Wales as a society has given up.
Eddie Butler is dead, Gary Speed is dead, Huw Edwards is disgraced, Ryan Giggs is disgraced. The drummer from the Stereophonics choked on his own vomit. The singer from the Lostprophets was a proper Brendan Smith/Sean Fortune style paedophile.
The great rugby players of the 1970s are dying at a rate of about one a month.
The 1985-1991 born generation of rugby players and association footballers that gave them hope are all done. The rugby players are mostly in the early stages of brain damage, the association footballers have gone to play golf.
People have forgotten about Catherine Zeta Jones and Charlotte Church and Katherine Jenkins.
There are no more Tom Joneses or Shirley Basseys or Cerys Matthewses or Manic Street Preacherses or Super Furry Animalses.
There are no more Ian Woosnams or Joe Calzaghes or Colin Jacksons or young genius snooker players. There are no more David Lloyd-Georges or Aneurin Bevans or even Neil Kinnocks. There is no more and coal and steel.
Who have they got now? Carol Vorderman vaguely hanging onto relevance as a sort of remainy Islington dinner party troll? Neville Southall being a lovely bloke on Twitter?
They have Gerwyn Price. A darts players who looks like a roided up freak whose veins are about to pop out of his head. And apparently he’s already on the decline. They have that very pleasant looking Christine Bleakley lookalike who presents the One Show, maybe she still presents it, I don’t watch it. Her name is Alex Jones which is a very unfortunate name to have.
That’s about it.
Welsh towns are dumps - grim, life-crushing dumps. The only way to survive is to medicate yourself into unawareness. Is it any wonder Welsh society has given up.