Now a new dance piece is aiming to challenge conventional images of pregnancy by featuring two women dancers as they near the final months of their gestation.

Gravida is choreographed by the Serbian-born artist Aleksandra Jones, who lives in Cardiff with her Welsh husband and herself was recently pregnant with her third child.

It features professional dancers Tanja Råman and Aberystwyth-born Lara Ward who are 32 weeks and 28 weeks pregnant respectively and will be on at Chapter Arts Centre in Cardiff at 6pm next Tuesday and Wednesday (28 and 29 May).

Tanja Råman and Lara Ward in Gravida. Photo: L M H C

Aleksandra told me that the dance piece was born out of a 2012 pilot project funded by the Arts Council of Wales and called Women In Pregnancy and offers a new way at looking at the effect pregnancy has on movement, gravity and even a woman’s career and creativity.

"It is such a special time in a woman's life and yet, for a dancer or performer, a pregnancy can mean their career is finished," she said.

"I wanted the movement to be authentic and to explore Tanja and Lara's own unique insights into pregnancy and their memories and dreams.

"This piece is the story of all of us and is very moving - I think the audience will really engage and identify with it. I think some people may even be in tears!"

One would forgive Tanja and Lara for wanting to put their feet up as their due dates loom, but Aleksandra says they have never complained about being tired during the rehearsal process.

"They are professionals and I think the piece is really important to them. Obviously the choreography has changed because the pace of their dancing has slowed a little as they have got further along in their pregnancies but they have created their own personal performance space together."

Tanja Råman and Lara Ward rehearse Gravida. Photo: L M H C

Gravida explores how the law of gravity changes during pregnancy for both mother and child and will even involve an energetic tango for two (or four as Aleksandra points out) at one point.

"It is full of passion and humour and draws on the women's own experiences of what it feels like to be a woman and to be pregnant and see your body changing."

Aleksandra hopes families and mothers with babies will be inspired to come and see the show.

Tanja, who is originally from Finland but is now also based in Cardiff, added: "As pregnancy has such a huge impact on the female dancer and her career development, particularly in the freelance dance sector, it is still a major issue with many dancers leaving it very late to have children, if choosing to have families at all.

"It is therefore wonderful to be part of creating this work with the real focus on the pregnant dancing body – such a rare treat."

After each production of Gravida, there will be a chance for the audience to chat to the dancers and ask them questions and give them feedback on the performance.

The next stage of the Women In Pregnancy project will use the arts to explore how we can each be more present in our family lives, something that is often hard to juggle with demanding careers and financial pressures.

It is being led by The Republic of the Imagination, an international network of artists with a base in Cardiff, which is directed by Aleksandra.

Last year it brought together pregnant women and professional dancers to create a performance called The Pregnant Bolero.

From the lot where the bus is parked, the building looks like a big, anonymous warehouse. It's in a neighbourhood you probably wouldn't want to get lost in after dark, but most things in most cities are, aren't they?

The last time I visited, it was the day after my first night on a tour bus. I hadn't slept a wink and I'd lost a fight with the bus's airdoor. The humiliation of that particular episode was almost enough to make me flee home.

Thankfully no one brings it up these days. (Oh, yes they do!)

The Joy Formidable at the Union Transfer, Philadelphia

Christian (the band's philosophical lighting engineer), Emma and I go looking for coffee. Christian knows this area of Philly.

"There's a Dunkin' Donuts two blocks down."

Sounds good to me. Another franchise ticked off the list. It's somewhat underwhelming, in all honesty. And this from a man who would happily drown himself to death in a pool filled with doughnuts.

That's 'DOUGHNUTS', my misspelling US friends: nuts made from 'dough', not nuts from from 'do'. Hopefully not, anyway.

Philly is - at least on he outskirts - somewhat rundown. It smells of faded industries. There's a dead smoke in the air and a particular desperation about the panhandlers on the sidewalk.

Once ensconced in the dressing room, Ritzy plays me a William Orbit remix of the forthcoming single Silent Treatment. It's so strange to hear a song that you've been intimate with reappraised: like finding the love of your life has been part assimilated by the Borg. Orbit's treatment is good. It brings a new rhythmic dimension to the track. The band consider it - deeply - and then sign it off with a few provisos.

They have to make a series of decisions like this every day: about artwork, festivals, studio time, equipment, promotion. There is no peace on that tourbus. This is the small cost of keeping as much autonomy as possible.

The band's first engagement of the day is a record shop in Philadelphia's bohemian quarter. This part of the city, down by the river, is pretty. Apart from the heinously gauche, gold-plated statue that flashes past our SUV.

Banter on the trip down is limited. Early in the day isn't optimum time for rock 'n' roll musicians. It takes us all a while to wake and spark. A bunch of collegiate rowers on the river elicit a few interesting observations... and by the time we pull up outside Main Street Music in Manyunk, smiles and geniality have been rediscovered.

