The People

“I’ve poured more emotion, grit and passion into the city in four short years than I thought possible” – Hannah

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In Cardiff I have lived, and lived I have.

Cardiff has been at the centre of possibly one of the most exciting times in my life.

Although it’s presumptuous to say so as I’m only 24 – I suppose I might have to wait a long time to I find out – but it certainly feels like the city has propelled me through an important and formative period.

My first memories of Cardiff were a rainy road trip for a university open day in my late teens – despite being a Birmingham lass, the open spaces and Civic Centre made the city feel huge and grand – a memory of a lecturer speaking about the acclaimed School of Journalism was imprinted on my brain throughout my time editing the student newspaper at Bristol University. I applied for the course during my last year at Bristol – and moved into a house with three assertive and curious journalism students on Donald Street in Roath.

Fresh out of Bristol – where students live in ridiculously pricey Edwardian houses closer to organic delis and wine bars than off-licences and hardware stores – Albany Road was a dream. It mirrored more of the ethnic diversity of Birmingham – it felt relaxed, cool and homely.

Penarth was my news ‘patch’; I made regular trips past the tinkytonk castle, cutting through Grangetown to get to the little seaside hilly village. Sunny days were spent walking along the pier talking to wrinkled sun-soakers, rainy days running in the dark to get to town council meetings and eating tuna sandwiches in Windsor arcade inbetween.

As a trainee journalist, I got to know the geography of Cardiff pretty quickly – how you can be thrown out of the city by getting onto the wrong link road in Cardiff Bay, how to navigate the gridded backstreets of Splott. I made the move from east to west Cardiff in 2010 – unbeknown to me at the time I was joining a foray of frenzied media types in my little terraced house which straddles the tiny loggerhead wards of Canton and Riverside (known locally as Pontcanna).

According to journalisted.com I’ve written more than 1,000 articles since July 2008 – all involving Cardiff people – finding out more about the city and what makes it tick.

I’ve visited a Cardiff jester whose Facebook-famous ferrets had escaped, walked around Canton with the council’s chief executive, filmed the unveiling of a new nose for the anteater on the animal wall, helped a young lady get a disabled parking bay on Womanby Street, been out with the Cardiff Street Pastors on new Year’s Eve, learnt how to knit, tried out the new white water rafting centre, ran the Cardiff half marathon, sat in more council meetings in County and City Hall than I can remember….

I’ve let the charm of Cardiffian phrases seep into my vocabulary, chatted to crooners from Tiger Bay on the bus, I have struggled with the rain which seems to come up from the ground, tottered in heels down St Mary Street, cycled through Bute Park with my eyes closed, cried, laughed, cheered and loved. In truth I’ve poured more emotion, grit and passion into the city in four short years than I thought humanly possible, and the result will be with me, and Cardiff I hope, forever.

Thanks to everyone whose made this time so valuable – you’ve deepened the imprint of a dragon-shaped stamp on my heart.

Hannah Waldram is the Guardian beatblogger in Cardiff. Birmingham born and bred, Hannah started up a website for her hometown called BournvilleVillage.com and continued blogging and running social media surgeries before coming to Cardiff. In her spare time enjoys all things dance.

Hannah was photographed at Cardiff City Hall by Adam Chard

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The People

“An Ely Tale” – Mab

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I am from Ely. A lot of people don’t believe me when I tell them this. They listen to my polite, merely Diff-tinged accent, and think – she can’t be an Elyite! Elyopian? No way! They think I am telling fibs. I would like to drag them by their slender wrists to the house I grew up in, a tiny dwelling the size of a tooth. It’s not a fairy tale, I’d like to say; this is the garden in which my father used to shoot cats; this is the kitchen with women instead of appliances…

I didn’t like Ely. Some people seem to have a Grand Avenue of a time but, as fairy tales go, I found it a bit Grimm. I escaped into books at an early age, then I escaped to private school – Howell’s, in Llandaff. I had an assisted place. Getting on the crowded bus in my Harry Potter-esque uniform, with its crest-chested blazer, pinstripe blouse, and straw boater in summer, attracted some attention. But I was glad to get away. As soon as I was over the bridge, I began feeling better. When I think back, now, I realise it isn’t Ely I dislike – it’s poverty. Ely is a large council estate, and the stain-glass windows and red-carpeted entrance of Howell’s School were a luxurious balm to the cracked glass and bare stairs of Home.

Ely had such a powerfully negative effect on me that, by extension, I also disliked Cardiff. Caroline Street, with its porn shops, chippies, and army surplus stores seemed to summarise life as far as I could see it. Sex, food, and death; the gutters full of misery and fag ends. My mother came from a long line of housewives, a slave to her husband, her ovaries, and the kitchen sink. She got pregnant with me when she was 17, and that was considered a late start. I wanted more, but Cardiff didn’t seem to have the thing I was looking for.

