entire life! I’ll admit I was a bit giddy. Sometimes I still feel that way as I walk past and the clock chimes its tune.
Mary at Lidl in Tredegar
I find myself in the city centre quite a bit, whether it is looking for beetroot wraps in M&S or just wandering around to take in all the Victorian and Edwardian architecture beauty. I enjoy walking through the arcades; the feeling that I get when having a stroll through them is something I can’t quite put into words!
In close proximity to the arcades is the Cardiff Market which, believe it or not, used to be a prison, and now it is home to a wide variety of food stalls and vendors. Cardiff Bakestones is a favourite of mine here because of their vegan Welsh cakes, which are always baked to perfection. I spent a lot of time there, whether it was to drink a flat white from Hard Lines or pizza from Ffwrnes. It is a lovely place to spend an afternoon.
It was also at this time that I experienced snow for the first time! It snowed in January of 2017 and it was super exciting for me. I witnessed a snowy Bryn Bach and Thompson’s Park; they were completely different when they were covered in snow, it was magical, albeit cold but still a wholesome new experience.
I thought I knew what celebrating Christmas was all about in California, but Christmas is truly something special in Wales. It is in the air. During the Christmas season, the city centre becomes a luscious Christmas paradise. There are vendors and stalls and the excitement of Christmas right around the corner. It was the place where I tried mulled wine for the first time and it is the place which I keep coming back to each year for churros, from the lovely Emilio of Churros and Chocolate. Winter Wonderland feels genuinely festive, and we don’t have anything quite like it in California, mostly because of the weather. Celebrating Christmas in the UK has made me appreciate the season more.
Bryn Bach
I lived in Canton for two years and in those two years, I remember how thankful I was that I only had to walk 15 minutes to get to work. I worked in Bloc, at the edge of Victoria Park, and if I got there early, I could hang around the park, watch all the dogs and have a coffee. Getting to work in a coffee shop, and getting to know the regulars and people that lived in Canton was such a lovely experience – everyone was always very friendly and forgiving. Working there was refreshing and it did not compare to any places I had worked in before – I will always be grateful to Bloc.
After living in Canton, I moved to Roath. Roath differs from Canton significantly but it has still been a wonderful place to live in. Because my 50p banana bowls were long far I had to find something else, and rightfully found Sammy from Fruit and Veg Barrow and slowly the routines were settling in. Now I only live twenty minutes away from Roath Lake and the Roath Rose Garden and these places have comforted me throughout these difficult times. Walking around these places and checking out nice spots like Roath Mill Gardens helped me throughout lockdown, and reminded me of how many lil’ gems Cardiff has.
Roath
As a Mexican-American, it has been an absolute joy being surrounded by Welsh people and immersing myself in their culture. Maybe it’s because Welsh people remind me of who I am as a Mexican-American, as there are parallels between each culture and their hard-working attitude.
There is just something genuinely honest and special about Welsh people: they are kind, hardworking, and always up for a good time. Getting to know my partner’s Welsh family was a joy – they were all welcoming, and I quickly began to see them as my own. I didn’t grow up with a lot of family, but Wales and my partner’s family – from their caring attitude to treating me to Sunday dinner – made me feel like I was in one straight away. My eyes begin to water when I think about how proud people are to be Welsh and I am overwhelmed with happiness that I get to experience it.
Wales has taught me more than I could have ever imagined, not only about how fantastic other places in the world can be, but how to love myself. I feel a lot more independent, and I feel like if I can move across the country on my own then I can do absolutely anything. Cardiff and the Welsh Valleys will forever be with me. I cannot thank both my parents and friends enough for believing in me and always encouraging me to follow my heart.
Mary in Penarth
Mary is an Interior Design graduate from Cardiff Met. Thanks Mary for this wonderful account of your past few years living in and around Cardiff!
If you’re interested in writing for We Are Cardiff, please contact us.
HAPPY NEW YEAR, LET’S NECK SOME BEER AND CHEER AND EAT ALL OF THE THINGS.
Did everyone else’s dry January last approximately 1.5 days? Asking for a friend. Anyway, I realise it’s a bit late for the old Blwyddyn Newydd Dda but coronavirus rules means you can wish anyone anything anytime you like (so happy Halloween and Yalda greetings, friends!). So happy new year from us here at We Are Cardiff.
This isn’t really a post about new year though, it’s a post about drinking beer. Or wine. Or anything you like. With or without alcohol. And also eating, because eating is great. Basically this is a post reminding all of you that even though we’re locked down, many MANY amazing Welsh indies are still making and baking and roasting and basting and selling, so if you’re shopping online (let’s face it, what else is there to do these days?) then why not fill your food basket with stuff that supports some local businesses?
