AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, a taste of Beer. Now back to Rhoda Crwys the Welsh student, pursued and befriended en route.
The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 50

Rhoda Crwys hurried down the road in the direction of Largest Hill. She was experiencing a single-minded determination heretofore unknown to her. At last she’d find out the 50% truth of the matter that had consumed her like a raging tuberculosis for so long. Nothing, she felt, could turn her aside. For once in her life, she was going to see something through to the end. Wild horses, couldn’t drag her away. Peppet was disgusted. He’d have to come up with another plan, he thought, the equine cadavers still smoking in his wake. The girl was plunging on, veering left out of Woodville at the twenty-four hour convenience store, barreling into an employee locking up for the night. Without so much as a ‘sorry’ Rhoda raced on, the hounds of hell on her heels. They were no match for her, she was unstoppable. Where in blazes was she headed? Peppet cursed as he slowed to reload. The second beast had taken three bullets before it had died, loath to return to its underworld kennel. Well, that wasn’t Peppet’s problem, what did he look like, the fecking Cymru SPCA?

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, everything seemed to be going well then, but was really going “Well, then…??”. Now, along with Erm the erstwhile Cornishman, we must ask: Beer? -- and encounter Short Mat Bowls.

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 49

The search continued. The disheveled and unkempt academic may be losing his faculties but he remained single minded.

‘Beer?’ he’d enquire with increasing desperation and growing frequency as he ambled along. Most people he had encountered so far either shrugged and scurried away from the tall figure or decided that maybe what he really needed was alcohol. The latter type of people would then seek to offer alcohol in various forms – typically a quantity of warm liquid in varying shades of brown in a volume approximately equal to 568 milliliters.

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, Wolfcastle comes to, while far away an over-the-hill clairvoyant named Madame Pom de Terre... Now, a briefing on the telephone exchange exchange student exchange.
The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 48

It had seemed to be a better life, a way out of the poverty and servitude often associated with such roles as poor servant or quality controller in one of the many foreign owned embroidery factories that were becoming the only viable source of employment in the less unfashionable parts of Bangladesh. The ‘reps’ would arrive each month with suitcases full of glossy brochures and mouths full of tales about how wonderful it all was back in Cymru and how great the lives of those ‘chosing’ to attend the Welsh university would so clearly be if they did just that – chose to attend the Welsh University.

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, Rhoda Crwys cracks the bullshit code. Next, Wolfcastle comes to, while far away an over-the-hill clairvoyant named Madame Pom de Terre... Hey! Where the hell did she come from?
The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 47

‘I’ve always had a fear of being buried alive.’
‘Mmm, Taphephobia…do go on…’

‘That and being wrongly convicted of a crime I didn’t commit.’
‘Yes. Of course! How could you be wrongly convicted of a crime you did commit? I think you should be clear about just how unlikely such a situation is. I mean I don’t actually know of any legal system which imposes living burial as a sentence for any crime.’ ’

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh. In the previous episode, Samantha Panther deep into the mysterious luxembourgoise palace. Now, Wence Peppet aka Wiggton in pursuit of the oblivious Rhoda Crwys.

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 46
Rhoda’s true love was that of suburban myths. What had begun as an area of expanded focus for her thesis had in truth become the limelight. Context-free inter-employability in atypical social groups and disadvantaged communities, she felt, was inextirpably rooted in what those social groups and communities believed. This had led to a revised taxonomisation of ‘belief’ itself and its semantic relation to credence, faith, delusion, and superstition. And how did these control the categorisation of such constructs as truth, fact, history, legend, myth, anecdote, rumor, old-wives tales and no comment? Not to mention the recent trailblazing research in the U.S. into the field of ‘bullshit’, or bollocks (see footnote) .

[I repost this on MY blog so it won't be missing a chapter -- a plagiary on both our houses? lk]
For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see lindakentartist’s blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh. Further warning – posted by co-author in absence of co-author.
Previously- Who is the strange Anser Damiou, and why doesn't he say much? Meanwhile a priceless vase is needlessly broken whilst, never one to miss an opportunity to pass out, Wolfcastle indulges in a fit of fainting. Now read on..

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 45
Down and down and down they went, further under the ground, below the oddly named abode that was 21.57. The spiral staircase seemed to drill into the ground beneath them as they descended.

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, Schumacher and everyone else play cards. We return now to the sniper-related activity at Ddwwchllyff’s, with Wolfcastle and the lip-reading Librarian.
The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 44

‘Anser?’ There was no response. She tried again, a little louder.

‘Anser!’ Still nothing. Was he dead? Was that it? Surely not, even she didn’t deserve such bad luck as that.

‘Anser Damiou!’ She shook his shoulders roughly. ‘ANSER!’ Had he just moved or was that her shaking? She tried another approach and this time shook his shoulders approximately instead. This was too much. For the second time in as many instances her emotions, her feelings for this man, were seeping out from behind her normally composed persona. This wasn’t right, she didn’t get ‘involved’ with people, she was distant, cold, aloof…

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, “43a Cwrt Roy Jenkins was what estate agents would call a ‘barn conversion’, just not very typical of the genre. It was in fact a former art studio, lovingly converted into an authentic farm outbuilding.” Read more here…

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 43b

‘Yes indeed! So nice to see you once more. Do come in, please do…’ he responded as he stepped aside and gestured with his right arm for her to move past him. ‘don’t worry about wiping your feet’ he added as she entered his abode. It would have been a well known fact to regular visitors to 43a Cwrt Roy Jenkins that you only had to wipe your feet on the way out. It would have been well know had there ever been any regular visitors to the address, other than the inaniloquent landlady. Schumacher wrestled the barn door shut. As the new visitor entered the living room Mrs Napkins rose to her feet and stared at everyone else in the room. Mrs Napkins was viewing everyone else in the room with a level of disgust matched by everyone else’s expression at the state of the barn interior.

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, a murderess philosophized. Now, for something completely.

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 43a

43a Cwrt Roy Jenkins was one of a series of residences that constituted the modest property empire of Mrs Napkins. Amongst her numerous tenants she was generally regarded eccentric. Perhaps her most eccentric feature was her hair. White, long and curlier than a camels eyebrow, it seemed to almost have a mind all of it’s own, unlike the head it grew from. She was not shy of expressing her opinions and would delight in any opportunity to expand and expound on almost any topic she’d care to bring up with you. Fiercely proud of her liberal and inclusive outlook on life and humanity she took great pleasure at telling all of her current and prospective tenants this fact. One of the things she hated above all else, she would recount to whoever may be present, was xenophobic people. Mrs Napkins prided herself on being able to instantly identify such people and would make sure they never got to stay in one of her properties. She had absolutely no time whatsoever for bigoted and narrow-minded racists. Racists and Chinese people.

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, Rhoda Crwys dangerously doubts the unlikelihood of unacknowledged tunnels. Now, a murderess reflects on her career.

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 42
It had been a simple assignment: find the target and then kill him. OK so normally she’d have preferred not to have to do the finding bit, she’d rather just stick with the killing. But then again they were offering big money this time, €1,635,178 – enough for her to finally call it quits and retire. Sure, it had been fun: bumping off, wiping out, assassinating, executing, liquidating, murdering, exterminating, eliminating, finishing off, doing away, rubbing out, butchering, obliterating, slaying, putting to death, killing and inconveniencing people… but a girl couldn’t do it forever. ‘There has to be a point where the killing stopped and the living began’, she’d tell herself each morning. She was particularly proud of that little line and was determined to use it sooner or later.