A queue snakes outside the door of the shop - it's Record Store Day and this scene is being mirrored all over the musically gentrified universe.

Record Store Day, Philly-style

Hipster vinyl-come-latelys, portly middle aged record hounds and a whole new generation of wax lovers are queuing up outside independent record stores from Cardiff to Betelgeuse 5 - for some reason eager to be ripped off - I mean, eager to obtain - a slew of limited edition releases especially pressed for eBay... I mean, the day.

Apologies for my cynicism. Record Store Day is a good thing, no doubt, but there are 364 other days when I prefer to go into record shops - 364 other days when I don't need the lure of a re-pressed Aerosmith LP - as a call to worship.

The Joy Formidable's contribution - a limited edition 12" featuring A Minute's Silence (a haunting piano led track from the Wolf's Law sessions) - is well worth the $12.99 I pay for it. Yes, I am biased. It'd be ludicrous to pretend otherwise.

The band are here to meet fans outside - to sign their swag - to again demonstrate the great relationship they have with those who support them.

The demographic of their audience is surprising. There are college kids, late 20-something hipsters (I'm in hate with that word, but no other will suffice), middle aged music fans with more zeal than the majority of their youthful counterparts... and a nerve-wracked gaggle of 14+ year olds whose exception proves that particular rule. They clearly hear an empathy and a beauty in The Joy Formidable's music that resonates within them.

I try to scour the second hand racks in Main Street Music. It's a challenge because the store is jam-packed with customers. In retrospect, the fact that I can only get to the rack directly in front of me was probably a good thing. I haven't booked space for a case on my flights. Any records I buy will have to squeeze in next to nine days' worth of febrile underwear. Hey man, that's just the way it is, on the road!

I grab myself LPs by Dr Feelgood, Electric Flag and Big Star. They're all half the price - at least - of their equivalents in my local second hand vinyl emporium. I'm tempted to risk the wrath of US immigration and stay here... then I remember I have a daughter.

The band finish signing, being photographed, joking, hugging and shaking hands and we climb aboard the SUV, like X Factor finalists on a emotional hometown visit, and speed back to the venue for soundcheck.

Tonight's gig is due to be engineered by Andy Tonsley, the band's tour manager. This is quite a thing. For the last four years the band have worked - almost exclusively - with Ammanford-ish gent, Neak Menter. Neak is all about diligence and attention to detail. Little, from his point of view, is left to chance. He's one of the major reasons why Joy Formidable gigs are the finest I've ever heard.

It's a challenge, then, for Tinsley.

He learnt his licks teching and engineering punk bands. Andy's approach to front of house is very different to Neak's. We'll get to the details in due course.

First, though, we need to talk about the support bands on this leg of the tour. You may well be familiar with Blood Red Shoes. They're from somewhere betwixt and between Future Of The Left and The Black Keys. Well, they're from Brighton, technically.

I'm unmoved by them at the first two gigs, but something clicks in Philadelphia. They sound monstrous and minimal and clever and primal - a lot of seemingly contrasting qualities clashing together in thrilling disharmony.

The opening band, You Won't, are from Boston. And they're brilliant. So brilliant that I was aware, while watching them, that I would want to remember as much about their set as my my old fart head would allow. Of course, I then promptly forgot all of the details, like trying to remember a beautiful stranger's face.

You Won't on stage in Philadelphia

Here are the fragments that remain: they're a cold-glass-of-joy-in-the-face mixture of Jonathan Richman, Elvis Costello, Eels, Black Flag (at least for the song with the occasional bursts or hardcore screaming)... early Cars. Yep, I'm trotting out all of the contemporary reference points, here.

They manage to be unpredictable and playful without tripping over clown feet: drummer Raky... well, calling him a drummer is slightly misleading. He's like a character from the fair in Something Wicked This Way Comes... he can pull musical wonders from other dimensions out of the canvas bag at his feet: ukeleles with bass strings on, battered melodicas, tambourines that have a jangle all their own, two-finger keyboards.

Josh - on most voice and most guitar - is so grounded he could teach a post grad course in it. For example, there is no palaver about the terrorist attack in his hometown yesterday. Some songwriters would milk that moment - squeezing maximum mawkishness out of tragedy and fear. Josh just says: "This is a song for my hometown..." and the crowd bellow their support for Boston right back at him.

Check them out. They make the world a better place.

Sian and I find an optimum position in the crowd for The Joy Formidable. Then we almost get kicked out for daring to bring alcohol onto the floor of a rock 'n' roll gig. Alcohol is policed so tightly at US venues. Here at the Union Transfer you're restricted to drinking in the designated bar areas, and then only if you have an age verified wristband.