Hungry / thirsty yet? LET’S GO.
FINE DINING – EAT AT HOME!
Let’s stop d*cking around. You want Michelin guide level fine dining but obviously there’s go getting you to the restaurant at the moment. So sweep the cat hair off the dining table and put on a bra, ‘cos we’ve got some options for you. And they’re fancy as f*ck. (Sorry if you’re here for the full swears, we have a NYRes to try and control our potty mouth).
HEANEY’S
HEANEY’S have put together a Dine at Home box which brings top quality small plates into your home and feeds two people. But be quick – the boxes are limited and so far have been selling out early in the week! They’re still doing their Sunday dinners as well, btw, as well as the sourdough and Marmite butter …. (Dine at Home £85 feeds two people).
PURPLE POPPADOM are also doing takeaway set menus – they’ve got a winter set menu (vegetarian and meat options available) that feeds two people – and who wouldn’t want chef Anand George curating that special curry night for them?? They’ve also got an extended a la carte takeaway menu as well. (Winter set menu £27.95 for two people).
PASTURE are offering Pasture Experience Boxes for the meat lovers (veggies and vegans avert your eyes). And it’s meat tastic. I mean, it’s literally a box full of delicious meat. More meat than I’ve ever seen in a single box. The boxes arrive in time for you to carry out a ‘Pasture cookalong’ with chef and owner Sam Elliott, who will be showing you how to cook your slabs of beef (and all the rest) through a live Instagram event. There are plans for Sunday Roast Cook-alongs and a Porterhouse Box. (Porterhouse Box £95 for two people).
THE CRISPY COD – while you might not have considered a seafood extravaganza as a viable option during lockdown, the Crispy Cod are here to serve you Rock & Scallop platters which look the absolute business. Also HELLO Kinder Bueno dessert from The Cheesecake Guy, get in my mouth please. (Welsh seafood platter £80 for two to three people).
THE HUMBLE ONION – this indie bistro in Dinas Powys is also offering Sunday lunches and three course Humble at Home boxes. (Three course boxes are £30 pp).
KERALAN KARAVAN have literally fuelled us throughout the pandemic. Big thanks to Krish in the kitchen for those magic cooking hands. AND they’ve just started their Heat 2 Eat curry club, where you get fresh curries AND BEER brought to your doorstep! I honestly don’t think I could have made it through without that tasty swag in my belly. My favs from KK are their vegan burger and sexy fries. DAMN. The Keralan Karavan Heat 2 Eat curry club needs to be preordered so get yours in now / follow Keralan Karavan on Twitter.
FRANKS – everyone’s favourite hot dawg – have put together home kits as a special treat. There are veggies options alongside their meaty deals, plus cheese and bacon add-ons and some sweet merch. Order from the Franks website / follow Franks on Instagram.
MILKWOOD – somewhere in between super fancy dining and delicious lunch and dinner options is where Milkwood have placed themselves, and it’s pitch perfect. We’re big fans of the takeaway pizza menu (hello gorgonzola get yourself in my mouth), plus they do beers, wines and ciders and lovely sandwiches as well. Order and book a collection slot on the Milkwood website / follow Milkwood on Twitter.
BOOZE AND OTHER ESSENTIALS
POP’N’HOPS
POP’N’HOPS have their online shop’n’hops (sorry) open for business, with free delivery for orders over £50, or you can pop’n’lock (seriously stop it now) in there for collection during specific times in the week. Pop’n’Hops specialise in those unusual beers you just can’t get from other places – we are big fans of their massive selection of milk stouts (they’ve even got an alcohol free one!) and all the lovely pale ales. Plus cider. Mmm. Order from the Pop’n’Hops website.
LITTLE MAN
Though you’ll know them for coffee, LITTLE MAN have expanded their delivery catalogue to include all sorts of things for doorstep delivery, three times a week! Our orders from them usually include Oatly Barista oat milk, Who Gives a Crap! toilet paper, blue roll (we make a right mess here in this house) and Freddos. YES FREDDOS YOU HEARD. They also sell WINE which is not a drink I know much about, but check out their selection via Chilled and Tanin. On the way in or on the way out – whichever orifice needs attention, Little Man have got you covered. Choose your own adventure from the Little Man linktree / follow Little Man on Instagram.
PETTIGREW BAKERIES are still STILL nearly a year own baking their way through the pandemic. They’ve been open throughout providing tasty baked goods and kitchen essentials. You can book a slot for collection OR they will deliver some of their patisserie items, if you have some friends who need cheering up with gluten (seriously their brownies should be offered as mood improvers). Have a look at the options on offer from the Pettigrew Linktree / follow Pettigrew Bakeries on Twitter.