I was the first in my family not to have a kid in her teens, and the first to finish school. I even went so far as to do an MA. However, I was also very overweight, and very withdrawn. For a period of about 8 years, I hardly spoke, a condition that was only later diagnosed as Selective Mutism. Then, aged 23, I escaped to Japan… The rich pink cherry blossoms and deep red maple leaves were an even greater balm than the décor of high school. I lived in an artist house next to a mountain, and began speaking again. But by the end of three years, I felt like returning…

I went to London, with the intention of moving there, but came back to Wales after one day. Cardiff was as grey and dull as I remembered – but things were beginning to change. I remember the Arms Park being taken down, and I didn’t feel sorry. I took pictures of the Millennium Stadium being built up, and I was glad. This new building was bigger and brighter – it had ambition. I saw the Bay transform itself from grey sludge into sparkly shops, eateries, boat tours, and buildings. To me, it felt like the dingy city of my childhood was suddenly sparking into colour; as if the dowdy, drab-haired housewife was finally putting on her glad-rags, painting her nails, getting a perm… Monotomy and monogamy were set aside, as Cardiff became – well, a bit of a tart.

Cardiff began selling herself. The stadium drew in the visitors, more than ever before; the Bay was a draw, St David’s 2 was built… The people of the city have cashed in, with Cardifferent T-shirts, I Loves the Diff badges, those fab place name cards that were launched just the other day. I bloody love it. There’s more going on here, it seems: less of the boring Male Voice Choir stuff; more of the South Wales Gay Male Choir stuff. There’s spoken word, comedy, and burlesque. Cardiff Identity Festival. Cardiff Design Festival. The Cardiff Story. Cardiff has become the Diff – that long, moany ‘keaar’ sound dropped. Good riddance, say I.

The only problem with the flirty bird the city has become is the possibility of over-sell. Prostitution, instead of promotion. Casinos, strip bars, Hooters. Sometimes I worry the city is going to turn into a massive Caroline Street…

Not that much of this has spread into Ely. It’s still as poor as it ever was. My sister lives on Snowden Road, where the Ely Riots took place. The price of bread is what caused it. Now there is a Greggs. My nephews tuck into ring doughnuts as they walk home from school, mattresses springing from front gardens. The brightest thing in the grey suburb is, as it ever was, the orange bus – bendy instead of double decker, but still there, to take you – fortunately in my case, unfortunately for others – away.

Mab Jones is an award-winning comic and performance poet. She often uses the Diff dialect in her work, and is member of B.A.D. (British Accent & Dialect) Poets, who translate famous poems into their native tongue. She performs all over the UK, and has two anthologies forthcoming with Parthian Books. Please check out her website for details: http://www.mabjones.com/

Mab was photographed in Splott by Adam Chard

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The People

“three floors of music and a cold staircase guide you skywards” – Richard

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richard arnold by Ffion Matthews

Cardiff is rapidly changing; the new shopping mall is only the physical side of this growth coming to fruition. It is colossal; it is grand, yet it is anonymous. Now progress is natural, and I am little too young to daydream in sepia but I am concerned that any sort of unique character in Cardiff is becoming too rare a delicacy. What Cardiff will look like in the future is a mystery to me, but I would like to briefly write about a place that I hope survives the evolving landscape, where others have fallen (the Point). That remains, even if just for my own selfish memories.

Clwb Ifor Bach, or Welsh Club to those of an English disposition, sits on Womanby Street, in the shadow of Cardiff Castle. It looks unremarkable. Illustrated posters of upcoming events line its outside wall. Occasionally a queue and puffs of cigarette smoke line the air as mobile phones illuminate the dark, the time reminding impatient hands how long they have been waiting. Other times the emptiness of the cobbled street follows with the absence of bodies on the dance floor. On such occasion the emptiness is only exaggerated by a green laser, which trickles from bulb to the tapping feet of the few dancing. My mind is filled with fond memories of my friends and I dancing to Le Tigre, Hot Chip, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and miming the Smiths to the unimpressed ceiling.

There are three floors of music and a cold staircase to guide you skywards. Music seeps from each level creating a cocktail of sounds. People crowd to talk, their tones varying from the joyous to the bleak. Eyes lined thick with mascara are the most telling in sadness, a trail of black make up thinly descends down their cheeks.

The majority of the time you barely catch a glimpse of smiling expressions as groups rush from room to room chasing a song, meeting people, enjoying the playground that is Clwb Ifor Bach.

I enjoy the scope of fashion you see paraded in Clwb Ifor Bach, it accepts the eccentrics. Its red brick interior provides the backdrop to polka dot dresses, arms swathed in tattoos, flat caps tilted to impossible angles and piercings protruding from the faces of strangers. The eclectic tastes of the punters are mirrored by the different types of music played there. From indie to dubstep, drum and bass, electro, pop and (although rare) hip hop. It is nice going out to a night, and the songs not being inane and bile educing as Lady Gaga crooning that she wants to ride your disco stick. Wales is a country that loves music, and Welsh Club caters for those whose thirst goes beyond the Radio 1 daytime playlist.

