English Today.

So, it’s my English exam today – the last exam I have; after this I am freeeeeee until September (but I can’t wait until September so that’s fine!). You’d imagine, what with me being a blogger, that an English exam would be fine for me. Hey, I write all the time, what’s the worst an English exam can do?

You’d probably be right if it wasn’t an English Literature exam. *cue horror music*. The language part of the course was the coursework, which apparently I did quite well in (hoping that means I got an A which will pull up the undoubtedly abysmal grade I shall get in this exam), the exam is the analysis of a literary text we’ve been studying for the past year (ours is Wuthering Heights, yay… not), comparing it to other texts we’ve read independently (so far I’ve got Twilight, The Mabinogion and The Hunger Games… great!), and then a comparison of three unseen texts.

I am not confident at all. I suppose the only good thing is that I’m going in with no expectations whatsoever (or maybe I do have expectations, they’re just really really low) so if the paper doesn’t look like it’s written in a foreign language, I’ll be happy! 😉

… and then you get the people who let the side down.

I had a response to my blog yesterday (not on here) that said that because I was born in England, I am not Welsh and cannot call myself Welsh. This cheerful and welcoming response came from a Welsh person, and revealed one aspect of the Welsh culture – although I’m sure there are aspects of it in each and every culture, and thankfully it is only a small minority who behave this way – that I dislike, and that is insularity.

I was born in England, yes. I spent the first two years of my life in England, yes. But I’ve spent the subsequent sixteen years in Wales – I have been raised in Wales, all my memories are in Wales (I don’t remember anything from the first two years of my life!), I speak the language and have done since I was three, I will live here (if possible) for the rest of my life, my children will be brought up to speak Welsh, I will always champion the Welsh language wherever possible – but, apparently, I am still English and have no right to call myself Welsh.

Alright then. So, everyone who has come here from England, and now speaks Welsh fluently, and pays into the Welsh economy, and has a house here, starts boycotting Welsh schools. We boycott anywhere with Welsh-language signs or Welsh products – or we leave Wales altogether, taking with us a substantial amount of money from the economy. Of course, I don’t want to do that – but is that what people want us to do? Up here, a lot of the pupils in the Welsh-speaking schools have come from England and made the effort to learn the language, and the schools are struggling for numbers as it is – the amount of pupils in schools will decline if everyone who wasn’t born in Wales boycotts them, and lots of schools will have to close. Small businesses who pride themselves on offering a Welsh service and Welsh products will inevitably close because there aren’t enough people to use them, and the economy in Wales is going to take a sudden tumble.

I’m not sure if these people are Welsh nationalists or if they’re just small-minded, insular, village-mentality people who have this idea that if your grandfather’s grandfather didn’t live in the village, you will never be welcome here, but visiting the Eisteddfod yesterday assured me that the majority of the Welsh are welcoming people who are happy to see you make the effort to learn the language – they have categories in the competitions for Welsh learners, which just emphasizes the fact that they welcome people trying to learn – but to see a comment like that (particularly when I know I was never intended to see it!) is disheartening.

So, if we’re going to be pedantic, I’ll call myself a Naturalized Welsh Person – I have acquired my nationality. If people are so determined that the country we were born in determines how we should identify ourselves for the rest of our lives (a family friend was born in Dubai whilst her father was there on business but has lived in England for most of her life and has the strongest Durham accent I’ve ever heard, are we going to suggest that she isn’t English?) , perhaps we should all walk around with our place of birth and the nationality we associate ourselves with tattooed on our foreheads, so that if anyone hasn’t got anything better to do they can accost us and “set us straight”. Or, alternatively, the people who care so much can go and live on top of a mountain somewhere, where the nasty “English” people won’t bother them with their silly ideas of wanting to integrate and help the language and culture survive, and allow normal people to get on with our lives.

Yet another post about why I am proud to be Welsh.

So, today my boyfriend and I went to the Eisteddfod. For those not familiar with it, it’s basically a mass gathering of Welsh people, mainly for competitions (in this case, as it was the Urdd Eisteddfod, for primary/secondary school pupils and those under 25) in singing, dancing (folk and disco), instruments and also art and design, poetry and other things like that, as well as being a chance for people to meet up and celebrate Welsh culture and the Welsh language. There are also lots of stalls selling Welsh goods and promoting services in Wales.

It was amazing! If you live in Wales and you’ve never been to an Eisteddfod, I definitely recommend it – this year is the first time I’ve ever been to one, because my school wasn’t big on entering people for the Eisteddfods so I never got a chance to perform at any other than local ones which were basically concerts in the village or school hall – because there’s so much to see and do – lots of displays, lots of stands to do activities at, a funfair and the tents and studios where the preliminaries and final competitions take place. The talent is such a high standard and it really is amazing to see so many people who are so young, performing so well in the Welsh language. It provides some hope for the survival of our language and culture, something I will always support (one of the main reasons why I’ll be taking some of my degree through the medium of Welsh).