HARD LINES
HARD LINES – Hard Lines Coffee are trying to twist my melon by offering so much variety of good things I don’t know what category to stick them in. Their Canton store is open for pick up (although check opening times and days – at the moment they’re closed on Mondays and Tuesdays). In store you can buy coffees, pastries (and burritos on the weekends!) and peruse a massive selection of organic wines and ciders, plus a whole bunch of different kitchen essentials. Their website also offers coffee club subscriptions (great gift ideas) plus ALL THE COFFEE for mail order. If this floats your boat then please enjoy the below image of Mary Berry holding a packet of Hard Lines Coffee. Order from Hard Lines website.
WILD THING are open for pre-ordered takeaways from Thursday to Sunday (go visit their hatch in Cathays Community Centre!). Excitingly, they are also running a Community Fridge! If you’re struggling and in need of food, the community fridge is open EVERY DAY between 9AM-4PM, 36 Cathays Terrace (the fridge is also looking for volunteers, so if you’ve got some time to spare please contact Wild Thing!). They are one of our best social businesses – please do what you can to support them. Pre-order takeaways from the Wild Thing website / follow Wild Thing on Twitter.
OUR CROWDFUNDER IS LIVE! Help us return to Grangetown by sharing or donating if you can. We are so so grateful for everyone’s support to make our sustainable community cafe happen! https://t.co/tunm1pfbbf
ORDERING A TAKEAWAY? USE A CARDIFF-BASED DELIVERY SERVICE! Yes it exists, and it’s called Indie Eats! It’s a co-op affair which means your local eateries get a better deal from it. Also if you use it, you’ll probably discover some great new places to eat! Visit the Indie Eats website or Indie Eats on Twitter and support that little guy.
RIVERSIDE FARMERS’ MARKET: Riverside Farmers’ Market Every Sunday 10am – 1:30pm, Fitzhamon Embankment, opposite. Principality Stadium, City Centre.
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Okay, well I’m now too hungry to carry on. Hopefully some of these have inspired you to add some indie treats into your weekly shop. Because YOU’RE WORTH IT.
If you see anyone we’ve missed out, please add them in the comments!
As lockdown is lifting (this version of lockdown, anyway), you’ll have noticed the stream of letters has dried up a bit.
We know it’s taken time for some folks to really get to grips with they felt about lockdown, so we’re not closing down the series.
Instead, we welcome you to write pieces about how your lockdown went, now you’ve had some time to reflect. Or you might still be shielding. Whatever. We’re still welcoming your stories, so please feel free to contact us with your Letter from Cardiff in lockdown.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from Cynthia Fardoe Thomas, who is bringing us her story via her paper people. We’re still open for stories, so if it’s taken you a while to put it together, it’s all good with us – please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown.
Fardoe’s Paper People
I make people out of paper! This is my lockdown story in paper form.
My name is Cynthia Fardoe Thomas, I’m a paper engineer and illustrator, but also a support worker for three adults with learning difficulties.
I’m also a single mum of two beautiful cherubs.
I’ve worked through the pandemic, It’s been a bumpy yet creative ride.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from Olga Kaleta, circus and theatre maker, and Head of Youth at NoFit State Circus. We’re still open for stories, so if it’s taken you a while to put it together, it’s all good with us – please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown.
Part One: about time
Now is the time.
What for?
NOW is the time.
To do what?
NOW is the TIME.
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Here I am. In this hour of the morning in which the world is just about awake.
Here I am. With the singing of the birds. With the humming of the insects. With the gentle gasps of wind.
Here I am.
The world came to a halt. And listen, it’s like nothing really happened. Nature is thriving in the most unpretentious way. There is so much we can learn from her quiet confidence.
Now is the time to do nothing.
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The lockdown has now been officially imposed. I was down with the idea all along but now that the psychotic overgrown cabbage patch kid said we have to, I must admit, I’m finding it so much harder to comply.
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Stop. Breathe.
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Here WE are…reduced to our personal bubbles…self-isolated in our little worlds. Animals are clearly delighted to finally see humans trapped in the cages of their own making. Taking themselves out for a walk once a day. Finally, they can understand what it is like not to be able to enjoy the world the way it’s been intended.
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Woke up to find a missed call from my mum. She never rings outside of the Sunday afternoon window. I dreaded the news she was trying to deliver. My dad would be classed as vulnerable although he’s been self-isolating ever since I know him. I ring her back, terrified of the news that awaits me. She picks up laughing and says I shouldn’t let the impending collapse of the creative industries get to me. She heard there are plenty of jobs at Lidl going. Afterwards, she sent me a video of a toucan singing “Don’t worry be happy” as a final consolation.
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Time is linear.
Time is circular.
Time is multiactive.