We live in a western world connected by chains and franchises that mean every city centre is all too familiar; any mystery vanquished under the strain of luminous logos and the sea of striped shirts and squeaky-clean shoes. In Clwb Ifor Bach there is a sea of styles, of stories waiting to unfold, of romance and rejection, of bravado and bravery spurred on by music, alcohol and dance moves. It has been the host of many of my happy memories, and I hope it will continue to be a venue that will offer a haven from the beige discothèques that line the more commercial St. Marys Street.

Richard Arnold is in his third year at Cardiff University studying History and Politics. He currently lives in Cathays.

Richard was photographed at Clwb Ifor Bach by Ffion Matthews

Richard Arnold by Ffion Matthews

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The People

“With dreamy ideas of castles, doubledecker buses, pubs, and all the stereotypes Americans impose on Britain, I moved to Cardiff” – Joni

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Joni by Ffion Matthews

I came to Cardiff on a productive gap year. But I stayed because I fell in love.

A studio flat in Washington, D.C., working at USA Today and a lovely bunch of friends weren’t enough to keep me happy in 2007. I had just turned 26 having spent my early twenties slogging in the newsroom as a sub-editor, then graphics editor, then online travel editor. So with dreamy ideas of castles, double-decker buses, pubs, and all the stereotypes Americans impose on Britain, I moved to Cardiff.

Cardiff wasn’t an obvious choice. People where I’m from in the states think Wales swim in the ocean. My logic went something like this:

I had $20,000 to spend on one year of education abroad from the Rotarians of West Texas. Britain awards most master’s degrees in one year. It also gives you free health care as an international student, lets you work up to 20 hours a week, and allows you to get a visa to work after you graduate. (Though some of these perks may change.)Then an old professor told me Cardiff had a good journalism school, and I was sold. So that is how I came to be in Cardiff.

It was temporary, though. I was going to get my degree, round out my journalism skills and probably go home. But Roy Noble of all people read the stars before I did. Some Rotarian who had heard me speak to his club in Aberdare told Roy he found an American he should interview. On Thanksgiving Day 2007, I went on his radio show. He told me Cardiff has a funny way of making people stay. The next summer, Cardiff worked its funny magic. I fell in love.

A year later, my now husband and I moved to Llandaff’s skinny Chapel Street. This village within Cardiff reminded me of a Neighbours within Albert Square – full of stories, history and soap-style drama lurking in the corners. Keen to keep up with the pace in online journalism, I created a local news site: Llandaff News. It was my experiment with WordPress, Twitter, and the social media sphere. It was my attempt to tell the stories of Llandaff and give more people a voice. But it’s become my reason and place to engage with my new home. Llandaff is where I live.

I’m still very much American. I sing Oklahoma with gusto after a few drinks. But I’m a Cardiffian and Llandavian, too. And I love it.

Joni Ayn Alexander is a multimedia journalist, lecturer, blogger, and PhD student. She spends a lot of time reading about journalism and hyperlocal media because that’s what her thesis is all about. When she can find the time, she practices journalism on Llandaff News. She’s American. She’s not British – yet. She drinks so much diet coke she’s been known to make artistic towers with leftover cans. (Small towers,
mind.) And she loves fried chicken. She currently lives in Llandaff.

Joni was photographed in Llandaff by Ffion Matthews

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Whats on

We Are Cardiff – interactive exhibition opening soon for BigLittleCity

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Excuse the lack of a We Are Cardiff story today … the hackflash minions (who run this website) are hard at work setting up the first ever We Are Cardiff retrospective!

It’s forming part of the BigLittleCity project at The Cardiff Story – the new museum dedicated to the capital of Wales.

We will be displaying photography and stories from We Are Cardiff so far, and inviting you to write your own Cardiff stories to add to our Story Wall in the gallery. We’ll be changing the display every couple of weeks, so make sure you stop by often to see what’s new!

BigLittleCity will be having its grand opening on Thursday 14 April, 5pm til late! After that We Are Cardiff will be exhibiting and inviting you to interact until 22 July!

BigLittleWhat?
BigLittleCity is a celebration of Cardiff and Cardiff’s creative talent for photography, art, film, writing, music and performance, animation, illustration, painting and graffiti. BigLittleCity is about the city and the experience of its residents and as such we are extremely focused on collaboration. The team has been invited to stage a four-month exhibition to help launch Cardiff’s prestigious new people’s museum The Cardiff Story at the Old Library building, The Hayes, in the heart of our city. Opening in March 2011, the BigLittleCity exhibition will showcase everything that is special about the Welsh capital and is set to attract tens of thousands of people. More here: BigLittleCity

So where is it?
The Cardiff Story is a new city museum for the capital of Wales, situated in The Hayes (between House of Fraser and St David’s Hall). More here The Cardiff Story

Come along and say hi! We’d love to see you there
xxx

The People

“Fel Gog sy’n siarad Cymraeg ma’ gin i ddewis o fyw mewn 2 Caerdydd” – Bethan

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We Are Cardiff - Bethan 015W.A.C. Bethan large jpegs

“Nai byth fynd i fyw hefo’r hwntws!”

