The Written Word Group

  Political Rumblings. Charles Roberts “Good morning Prime Minister, the Taoiseach of Ireland is on line two for you.” “Who?” “The Prime Minister of Ireland, Sir.” “Good morning Fergal, how are things over there in Ireland……?      What’s that……?        Oh I know the feeling old man……   I seem to be unpopular as well, and I don’t know why…..   I mean we’ve done popular things, but the peasants still hate me….   I mean we’ve raise taxes and cut benefits, that’s what they asked for, well strictly speaking they didn’t ask for their taxes to be raised, but we sort of promised it …..        What’s that….?        Go to war….!        No I don’t think so old man….        Yes I know that it can be popular with the peasants, but we’ve had two Prime Ministers who did just that.   One was so popular that she got re-elected, the other was thrown out and called a war criminal.   When you start something like that you have to be sure that the peasants will be with you; otherwise you could end

  Someone wise once wrote, "nothing is really lost until Mum can't find it."  How true that is. I've lost count of the number of times just this week when I have put down my Specs only to spend the next half an hour searching for them and then face the humiliation of Mrs D picking them up from right under my nose.  However, according to a recent survey by an Insurance Company they are not the most frequently lost item in the home. That is, of course, reserved for the TV Remote. I say, Of Course because it is another item in our house producing much frustration when it goes missing.  In this particular survey, Glasses come out in second place,  while on things lost outside the home, Glasses come in first, followed by Keys. While I was reading this, I started to wonder what other stuff gets lost out in the wide world, so I turned to Transport for London and was amazed at some of the things which turn up in their Lost Property Depot in East London, the largest in Europe.

  The Lions of Cwmrhaffau I clump across the yard in my wellies, past the Fig tree, towards the meadow, our equivalent of the Serengeti,calling out as I go ´¨Mookie Lion, Mouse Lion come on¨! Mookie always first, vocal as ever is calling back to me, then I see Mouse (shy, hence name) slinking in the shadows of the thick undergrowth, dark and mysterious. I wade through the long summer grasses, yellow rattle and clover, creating a path for Mookie to fly along, tail high and calling to her sister Mouse, then suddenly, so fast as to be a blur, Mouse leaps through the air over the head of Mookie, and boom fall together in a mock fight with riotous squeaks or rather roars, they are Lions after all. The noise brings the lone Antelope, played by Gert the goat, she bleats as she runs along the fence, not in fear but wanting to join in the fun. I watch them as I follow, nosing in hedgerows, climbing mole hills and sniff the air. We reach the edge of the woodlands having crossed the Plains, natur

Bruin, The Big Bear ¨If you´re naughty the Big Bear will eat you¨! I hear these words every day, Humans bringing their little ones to my doorway, often wailing or dragging their feet resisting the hand holding them. Other children, I have picked up this word, bring me sweets and put them in my mouth. Toffees, I think would be my favourite if I could eat them. I have become a Famous sight in Cardiff, or so I hear people say ¨Oh that´s The Bear Shop¨  but it is not mine, nor does it sell Bears, I like that people talk to me. Sometimes the Shop Owner comes in with a little blond girl who has no fear of me, but hugs my leg and whispers into my old fur ¨Hello Bear, I ´m sorry that you have to be here´ I stand here day after day, no longer remembering quite how long it has been. Before this shop I stood silently in the Hall of a big house, which looked out over tree covered hills with my companion, Little Bear, oh where is he now? I stand still, mouth open as if roaring, arms out stretched w

  George Bear Kicking off her shoes, feet sinking into cool sand, she takes in the spectacular scenery, the Coleg Tower rising above the dunes that guard the wide, open bay. She settles down on the rug with the flask and precious book. Breathing in the “Cat´s Paw”, she had not believed him when he named the sea breeze, she is always Cat to him. She muses on how many beaches they have explored and loved, blushing at the memories of Ynys Mochras, but Harlech will always be theirs. Umm, coffee, he´ll be here soon she thinks, picking up the diary. Memories come alive from the pages, that First Day, a deep breath and entering the Hall, filled with fellow students embarking on their life changing course.  They had come together through many classes, researching, well hours of talking and laughing; then rushing to gain the yellow slip for the completed assignments. Their beach walks opening their minds then hearts to each other. Making radio

 FACES Part 2 I had seen Leah safely in and was driving past the Comprehensive School located in the next street and which was connected in some way to hers. I had been by it many times, barely glancing at the gaggle of young teenagers gathered at the gate.  But today I noticed a couple of older guys, perhaps in their early 20’s, hanging around, a little way away and standing close to a brightly coloured car. It had been customized, suspension lowered, chrome wheels, spoiler on the back, definitely not your typical school run vehicle.  Curious, I drove around the block and approached the school gates again and drove by, slowly. The two guys were still there but most of the other youngsters had gone in. A couple of older teenagers were chatting to one of the guys and I thought I saw something being exchanged between them. I couldn't be sure, they may have just been shaking hands but I had to continue on my way as I was holding up traffic.  When I returned to collect Leah later that

  Visions of you in desperate situations dominated my every moment.  I waited. It was only a matter of time before our lives would be thrown into turmoil again. There was never long enough in between episodes to get too complacent. The horrors we faced as a family, all arising from your addiction, would exhaust us all. We were subsumed in the terror that this could be the final act of self destruction by you. Each one had scarred your body, creating a cartography that commemorated your acts of attempted suicide. There were many. Seeing the burns on your chest from the defibrillator, that stayed with me for a long time. Your tears broke my heart as you apologised for the trouble you caused. It never got easier to witness. Then there was the text. Your finale had been drawn out, torturous, degrading.  You had lain on the floor for days. No one knew. You often begged me to walk away and forget you. I couldn't do that because somewhere deep within me I felt you needed my love. You need

  The plays   Charles Roberts In t wo thousand and eight I joined the Luvvies theatre group, I was thrown in at the deep end and put straight into a Neil Simon play about a man with a back problem; obviously I was type cast as I have a back problem .  Anyway, once the performance was over, I thought that I could write plays as good as this, so I started writing .  I wrote two fifteen-minute comic plays which the group performed as part of their Christmas review .   This was the start of my obsession with writing plays .   Two years later a friend advised me to get the plays published and I became totally consumed with getting my work to publishers and possibly seeing my plays performed on a professional stage .  Here we are t welve years on, and I have had three of my plays performed .  O ne on a charitable , hospital radio, one I produced in Arbol eas , to raise money for the charity Age Support .  And the third was performed