Time is an undeniable delusion.
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It’s Chris’ funeral today. Few weeks ago, the chapel would be packed with people wishing to say farewell. But now there’s only a handful of people scattered around, unable to comfort each other. Chris loved sci-fi and fantasy. Little did he know dying in an old world that he would be buried in a new one.
I almost said, “good old world”. But it wasn’t. This one isn’t great either. Right now, it’s proper weird…but many of us can spot beacons of hope falling through the cracks. Sometimes you need to get worse to get better… But sometimes you don’t get better…sometimes you die.
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The experience of time is universal. The attempts to make sense of it, are all man-made choices, inherent to the cultures that breed us.
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The world is changing. We’ve been accelerated towards the future. Everyone is confined to their own custom-made digital reality. Human touch is a commodity.
I am afraid to cry. I’m afraid to admit that I’m scared. I’m scared to fall apart. What if I’m not able to comfort myself?
It’s okay to do nothing.
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I was born and bred in a culture that regards time as leaner. The only way is forward. There is no looking back. Time is unstoppable. Time is precious. Time is a resource. Wasting it is unforgivable.
So much time has passed. What have you got to show for it? Nothing but those Gray Gardens…
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The dusk just settled and the whole of Bristol feels like a holiday village. Streets are quiet and empty. Everyone is chilling indoors after a busy day of doing absolutely nothing. So peaceful.
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Homeless and prisoners are forced to self-isolate in masses for a single trembling croak. What does it matter? Were their lives ever worth living?
Police issuing fines to homeless for being outside. Are you fucking kidding me?
I am a lucky one. I am worth saving. Just! For now!?
***
On Tuesday the 31st of March a girl, aged 12 died in Belgium. The youngest victim of the virus to date.
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Stop. Breath.
***
On Tuesday the 31st of March police in Kenya shot a 13 year old boy who stood on his balcony past the curfew.
His name was Yasin.
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Stop. Breath.
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I’m not afraid of dying. What I am afraid of is not to be able to feel the skin of my loved ones before I perish. We are born alone, and we die alone. But this is too literal.
***
The pigeon just sat on the roof of the shed. He is a moderately regular visitor but only since lockdown that his cooing got unbearably loud. It’s clear he’s looking for a mating partner. The theories say that now there’s no traffic noise the birds can hear their contenders more distinctly, therefore need to put more effort into their own allurement. Oh, sweet horny pigeon, you and I are not that different. There’s not much more I want from this world then a little piece of earth where I can make love.
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Ecuador’s health system has collapsed. People are forced to store dead bodies of their loved ones on their living room floor…
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Stop. Breath. Change Direction.
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We live for pleasure. A meaningful pleasure. The kind of pleasure that isn’t replaced by shame as soon as the moment has passed. Pleasure that resonates beyond the moment in which it seems necessary.
We live for each other. For the touch, the smell and the smile. For the sharing of the joy and wonder.
Today I wrote a porno.
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Stop. Breathe.
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Tiny yellow spider is stretching its web between two branches of the raspberry bushes. Oh sweet, tiny yellow spider, you and I are not that different. There’s not much more I want from this world than to build a home.
***
The time ticking at the core of my soul is circular and it is multiactive. There are cycles within cycles. Each one is different in scale and velocity. They exist concurrently in a perfect harmony. Respect them all, but only tune in to those that serve you in the moment.
***
A single magpie bobbing around the garden like it is the king of the castle. Let’s hope magpies are not too strict when it comes to self-isolation. We all know how the saying goes … Mr Magpie, next time, do indulge us, and bring a mate with you, will you?
Mister Magpie, you and I are not that different. There’s not much more I want from this world then to be free to choose between the right to solitude and the need for a company.
***
There are an infinite number of ways to exist in this world. Why are we so fixated on the idea of finding one that fits all?
***
It’s okay to do nothing.
***
I’ve been watching sad movies in order to make myself cry. Nothing! I wonder if it’s in any way connected to the unprecedented levels of sexual frustration. Perhaps this sort of release won’t be available to me until I have an orgasm that isn’t self-inflicted. I hope I won’t cry whilst… worse even…what if we both cry!?!
***
The only way is forward. There is no looking back. To return would be to admit to failure.
***
It’s okay to do nothing. The time spent looking after your mental health is time well spent.
***
The world came to a halt. Feels like an emergency stop. Yes, we all suffered a serious whiplash, many of our loved one have died…but we’re still here, panting, staring at the precipice. Let’s not start the engine, only to tumble off that edge. Surely, there’s more than one way to go from here…
***
Change of mind should be celebrated, not hold up to shame. Change of mind is not admittance of failure, but an exercise in resilience. Only this that can change can continue.