Dyna ddudish i amsar maith yn ol. Wedi deud hynna, mi nesh i hefyd ddeud y baswn i byth yn mynd i fyw i ganol Saeson cyn i fi symud i Lundain am 8 mlynedd!

Caerdydd. Fel Gog sy’n siarad Cymraeg ma’ gin i ddewis o fyw mewn 2 Caerdydd- un Gymraeg, llawn barddoniaeth, Clwb Ifor Bach a chanu mewn cor cymysg. Neu yr un sy’n llawn pobol o bob tras, hil a iaith, yn amrywiaeth o straeon a llwybrau bywyd.

Dwi ‘di dewis yr ail.

Dwi’m yn saff pam ond dwi’n gofyn y cwestiwn yn y gerdd isod.

Pam lai?

Does na’m cyfieithiad i’r Saesneg
Dio’m yn golygu run fath.
Dau air syml iawn
Ond yn ateb perffaith I lot fawr.

Pam lai?

Llundain- y lle mwya’ unig yn y byd
Ond alli di byth fod ar ben dy hun.
“Why don’t we move to Cardiff?”
medd fy nghariad.
‘Ia. Pam lai.’

Ty i jesd ni’n dwy,
Gardd i neb ond ni,
Gallu cerdded i bobman
Pawb yn deud “hello”
Ond neb yn deud ‘helo’.
Prifddinas Cymru i fod.
Lle ma’r Cymry Cymraeg?

Ma’ nhw yma,
Mewn grwpia’
A ma’ na groeso cynnes i fi.

Ond be’ am fy nghariad?
Oes ‘na groeso iddi hi?

Dwi’m yn cau drysa’
Dwi’m yn un am ddal dig
Ond dwi’n ysu
I ddysgu
I wybod mwy am y byd.
Dwi ishio gwrando ar leisia’
Ar ieithoedd dwi’m yn ddalld
Byta bwyd sy’n hollol ddiethr
Dwi ishio byw!

Prif ddinas adra? Ella.
Ond ma’ hi’n ddinas newydd i mi.
Dwi’n barod am antur
Am newid
Bring it on!

Troi cefn ar fy mamiaith?
Na. Byth. No we.

Profi rwbath newydd?
Ia. Pam lai?

Bethan’s obsession lies in people’s steps- how they got to where they are and why they act the way they do? She casts judgement aside, gets rid of right and wrong and delves into that dark, grey area to find what makes them smile. She was raised in North Wales, went to London to train as an actress and finally found her place as a writer. Theatre credits include The Beach (National Theatre Wales), Patroiophobia (Sherman Cymru) KKK (RSC) Come to Where I’m From (Paines Plough). Her online credits include Such Tweet Sorrow (RSC), Cei Bach (S4C) and Hatty Rainbow (You Tube). Bethan’s latest play ‘Unprotected’ will be on at the WMC on Dec 8th and 9th. Che currently lives in Canton.

Bethan was photographed at the Senedd in Cardiff Bay by Simon Ayre

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The People

“Riverside farmers’ market began with a dozen stalls, once a month” – Steve

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I was born in Wrexham in 1950, so I am one of the ‘sixties generation’ and still shares its values.

I’ve always loved markets, and after living in different parts of Europe and Canada, I came back to Wales in 1993 to work at Community Music Wales in Cardiff, carrying in the back of my mind the idea of setting up a farmers’ market here.

I spent a year at the School of Social Entrepreneurs set up by Michael Young who also set up the Consumers’ Association and Open University. The idea of the course was to learn to be “business-like but for social benefits”. At the end of that course I was ready to put my dream of running a farmers market into motion.

I set up Riverside farmers’ market in 1998, pipped to the post by a couple of months by Bath farmers’ market to being the first in Britain.

It began with around a dozen stalls appearing once a month, then went weekly, and eight years ago moved to its present site on the Taff embankment opposite the Millennium Stadium.

The idea of setting up a market really inspired me because it has an economic dimension, a social justice dimension, environmental and cultural dimensions. The social and personal sides of the market are just as important to me as the fact you can buy good food there..

I am disappointed that farmers’ markets are still perceived as being for a limited number of people, the affluent or those with high level of education.

But I think that the food landscape is about to change massively.

Food production and distribution is highly dependent on oil, and as oil becomes scarcer, the intensively farmed and imported food we buy through supermarkets will become more expensive and the alternatives relatively cheaper. Local food markets are going to slowly but surely become a much more important part of the food supply for everybody. In the meantime we’re trying to make sure there’s enough of a small scale agricultural economy in Wales while the bigger picture is changing.