So, I will always be proud to be Welsh, and when I have children, they will be brought up to speak Welsh as their first language, and if they want to, I’ll give them every opportunity possible to perform at the Eisteddfod, because I wish I’d been able to be a bigger part of them when I was young enough.

Aaaand hello writer’s block.

I had my first exam today! Drama, the re-sit of the paper I did in January and I’m so pleased with the questions, they were so much better than last time and exactly what I’d hoped for. I’m not entirely sure how I did – I messed up timing with painkillers and ended up doing the last half an hour or so with a few concentration lapses because I was in pain, and time constraints are evil on that exam because there’s so much to do, but I’m hoping it’ll be enough to get me maybe a B, which is great because it brings me closer to getting into university. My hand is killing me from all the writing I’ve done, but I’ve got eighteen days to recover before my next exam (Psychology, which is also a mass of writing to do but I’m feeling prepared for that one), and then two days until Epic Exam #3, English. Then I’m done with exams and college!

The words were really flowing yesterday – I was finding it really easy to write, I knew where the story I’m writing was going and everything and yet today, when I tried, it just didn’t work – the characters are completely different to how they were yesterday for some reason, I just can’t write them in the same way. I guess maybe the sheer amount of writing I’ve done today has taken it out of me and I need to give it a break. I’m still hoping to post them up here soon so that rather than me just blabbering on about my writing like I have done for the past few months, I’m actually going to post some writing up, which is what this blog was originally intended for. When I’m better, I am going to work on sorting out videos of me singing to come up on here too, I promise 🙂 Things got a little sidetracked by my misbehaving kidneys, and they’re still refusing to toe the line but we’ll get there eventually.

So, I think it’s best to leave the writing for tonight and maybe tomorrow – or maybe to just have a whole weekend away from writing and needing to think too much, and just doing things I enjoy. Face painting this weekend, pwning some n00bz on Black Ops tomorrow and then a week off to recharge my batteries and do some more revision to make sure I’m as ready as possible for the exams. It’s kind of hit me today just how important these exams are, and I’m not going to take them lightly.

Oh, and for those of you awaiting a new “inspirational pictures” post (yeah, I see you all, getting to my blog by searching google for numerous variants on the phrase “inspirational pictures”, and I’m sorry I’ve not posted any more recently but I haven’t been feeling inspirational!), it will be along soon. Not sure when, but soon.

And now, in conclusion, the mushy section of this blog post. I’ve been with my boyfriend for seventeen months yesterday (the 31st) and he’s made me so happy in those seventeen months, I don’t know what I’d do without him, so if he reads this (and I hope he reads this, because I read his blog 😉 ) I love you and thank you for everything you do for me and, to quote the vernacular, this one’s for you 😉

Maddy-o is a radio star?

Well, not exactly. And apologies for that awful, truly terrible title.

I’m not exactly a radio star. I’ve had my first taste of being in a radio studio and it’s really cool! I’ve been recording an interview for a program BBC Radio Cymru are doing on the Titanic (what with the centenary approaching and my campaign for a memorial in Barmouth having received some attention recently), and it meant I had to speak in Welsh. It was a challenge for me – at first, it felt slightly like my Welsh GCSE speaking and listening exam, an experience I hoped to never have to repeat – but when I relaxed and settled in, it seemed to go quite well.

I’m, technically, a Welsh learner. Yes, I’ve been learning since I was three and a half, but never speaking Welsh at home – and only speaking it sporadically at school, i.e since the age of seven I’ve only spoken it during Welsh language lessons, which weren’t exactly frequent either at primary or secondary schools. I’ll never speak it as well as people who’ve lived here all their life and speak it at home, but I am fluent, and was considered to be first-language – i.e on a par with those who speak it at home with their parents – at secondary school.

I think the main problem is that I haven’t spoken it for a while, other than the odd snippet thrown here and there in conversation, and used on Facebook. I think a lot of people hear my accent and assume I can’t speak Welsh – it still seems fairly strong, especially when I do speak Welsh – when really, I’m fluent, but sometimes it just doesn’t flow as well as other people’s seems to – there are certain words I struggle with because of the pronunciation and others, where they’re easily confused with others and I get confused.

Still, I’m fairly pleased with how I did today, and when I find out when it airs, I shall let you all know – although, if you don’t speak Welsh, you probably won’t understand it, but at least you get to hear my voice! And my (doubtful) Welsh abilities! So, all in all, a good day. Let’s see what tomorrow – the dreaded results day and UBER evening drama rehearsal – brings.

Moom’s Views – Being “British”

This blog post is mainly inspired by a discussion on thestudentroom forums, where they’re talking about what it is to be British.

Personally, I don’t consider myself to be British other than the fact that, according to my passport, I am a citizen of Great Britain. As far as I am concerned, my nationality is Welsh, and I am proud of that fact. I am proud of our language and the fact that it is still alive despite the many attempts to quash it, proud of our history and our culture, our patriotism, our music and our poets, our food (if you haven’t tried Welsh cakes, you must! They’re amazing!), our scenery and beaches and so much more.