Stop. Breath. Change direction. Bring what feels useful.
***
A friend of mine told me, she’s finally getting into the rhythm of things. Two months have passed … We live on a fucking treadmill! The world was put on hold and it took us two months to reconnect with it. Being still is a long-lost skill. I hope we’ll continue to practice it once the cogs start turning again (a bit slower this time I hope).
Happiness is to be present and intentional.
***
Now is the time
What for?
NOW is the time.
To do what?
NOW is the TIME
We are very VERY excited to bring you news of Aiyush Pachnanda’s DEBUT photography book. This is Rave to the grave – photographs taken at raves between the hours of 10PM and 6AM, over the course of three years across the city of Cardiff. (Not this year obviously …!)
Aiyush came to Cardiff to study photojournalism at the University of South Wales. During his time here, he was urged by his mother to get a job.
“I was reluctant at first but thought it will be a good opportunity to start my life as a working photographer,” he says. He came across a rave being advertised on Facebook, then messaged the organisers asking if they needed a photographer. They agreed – and that chance event led to Aiyush discovering the world of drum’n’bass.
“I was introduced to a new music scene that I never had a chance to experience. After I sent the photos I was asked to cover more and more events. I had never even been to a rave before that first one!”
He had no idea what to expect, and says he found the environment “Very very overwhelming” at first, and felt like he really stuck out. But he was asked to come back, and he says the more he went the less he felt he stuck out.
“I spoke to more people and made more and more friends. Now I really do feel part of the community – be it in Cardiff or London, dnb is now something I like to listen to.”
The book is an insight into three years exploring the dnb raves of the city, including a few at his favourite venue, The Vaults (“it’s underground, the sound systems are amazing, it’s dark and gets unbelievably hot”), and some of his stand-out events during that time (“DJ Blackley at Undertone, Hybrid Minds in Kongs, MC Bassman in Clwb, Bank Job In The Vaults”).
For anyone interested in the city’s electronic music scene – and some really *really* great club photography – get your copy of the book now!
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from an anonymous contributor. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown!
I blinked, and it was over.
Cardiff Castle, by We Are Cardiff
I can remember the blind panic, murmurs and rumours of the army heading to London, forced curfews, the fear creeping through the office, when no one knew what was going on. People knew people who worked in the government got bits of information to help their loved ones. We eagerly gobbled up whatever we heard, we speculated, we gambled. I spent over £700 on supplies. Not toilet paper – why would you need so much of that, I bought rice, I bought hand sanitiser, I bought soap, masks, extra pairs of everything, washing powder, bleach, dried protein powder, UHT milk. I keep finding stashes of it all over the house, and I am probably lucky that I broke up with my girlfriend in January. If she didn’t think I was mad then, she definitely would have broken it off during lockdown.
My manager offered us all the choice to start working from home at the start of March. I work for a multinational company, we have a medium sized office in Cardiff. We also have offices in China – not Wuhan, but still, China. Hong Kong. Dubai, and after seeing what happened in other countries the company was quick to pivot us from office to home. We were still allowed into the office but “strongly advised to work from home”, so we all did, they arranged for all our equipment to be moved out of the office, desks, chairs, desktops and other bits and pieces. I work in corporate finance, and I had to return into the office before official lockdown to pick up a work credit card, as I had to sign for it. I wore a mask on my walk through town, and got stared at by everyone, the building – an entire floor in one of the high rises in the city centre – was like a ghost town, there was warning electrical tape across the floor, marking out where all the desks and chairs had been before, the empty remains, rubbish and dust, the odd shoe and canvas bag remaining on the floor as proof of old life. The computer team were the only ones staying in there, as they needed access to the equipment to keep everyone else running from home. All their desks were spread out across one huge long wall of the office, 15 people in a room that used to hold over a hundred of us.
After that visit I felt very unnerved, I went straight out and stocked up, did that insane shopping trip that cost me over £700, started isolating. Most of my friends thought I was being really over cautious and actually they thought I was mad. I didn’t tell any of them how much I’d spent on supplies, I played it down, I made excuses not to see them at social events. Now it seems obvious in retrospect. Why didn’t we all do it?
As soon as the official lockdown started, my company announced a restructure. Everyone was keeping their jobs, but we were all going on a furlough rotation; I was off for three weeks, then worked a week. That pattern repeated three times overall throughout lockdown, until they announced last week that we were all required back fulltime.
I blinked, and it was over.