Much of the food on sale at the farmers’ market is competitive with supermarket prices anyway, but we have been hypnotised in this country to think when it comes to food that cheap is good in a way the rest of Europe has not. My experience of France, for example, is that people are not buying sliced bread, they’re buying a fresh baguette and some nice cheese.

They may be spending a bit more of their income on that but we’re talking about quality of life here. It’s what you choose to do with your money. Health, quality of life, being part of a community are as important as anything else. If people spent a little more of their household income on food, as they do in many continental countries, they might value food more.

In this country between 20% and 30% of what people buy gets thrown away. If you buy vegetables you can have fantastic food really cheaply if you make it yourself, and it’s a pleasure to cook if you know how to. And it’s healthy for you and your kids to eat stuff that’s been made from fresh.

If I go down to the Riverside market I can never spend less than two hours there because I have to chat with all the stallholders. They’re really interesting characters because they’re all individualists.

Other activities, which have been part of Riverside’s work since the early days, include work with local schools, taking schoolchildren to farms, and running cooking sessions in the local community.

We also run a community allotment garden in Cardiff and have rented some land in Cowbridge to create an organic horticulture business that will be growing and selling food locally and training people to grow their own.

I think that good businesses of the future will be need to be more environmentally sound and based on collaboration than competition. It’s a change of culture. That makes me happy because that change of culture is precisely what the ‘60’s generation always wanted to achieve.

Steve Garrett oversees Riverside Community Market Association (RCMA) and its associated activities, including setting up three other farmers markets in Cardiff; education and outreach activities (including the Riverside Community Allotment) and the RCMA Market Garden project, a new social enterprise, which will provide training in horticulture for local people and help create a sustainable food chain in Cardiff. He sits on panels and committees that advise local and national government on food policy, and hopes to contribute to a more sustainable and future-oriented food system in Wales. In the little spare time he has, Steve plays guitar and gigs under the name of Stainless Steve. He is proud father to an eight-year old son who keeps him on his toes, and he is governor at Severn Primary school. He currently lives in Riverside.

Steve was photographed at Riverside Farmers’ Market by Adam Chard

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The Arts, The People

‘I’ve loved Cardiff’s arcades for as long as I can remember’ – Amy

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It took me five years to fall in love with Cardiff. Maybe I’d been in love with it from day one, there was certainly some kind of mysterious force keeping me here. But I only realised how hard I’d fallen a few months ago.

I’m not a native Cardiffian. I’m not even Welsh (although for some time I did believe I had Welsh grandparents…). I moved here for the same reason I imagine many thousands do – university.

The strangest part about my decision to move to Cardiff was that I’d never even visited the city before I agreed to come and live here. It just seemed like the right thing to do. So up I rocked on day one, no clue where anything was, no clue about the history of the place, just sureity that this was where I was meant to be – and thankfully, I was oh so right.

Fast forward five and a bit years (and it really does feel like fast forward) and I can’t imagine myself living anywhere else. Even after I graduated and got a job in Bath, 50 miles away, I took the decision to commute rather than move. Now, while commuting has the odd strange benefit, believe it or not, it’s not exactly a picnic, so what is it about this place that still keeps me in its clutches?

I probably don’t need to tell anybody reading this about the many marvels of Cardiff, but I think it’s only now that I’m not a student and I actually spend a lot less time here than I used to, that I really appreciate it for what it is.

I’ve ended up with a city centre flat surrounded, pretty much, by all the things I love. I have the wonderful Bute Park only a few minutes round the corner, the magnificent Castle is opposite and the extra special Victorian and Edwardian Arcades line the street I live on – I couldn’t really ask for more.

The funny thing is, a lot of the places that I love, I didn’t really discover until after I’d made the decision to stay here after graduation. It sounds blasphemous, but it took me until last year to discover Wally’s – if you can believe that – I’d walked past it a few times but for god knows what insane reason not been in. Jacob’s Antiques, just behind Central station is another place that I often find myself in on a lazy Saturday afternoon, shamefully again something I’d seen from the train window a million and one times before I actually went in.

I could go on (and on) and list a thousand other great places, but I simply wouldn’t have time, because there’s too many, and you probably already know about them. Suffice to say, now that I know what I’d be missing out on if I left, I’m more in love with the place than ever before, and I also know there are so many more gems that I’ve probably also missed just waiting for me to explore.

It’s my love of all things Cardiff that led to the sudden lightning bolt of inspiration I had just the other night. I’ve been taking part in a Project 365, where you take one photo a day for a year, when I casually strolled into the Morgan Arcade one evening looking for that day’s picture. I’ve loved the arcades for as long as I can remember, and I think it’s fantastic that there’s a place that’s so uniquely Cardiff literally on my doorstep.

I tweeted that it might be a cool idea to do a photography project based entirely around the arcades and since then it has snowballed, there’s been a lot of interest and it’s now a full-blown project. So now you see, I really can’t leave, because I’m committed now to seeing through my Arcades project develop into something that I can be proud of, and it’s hopefully something that other people will get a lot of enjoyment out of.