Now, I am not against English people coming to this country. After all, my family moved here from England, so it’d be hypocritical of me to say that. What I am against, however, is people who move to this country and make no attempts whatsoever to learn our language – in fact, they go as far as to actively slag it off, and slag off all the people who live here (“sheep shaggers” is a popular insult), and say how much they hate living here – and yet, when asked why they live here if they hate it so much, they’re the first to bleat (pardon the pun) “racism” and “I have just as much right to live here as everyone else”. They have the right to live here, but if they hate it so much, surely the good thing to do would be to move back to England, where you don’t have to listen to us speaking Welsh if it irks you so, and free up some of the housing market for the young people and families who want to stay in Wales and want to remain immersed in the culture.

The other ironic thing is that these people are usually the ones who complain the loudest about immigrants who move to England and refuse to learn the language and don’t immerse themselves in the culture. I mean, I do agree with them, I think people who move to any country, regardless of where from, should try to become a part of the culture and at least learn the language, the law and the generally accepted way to be a member of society, more for communication’s sake and to be polite than anything else. However, why is it the English seem to be so hypocritical about it?

Of course, I am generalizing here, and not all English people are like that – it seems to be a minority, but the minority seem to be the most vocal about it. I know plenty of English families who have moved here and the children have all learned Welsh through school, and the parents try to learn Welsh (although it is harder as an adult, because of the fact that children soak up languages better than adults), and even though they may still support the England football and rugby teams, you never get that attitude of “we’re going to smash the sheep shaggers”, shortly followed by (when Wales win, which usually only happens in rugby) “ugh Wales won by a fluke, Wales got lucky, Wales is full of sheep shaggers, don’t get too smug Wales, you only won by a little bit”. Alternatively, if they win, it’s “Ha, we showed them Welsh *****!”. They seem to be sore winners and sore losers. Also, in sports, there is the fact that when a Welshman (or woman, I’m not sexist) wins something, they are “The British sportsman, ________, wins the gold medal!”. When they don’t succeed, it is “And the Welshman, _________, crashes out in last place”. It’s double standards, and the only country it never seems to happen to, funnily enough, is England.

I don’t hate England and I don’t hate English people – I just hate the attitude some of them seem to have towards countries that live, however slightly, differently to their own. We are next door to England (although, I must stress, Wales is NOT a part of England), we share the same Royal Family, most of us speak English as well as Welsh, some of our bands and singers are quite popular in England (Bullet For My Valentine, Katherine Jenkins (the Forces Sweetheart) Duffy, Funeral for a Friend, Kids in Glass Houses, Lostprophets, Manic Street Preachers, Tom Jones and of course, Stereophonics, to name some of them) – the only real differences is that we can and choose to speak a different language sometimes (which seems to really annoy the English if they walk in on a conversation in Welsh – ever heard the “I walked into a pub and EVERYONE changed from speaking English to Welsh” myth?), and we support different teams in sports. Why is there such animosity towards the Welsh? I’m not saying it isn’t reciprocated – there are some Welsh people who dislike the English, but it never seems to be the same level of hatred as some English people seem to have for the Welsh – and yet, they’re more than happy to come on holiday here and expect us to speak English whenever they’re around, regardless of what language we normally use. And if we don’t? We’re racist.

Writing when ill…

Normally, when I’m ill, I get my best writing done. I mean, when you’re stuck in bed all day with a bad cold, or coughing your lungs up, there’s not really much more you can do than watch television, grab the old laptop and amuse yourself by writing. Today, however, I’m off college because I’m ill – but this isn’t the sort of illness where you can actually make use of the fact that you feel like crap by churning out a couple of thousand words in between eating copious amounts of chicken soup and watching Jeremy Kyle/other equally amusing-yet-horrifying “let’s deal with your relationship problems live on air” TV shows – or am I the only one who does that when I have a cold?

Nope, today I’ve encountered the horrible problem of BRAIN FOG. *horror chords*. Yep, as well as the fatigue, joint pains, muscle pains, headache and sore throat, my head feels like it’s been stuck in a blender and I could very well pass for a zombie out of Shaun Of The Dead (or one of the Romero “_____ of the Dead” movies if you’ve never seen the brilliant Simon Pegg parody) this morning, and I’m FED UP! I want to write, because I know what I want to write – but thanks to this brain fog, I don’t think the messages will actually reach my hands before my hands have gone “I can’t be bothered waiting for these words, let’s play on Bejewelled Blitz/stalk people on Facebook instead”.

I can’t even write my coursework! I’d actually like to get my coursework done and dusted, but it’s proving impossible because I’m looking at these words I’ve written down in my plan (it’s a comparison of the presentation of the theme of marriage in Much Ado About Nothing, and Cat On A Hot Tin Roof) and I don’t think I even remember writing them. Plus my teacher has made notes that are nearly impossible to decipher when my head’s like this. Even as I’m writing this, it’s going slowly and I can feel my fingers edging nearer and nearer to the mousepad to click on the tab with Facebook on it. Must – resist – must – keep – writing – curses, foiled again. Oh well. Facebook it is!