The first week of being on furlough was horrible. The weeks before – the unofficial lockdown, when I was just hidden away but the world was still outside – that seemed fine. Maybe because it didn’t seem so real. But then suddenly we all got told we had to stay home. Please stay inside. Please save the NHS. Please help us control the virus. That first week I don’t think I could have worked if I tried, I spent every second on the internet, reading about the virus, reading about how it had spread between diners in a restaurant in Wuhan, about SARS, and MERS, and swine flu, and bird flu, learning about droplets and respiratory diseases and ventilators, I barely slept, I drank a lot, I used to be a social smoker, I somehow ended up taking it back up, I think just for something to do.
I watched a lot of box sets. Things like Ab Fab, The Young Ones, Partridge, I’ve never been interested in cars but I found old episodes of Top Gear and somehow that made me feel better. I listened to a lot of the radio, I feel like I hadn’t really listened to the radio in years. There was something reassuring and soothing about human voices, there in the room with you. For the first couple of weeks, I couldn’t switch the radio off, I felt extremely isolated, extremely alone, the radio helped me feel like there was someone else there. I listened to a mixture of the BBC channels, they were my go-to choices. I actually ended up listening to Radio Four and Radio Two more than any other stations – I’m 27 so I don’t think if either are aimed at me but they felt reassuring like having kind aunties and uncles around look after you.
I deactivated my Twitter and Facebook accounts a few years ago, felt like I was wasting time scrolling a lot. The first week on furlough, I logged back into both. I wasted a lot of time again on Facebook, sucked back into stalking all these people I never really cared about from school, oh he’s moved to Australia now, who cares, before I remembered why I had deactivated it in the first place. It’s not real life, and it’s a distraction from my real life, my real here, and my real now. I lasted much longer on Twitter, and found a lot of really useful resources and links to things during the lockdown – which local independent food places were doing takeaway during the lockdown, where I could buy bread, where I could get coffee.
Back then, right at the start of the lockdown, I was so stressed. Worried about the world, worried about myself, I just felt like there was this general background level of worry that never went away. Sometimes I’d wake up and for a second I had forgotten, everything felt normal, then I remembered and the pit of my stomach dropped I felt sick thinking about everything. I tried to fill my days, so I spent my daily walks heading for Pettigrew, or the Indoor Market, or Oriel Jones, to pick up food. I got my fruit and veg from Laura’s. Sometimes I was the only traffic on busy roads. No cars, no buses, no nothing.
Now the shops are open again. Starbucks. Greggs. I can get coffee from almost anywhere, but I make an effort now to try and get coffee from one of the independents – Brodies, or Hardlines, or Pettigrew (although I feel bad, I was one of those people making Steve Lucas wait in line while I asked for a latte. Steve – I can only apologise to you, getting that coffee was my only connection to normality – to the real world I missed so much back then). And I didn’t want to go home, I wanted to stay out longer. I wanted to do things that took up my day. I didn’t have anywhere else to escape to and the flat was becoming a mess and a prison.
I got used to the roads being quieter. I walked a lot. I took my bike to be serviced. I started cycling again. I haven’t cycled in years. And I walked and cycled for fun, because there was no where to go. I obeyed the rules about not seeing other people, which was hard, as I live alone. But actually my balcony is linked to a couple of others in our flats, and I ended up strangely making friends with neighbours I have lived within metres of for years, but never ever seen or spoken to before.
I blinked, and it was over.
And now, everything is different again. But I’m not ready for it. Before I felt dazed and confused by the lack of traffic and busyness and commerce. And now I miss the roads being quiet. I miss being the only person walking down a road – being able to stand in the middle and take a photo on my phone, and not rush to get over to the pavement.
I wish I had used my furlough time better. I thought maybe I could repaint the flat, rearrange the furniture. I don’t have any children or pets and I was fairly newly single, so it’s just me, how would I fill the time? I thought I might learn a language, I’ve been meaning to learn Welsh properly for years as I never learned properly at school, or maybe German, I’ve always wanted to do that. I thought I might read more books, or think about writing one of my own even, because think of all that time, and how would I fill it? But now it’s over, and what did I do?
I spent it feeling nervous and worried, watching endless YouTube videos, drinking. One night one of my neighbours had some weed and I smoked some with him, I spent the rest of the night trapped in an internet rabbit hole where I was convinced I could find the source of the coronavirus if I just kept on looking, needless to say I didn’t find it and felt like death the next day. I spent it walking, talking the long route to places, because I wanted to be out of the flat for longer, and the walking was the purpose of being out, not to get anywhere or see anyone.
I’m disappointed in myself I suppose is what I mean. I’m back in work – we are taking turns to go into the office, smaller capacity and very strict hygiene rules. But I feel like I did nothing. That time was a gift. I spent it worried and stressed. I wish I had done things differently. I wish I had spend the time to learn Welsh, or have a proper clean out of my place. Anything constructive. I feel like I wasted it.