So that’s my story, in a very tiny nutshell. I wonder what else Cardiff will ensnare me with over the coming years? Whatever it is… I can’t wait to find out.

Amy Davies is a journalist and photographer living in Cardiff city centre. Having moved to Cardiff 5-and-a-bit years ago for University, and never having the decency to leave, she now calls it home. During the day she boards the train of fun for her daily commute to Bath working on a photography website, and most of the rest of the time she’s either taking photos, writing things, baking cakes or a combination of all three. Visit the Cardiff Arcades Project website for more details on her latest project of insanity.

Amy was photographed at Cardiff Castle by Adam Chard

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The People

“Laser, smoke machine, and two spinning turntables” – Doug

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It finally dawned on me one day last summer that I think of Cardiff as home and have done for quite a while. It seems obvious now but it took a rare visit to the village that I grew up in to make me realise quite how much of an impact this city’s made on me.

I was back in England for a friend’s wedding and felt detached from the once-familiar surroundings. The accents didn’t sound right. Road signs were monolingual. I was a long way from the coast. People weren’t wearing pyjamas in supermarkets.

It was late last century when I first drove a car-load of belongings over the Severn Bridge with no idea of whether it would be a temporary or permanent move. To put a historical perspective on it: it was around the time the National Assembly for Wales was established, the Rugby World Cup was about to come to Wales and Cardiff Bay was preparing to open for business. As with many things in my life it turned out alright, more by luck than judgement.

Things were happening here. The promptly-constructed Millennium Stadium brought FA Cup finals and other major events to Cardiff while an over-budget, delayed Wembley Stadium was under construction. Cardiff City developed from third division mediocrity to Premier League hopefuls. Just last year the Swalec stadium put the Wales back into England and Wales cricket as the Ashes came to town.

Things outside the sporting world were gathering momentum too with gigs, clubs and daily trips to the basement at Catapult Records to keep tabs on new releases. It wasn’t long before I was immersed in music in Cardiff and I loved it. One of the main things that struck me about the city then – and it still does today – if you want to get involved, you can. This is where a compact capital city has its advantages.

I found my own slice of Cardiff, promoting and playing records at one of its true gems, Clwb Ifor Bach. It was one of the first places that really defined Cardiff for me when I arrived here. I managed to get a foot in the door, helping out at the now-defunct Hustler Showcase events and ended up doing a five-year stint with monthly club night Sumo.

Those heady days may be behind me but I still love that place. Guest DJs loved it. I’m guessing a few other people did too because they kept coming back each month: laser, smoke machine, and two spinning turntables.

Meanwhile, back in 2011, things are still happening here.

You only have to look to autumn’s Swn festival to see how well things can work in this cosy, friendly city. If anyone ever suggests that the ‘biggest bands’ don’t come here, the chances are they probably already have – and delivered a memorable gig to 100 grateful people in a city pub.

Whether you’re into music, arts, sports or something else, there are a lot of talented, creative, hard-working people in Cardiff and that won’t change any time soon. There are also a lot of people who know how to enjoy themselves. Often they’re the same people and that’s one of many things that make this city great.

Ten years after graduating from a journalism degree in Cardiff, Doug is still here and these days can mainly be found at home in Splott, at work for the Welsh Assembly Government in Cardiff Bay or running around Cardiff training for some event or other. Online: @dougjnicholls on Twitter or D_J_Nicholls on Flickr.

Doug was photographed at the Imperial Cafe by Adam Chard

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The People

“Cardiff Bay – what’s in a name?” – Jeremy

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I get out and about in Cardiff quite a bit, it goes with the job. Unsurprisingly, then, I’m often asked the question ‘where do you live?’ It’s a fairly humdrum, commonplace way to initiate small talk. For some people the reply to such a query would roll off the tongue without a second thought. In my case though, it’s not such a straightforward matter….

For the record, I live in a terraced street in a cluster of Victorian houses near where the River Taff ebbs and flows its way towards the Bristol Channel. The houses on my street were built to accommodate the families of men working in what was one of busiest seaports anywhere in the world. The houses all look pretty much the same from outside, but all are built slightly differently – some quite considerably larger than others to reflect more senior positions of the inhabitants, with the Sea Captain’s houses being the largest. The house I live in is one of the smaller ones and was home to a docker’s family for 65 years. That family has gone, but the stories of their time here lives on in the memories of my neighbours who have lived on the street for decades. It’s a friendly and welcoming place to live; the community is richly diverse in ethnicity, and that’s nothing new – the area is part of what many regard as the oldest multi-cultural community in Britain. To those who’ve lived here for generations, this area is known simply as ‘The Docks’. Separated from what used to be Tiger Bay by Clarence Road, it’s a small enclave that survived both the bombings of World War 11 and the brutal bulldozers of Cardiff Corporation in the 1970s.