I blinked, and it was over. And although I’m happy to be able to see people and happy to see town busy and things, you know, I miss it a bit.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from our old pal, Steve Lucas. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in lockdown!
I sat before the television and watched a new breed of uber-confident, media-trained, silver-tongued, blue-suited, private-schooled politicians as they took turns to wobble along a daily tightrope, trying to show us that they could strike the right balance within the shifting weight in the pole of “the science” without succumbing to the irresistible pull of the gravity of the financial system.
I watched the daily death toll rise like a barometer of fear and struggled to put the grim statistics into some kind of meaningful sense and context.
I watched nurses hold iPads in the air for semi-conscious patients, like ring girls signalling the end of another round in the fight against an enemy too tiny to see.
I felt the sadness on our streets as smiling, considerate people stepped into the road to maintain a respectful distance from each other.
I noticed the faint, ghostly scent of sanitiser on the damp plastic handles of shopping trolleys.
I saw the Holy Grail of our ‘30 hours a week of free childcare’ swept away from us, while my working hours increased and my partner started working from home.
I felt appreciative but uncomfortable when someone stopped me and thanked me for the key work I was doing.
I saw our eldest son fill his wheelbarrow with cardboard boxes and play a new game where he became a new superhero called DELIVERY MAN.
I felt an eye-glistening relief that the COVID-19 virus didn’t seem to show much interest in meddling with the physiology of children as it hitchhiked its way around the world.
I struggled to stay connected to people as I uneasily joined in with the stuttering technological chaos of Facetime and Zoom calls, then wrote letters by hand, and completed my counselling sessions by telephone.
I listened as people began to ask more questions about our whole way of life, our rushing around, our ways of working, our monetary system, and then our racial equality.
I heard Orwellian-style concepts like ‘the second wave’, ‘air bridges’ and ‘the new normal’ and wondered what the implications might be.
I regretted not buying a second hand copy of The Plague by Albert Camus when I saw it on the shelf in Troutmark Books in the Castle Arcade way back in February.
I savoured the small, positive things: the quiet cycle ride to work, the cleaner city air, and the chance to spend more time together as a family.
I waited in a queue outside the Pettigrew Bakery for 20 minutes just to buy a loaf of bread and a Chelsea bun because everyone else in front of me seemed to need a cup of coffee.
I waited and I waited and I waited some more until I finally saw Liverpool win the Premier League.
I wrote a haiku (as suggested by Peter Gaskell) which went:
Spring stops everywhere Rainbows mask isolation Time leaves us alone
I missed meeting up with friends, going to yoga classes, playing 5-a-side football, walking in hills and forests… in other words the things that help to keep my mind from sneaking off to the craters on the dark side of the moon.
I kissed my son when we walked around the park and he asked me, ‘Have all the germs gone now, daddy?’ and I said, ‘Not yet, son.’
I went to Pontcanna fields and observed the thoughts I had like: TAKE YOUR LITTER HOME; DON’T JUST LEAVE IT NEAR THE OVER-FLOWING BIN – WHAT’S WRONG WITH SOME PEOPLE?!
I didn’t watch any boxsets, didn’t paint the house, didn’t go jogging, didn’t walk any dogs, didn’t write a sitcom, didn’t go on social media, and definitely didn’t drive to any castles to test my eyesight.
Today’s instalment for the Letters from Cardiff in lockdown series comes from Mike, who welcomed a baby boy into his life during the lockdown. We’re looking for your stories, so please contribute to Letters from Cardiff in Lockdown!
Common Story
When lockdown started here in Wales, I was sitting in the office with a workmate talking about how the company would react to the possibility of shutting down. There had already been an email the week before about the potential of home-working and the conversation moved to how we would cope with balancing work and all the rest of life in the same space. Bethan said that being stuck at home might give her a chance to rediscover some old hobbies, or start new ones. And that she was going to start her day as early as possible and really put those regained commuter hours to use. I was looking forward to the birth of my child, due on April 20th.
It couldn’t have gone 10am when there was another company-wide email advising all employees and visitors to leave the Cardiff office with all of the equipment that was needed as soon as possible. There was quite a bit to be fair. I was thinking of how I’d get the monitors I needed back to the house on the bus when I read the last paragraph of the email which strongly advised against using public transport. In the weeks leading up to lockdown I’d like to say I was casually cautious – I didn’t wear a mask when I went shopping and I wouldn’t avoid seeing people that I needed to, while physically distancing of course. I wouldn’t cross the road when people walked against me, and I didn’t panic when people got ‘too close’ as some saw it. Even on the bus earlier that day on the way in when someone coughed, I just turned to the window and wondered how awkward that person must feel that they might have upset someone or made someone paranoid that the disease sweeping across the globe was on this very bus.
When the email came at work the chatter started to build and build around me. People got out of their seats and got into action. Laptops and paperwork were shoved into bags, monitors were unplugged, and comfy office chairs were loaded up with all they could carry, then pushed cautiously towards the elevator doors. It was pretty surreal. I had the image that we were a front for some illegal business and about to be raided. The building started to empty, and from the third floor I could see the line of traffic leaving the car park and speeding up the road.
It was just Bethan, myself and a handful of others left in a wide-open room that usually had 70 to 80 people moving around it. It was the first time I thought that there could be a chance that I could bring this thing home and that Lisa and our kid due in the coming weeks could be affected. It had seemed so far away. Something that could be prevented by staying away from anyone who had symptoms and washing your hands for the duration of a short song.
As people had left the building and the distance was put between us, the sudden fear of catching something grew closer. I thought of the lady who had coughed that morning, and of a trip I had taken to Berlin a couple of weeks before, and the amount of people I must have passed every day since the start of the year as this thing was growing and spreading.
Bethan asked if I wanted a lift home with all of my stuff, even though she’d have to make a second trip for the rest of hers. I would honestly say I’d have declined on any other day previous to that, but that day I thanked her all the way home.
It was weird at first, being home with the person I had shared my life with for 12 years, but only usually 30 hours of my waking week with for a long, long time. We kept busy and made a list of the remaining things we’d need before the baby arrived – any list feels like a long list when it’s for a baby. As shops closed and deliveries were delayed those last few things put pressure on us. And Lisa was feeling the pressure doubly, our daily walks got slower and we didn’t go as far. Then again, there was nothing open to go to, so we just saw less of the park.
News of restrictions for visitors at hospitals and between countries became worrying. Our parents and most of our family and friends lived in Ireland and it was looking like we would be on our own when the baby arrived. Of course, I should take a moment to say that those poor people who lost their lives and the families that they left behind were in our thoughts also.
There were updates every couple of days and it became apparent that Lisa would have to go to hospital alone when the day came to deliver, and I could only be there for the main event. She was becoming more stressed by the thought of going through labour alone as the days went by. As there was still time to choose where she wanted to have the baby, she decided on a homebirth. This, without any shadow of a doubt in my mind, was the most anxiety-inducing thought I have ever experienced. Lisa then told me she had been thinking about it for a little while and her dad suggested that I should learn how to deliver a baby, just in case no-one could make it out to us. That then became the most anxiety-inducing thought I’ve ever had. After my mind melted and reformed it was weird to think of a place in our house that would be a good setting to bring new life into the world.
I woke up on Saturday, April 25th, around 6am and noticed Lisa wasn’t in bed beside me. She was five days past her due date. I got out of bed to go and look for her, finding her downstairs bouncing on a yoga ball. The contractions had started and were happening close together and then quite far apart. We had learned that this could happen and that labour for first-time mums could take a while. So, I got Lisa some water, gave her a big kiss, and went back to bed for an hour. Then when I woke, I went back downstairs to find Lisa frozen solid. The contractions were really close together and she was in serious discomfort. I called the hospital and was told someone would be out in a few hours. Lisa was having a hard time of it and, when the first midwife arrived, she was in a lot of pain. But there was a long way to go we were told.
Hours passed before the next midwife came. I had called the hospital again with my best effort at staying calm. There’s something that hurts so much when you see someone you love in pain and you can’t do anything but hold them and say breathe. We were told that Lisa still had a ways to go and the second midwife left. The contractions had been minutes apart for hours when I called the hospital again and, looking at Lisa, asked that someone come now please, that now would be really good, please. I think that’s all I could manage to say after our names. Chrissy arrived at 9pm and at 11pm her colleague Ruth came with a tank of gas. The midwives and the gas are what got Lisa through the last few hours. I did my small part again, continually chanting breathe interspersed with offering water.
At 3:54 on April 26th Lisa brought our son into the world. He cried, and it was one of the strangest and most beautiful things I have heard in all my life. I told Lisa I loved her and then I cut the cord. After I held the boy for a while, just looking and chatting at him, I helped the midwives load up their gear. It’s a terrible time when you can’t hug someone for any reason. Lisa put the boy to bed for the first time and I helped her into the shower. When I put her to bed I went down to where the boy had been born. I noticed the adrenaline as I loaded the washing machine. I floated around cleaning up for another hour or so before I poured a small glass of whiskey. Then, with the sun climbing, I called my brother in Australia to give him the news. He was the only one I knew who would be awake at that hour. We didn’t have a name then, and for a few days after he was just called the boy or the baby. He has one now, it’s an old Irish one. And hopefully Oisín will see his family and his father’s land across the sea before too long.
We Are Cardiff 