To call it ‘The Docks’ is a nod to its history, its heritage – to the stories of the people who lived and died here, but it can’t be denied that the name no longer reflects the area. What remains of Cardiff Docks is a good couple of miles away, and the only vessels we now see calmly making their way down to the barrage are yachts and the occasional Water Bus. Estate Agents have applied the term ‘Cardiff Bay’ to these streets for 20 years or more, and unsurprisingly that’s how many others of my neighbours describe where they live. The street is a stone’s throw from the heartland of ‘new’ Cardiff – the Wales Millennium Centre, Mermaid Quay, The Red Dragon Centre and the profusion of restaurants and arty shops that have transformed this once neglected part of the City into a thriving cultural hub. For me, though, all the impressively shiny newness is a stark counterpoint to what it replaced. The decaying but still majestic empty buildings at the top end of Bute Street and the abandoned railway station in the Bay are screaming out for investment while new constructions – which could be anywhere in the UK – are still springing up.

As far as maps – and Cardiff Council – are concerned, I live in Butetown. The area of the City about which most books have been written, and which inspires reactions as diverse as the district itself from people who have never been here. It is in Butetown that Cardiff’s only community radio station has its studios. Indeed, Radio Cardiff is the only radio service exclusively aimed at the city. It’s an extraordinary operation. It receives no grant aid and employs no staff, but has a team of over 50 unpaid volunteers who put together programming that is quite unique and with a definite Cardiff accent. The team behind it ran short-term restricted licence broadcasts (under the names Tiger Bay FM, Bay FM and latterly Beats FM) regularly from 1992, and then in 2007 succeeded in winning the licence to broadcast the full time ‘Radio Cardiff’. I joined at its official launch, first as a newsreader and then as a presenter. Now I co-ordinate the volunteers who produce the news output and a youth programme. I also present the Saturday Breakfast Show. It’s more than a radio station for the community, it’s a community within itself – multi-cultural and across age ranges. I have learned so much from being part of the team there, not just about radio but about the city in which I live. I have been privileged to meet – and often interview – many of the people who have contributed to make Cardiff what it is today.

So, just where do I live? I totally respect the idea of referring to my area as ‘The Docks’ but in truth it’s a name that reflects a time I wasn’t here and so it doesn’t really feel right. I’m not a ‘Docks Boy’ – I grew up in the Swansea Valley and lived much of my adult life in London so while I love hearing the stories of its past, they are not my stories. I’m uncomfortable with calling it ‘Cardiff Bay’ perhaps because of what was cleared away to create it – it’s still raw for many who grew up in Tiger Bay that the unique community that meant so much both to them and to the city could have been swept away by a planners blueprint. I have no problem with the name Butetown other than it refers to the larger district, and so whatever the Post Office may say, I live in ‘The Bay’,

Jeremy Rees works for Voluntary Action Cardiff, – the organisation supporting charity & voluntary organisations in the City – and at Radio Cardiff where he presents ‘Soulful Saturday Breakfast’ every Saturday morning 7am-9am. He currently lives in the Bay.

Jeremy was photographed at the Radio Cardiff studios by Adam Chard

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The People

“I Heart Bute Park” – Lisa

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I’m very lucky to have my favourite place in Cardiff so close by. Living in a flat means I don’t have any green space to officially call my own, but Bute Park provides all the leafiness I need just feet from my front door.

I lived in Hirwaun, a little valley village, until eight months ago when I made the move to Cardiff. Back there, I had a little garden complete with mountain views, and whilst I often cursed its inclination to grow wild and unruly within seconds of my secateur attacks, it was a place of solitude, a tiny slice of grassy-ness where I could read, drink a cup of tea or glass of wine, or even just watch from the shelter of the house as rain hammered down or snow softly fell.

I’ve always spent lots of time in Cardiff. I spent years driving back and forth to and from Hirwaun for gigs, films, friends and the like before deciding to take the plunge and move. It has made my social life much easier!

As much as I now love being amidst music venues and coffee shops and cinemas and pubs, I feel a shot of nature is needed to stay sane, some natural surroundings necessary to counterbalance the city silhouette.

Bute Park provides exactly that.

Early morning runs become more pleasurable when exercised within its environs, the foliage and flowers and the glistening River Taff providing stunning distractions. The same features soothe and calm on a summer’s day when a blanket can be spread on the grass, under a tree, or river side and the day spent with wine, words, chocolate and conversation. When the rain falls or the wind blows, the park’s beauty becomes slightly rougher, trees bend under the blustery breeze; rain is glugged greedily by the Taff. After a snowfall it transforms into a real life winter wonderland, a sparkling white layer spread all around. The park illustrates the seasons in an impressive natural artwork, something rarely revealed within a city.

Bute Park is a place for activity or introspection, a place to go with friends or family, a place to walk your dog or stroll solo. It’s a place of history, home to Cardiff Castle, the Gorsedd stones and the Animal Wall.

Initially developed in 1873, the park was later presented to the council in 1947. Hundreds of thousands of people have passed through it over the years. It’s a place where the energies and histories and souls of the Cardiffians gone by can be felt, as well as the stories and passions and secrets and longings and evils and regrets of the contemporaries.

It’s a place that inspires me to write, which provides a platform for my fitness attempts, which allows me to think, and gives me that shot of nature needed to stay sane. I feel very lucky indeed to have Bute Park on my doorstep.

Lisa Derrick is a Development Officer for a community arts project in Merthyr Tydfil. Lisa won runner up place for best writing on a blog at the Welsh Blog Awards in 2010, you can read The Chocolate Takeaway here and find her on Twitter @lisajderrick. She also writes for Plugged In Magazine and has published articles on the Guardian Cardiff site. She is currently studying part time for an MA in English and Creative Writing at UWIC and has novel shaped hopes for the future. She currently lives in Riverside.

Lisa was photographed in Bute Park by Adam Chard

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The People

“Cardiff, city of new height. Capital of Wales. Darling of the valleys. Principal shopping magnet for all of western Britain – opened a year too late” – Peter

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I’m in the lozenge-shaped city again. It’s the one I come from. Where I was born and where I still live. Water south, hills north. A city of rhomboid sprawl. Where else would I be? I’m standing on the B4487 in bright early-morning sunlight. Traffic low. Birds in inner-city twitter. This was the Via Julia Maritima once, the paved Roman route west. A thousand years on it was the stage coach route to London. Full of ruts and mud. Then it was the hard-topped A48, when A roads meant something. Newport Road when I was a kid. Still is. The Africans are walking down it now. The endless displaced. Heading up beyond Roath Court for the Refugee Council at Phoenix House. Fewer now that the recession has hit. Polski Sklep having a hard time. The Czech shop already closed.

We always wondered why in this place there was so much new housing. Apartments rising like corn right across the boom city. Concrete mixers. Deliveries of brick. Tower cranes like locusts. Men in hard hats in every bar. What drew them to this capital? What were we doing that made them come? Nothing, it turns out. Investors are blind. Invest where walls rise and your money will climb in step. No need to sell what you’ve built. Let the vacant towers glitter. Let their apartments stand empty, value accumulating as prices soar. Manage a let if a visitor asks. Sell one to an executive needing a town centre toehold. Rooms with a water view for singles. Wasp territory. Audi in the undercroft. Wine in the rack. Families not needed. No toy cupboards. No gardens. No schools.

Now that boom has bust these investments stand barren. For Sale. To Let. To Let. Those not yet completed stay so. A city half-finished. For now.

Yet the centre flourishes. Come here on a match-day to see it at its peak. Street theatre, music, men on tightropes playing violins, Roma bands with clarinet and double bass, student duos with bright guitars, the Red Choir – some of them sitting now – still ushering in freedom outside the covered market, Chinese selling me my name bent in wire, Ninjah in bling and Sgt Pepper Jacket beating rhythm on the street furniture. The Big Issue seller with his dog in costume. The Coptic Christians. The Gaza protestors. The shaved heads of the Hari Krishnas weaving through the crowd. More vibrant life on Queen Street than at any previous time in its history.

St David’s 2 – the comprehensive redevelopment of those parts of the centre unscathed by previous interventions – hit the concrete mixers in 2004. Not only were the broken wrecks beyond Hills Street and all final centre traces of Victorian Cardiff wiped but much of Cardiff’s seventies restructuring along Bridge Street and the Hayes went too. Twenty-five years was as long as Iceland and the new library lasted. St David’s, because he is our patron saint and a Welsh symbol the world will recognise. Cardiff, city of new height. Capital of Wales. Darling of the valleys. Principal shopping magnet for all of western Britain. And in terms of the boom, opened a year too late. Vacant lots waiting for the fall to bottom. The recession has taken the gilt. I went through yesterday. Brave faces. Glass and just that little bit of echo. Promise not yet completely fulfilled.

Back on Newport Road it is as if the fifties are still with us. Victorian three-storey housing still in need of a repaint. Bed and breakfast vacancies. Hopeful signs saying that Construction Workers are Welcome. En-suite at no extra charge. Chip shop at the end of Broadway selling Clarks pies. Someone removing their front wall so that they can park their car in their front garden. Couple of kids on skateboards. Nigerian with an iPod. Man on a bike, no helmet. Cardiff as it was, still is.

That’s why I live here. Because Cardiff is. This piece is adapted, cut, spliced and mashed from Real Cardiff Three (Seren Books) – part of my on-going obsession with the city in which I was born. Check http://www.peterfinch.co.uk/cardiff.htm for more.

Peter Finch is a poet and psychogeographer who lives in east Cardiff. His latest collection of poetry, Zen Cymru, was published by Seren this year. He runs Academi, the Literature Development Agency for Wales.

Peter was photographed in Cardiff Bay by Adam Chard

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A blog about Cardiff, its people, and the alternative arts and cultural scene!