Having said that, there is something quite thrilling about being asked for ID at a bar when you're nigh on 42.

Right from the moment that Matt comes on to welly the drums into Cholla, Andy Tinsley's mix is different. It's fierce. This storm has claws. And fangs. And although some of the atmospherics are lost: 1) it's refreshing to hear a different approach to the mix and 2) this is Andy's first time doing front of house for The Joy Formidable.

It's an auspicious first gig for him.

The audience leave more than satisfied. I retire to my bunk after a couple of hours of brain warping US cartoons. Rhydian and Sian dance themselves deep into the Philly night.

Washington is tomorrow. And from now on, having visited, it's necessary - and allowable - for me to call it DC.

Two months ago I caught up with her towards the start of her post as the first ever Aberystwyth Arts Centre writer in residence.

Rhian Edwards. Photo: John Briggs

Back then she said she hoped her legacy to the venue would be a poetry open mic night that would bring together all the different creative voices that congregate there.

And it seems that dream has been realised as Chinwag, an evening of spoken word, where people can read poetry and prose or perform their work, has just enjoyed its first event and has another planned for the eve of Rhian's departure next week.

The first poetry night saw Niall Griffiths and Tiffany Atkinson reading their poems along with appearances from Lampeter students and members of the arts centre's resident writing groups.

The next event on Wednesday 29 May will see Rhian reading along with Matthew Francis and Samantha Wynne Rhydderch, who have both also been shortlisted for the Wales Book of the Year 2013.

Samantha Wynne-Rhydderch. Photo: Keith Morris

Rhian told me: "Chinwag is going to carry on after my departure and become a regular event which is fantastic.

"So far the feedback on it has been really great. I have kept each person to a strict five minute limit, even bossily using a school bell, which I think has made it really high energy."

The residency has provided Rhian with plenty of opportunity to pursue her interest in writing nature poems, as she wants her second collection of poetry to mark a departure from her first, Clueless Dogs, which was published last year.

Clueless Dogs contained character-led portraits, love stories and childhood memories, whereas the working title for the second collection is The Universal Doodle of Birds.

Rhian added: "The surroundings in Aberystwyth have been really inspirational. I've been amused by noisy seagulls, watched 200 red kites congregate at feeding time and seen great swarms of starlings emerge from under the pier."

Rhian Edwards. Photo: Michael Suss

The image of the red kites has led to a new poem called Birds of the Century, while Rhian has also taken inspiration from the myth of Rhiannon in the Mabinogion for her new poem The Birds of Rhiannon.

Although she is still far off from completing the collection, she wants it to be strongly grounded in mythological and natural influences.

Chinwag, An Evening of Spoken Word, welcomes readings of poetry and prose with performances by guest writers as well as open mic at Aberystwyth Arts Centre on Wednesday 29 May, 7.45pm.

To book please contact the arts centre on 01970 62 32 32 or visit aber.ac.uk/artscentre.

On Wednesday, Cardiff was the warmest place in Wales with 17.6° Celsius but yesterday the highest temperature was nearer 12° Celsius.

There's a little more unseasonal weather to come, as the Met Office has issued a yellow wind warning. Strong to gale force winds with gusts 45 to 55 mph could cause a few problems if you're travelling today.

Today will be a blustery day with a mixture of dry weather and scattered showers. However, it should become brighter later in the afternoon.

The best of the sunshine will be on the west coast and in Pembrokeshire. Temperatures will be higher than yesterday but still below average, 10-14° Celsius, with a fresh to strong north to north-easterly wind.

Brackla sunset. Photo: Matthew John Davies

Tonight the whole country will become dry with the wind falling light. Gardeners should be prepared for ground frost in the countryside with temperatures falling close to freezing in rural spots by the end of the night.

Saturday will be a much better day, dry and sunnier and feeling warmer too with light winds and highs of around 13-16° Celsius.

Conditions should be ideal for the Llandudno Air Show with good visibility.

Sunday will bring more dry weather. Some cloud but still some sunshine and with light winds it will feel quite pleasant.

So if all goes to plan, we can look forward to some nice weather over the weekend but make the most of it, rain is expected on bank holiday Monday!

Derek

The Welsh representative will be baritone Gary Griffiths from Pembrey. From an alumnus of the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, where he was awarded their Gold Medal - the conservatory's most prestigious performing accolade - to audiences at Welsh National Opera, Gary is already a familiar face.

As an associate artist of the company, he made his professional début in Così fan Tutte in 2011, and has performed in Don Giovanni, Beatrice and Benedicte, and La Boheme.

Gary Griffiths. Photo: Claire Delaney

I recently spoke to Gary about life as an opera singer, and the upcoming competition:

Many followers of Welsh National Opera will already be familiar with you. What opportunities has your position as associate artist with WNO offered you?

My association with WNO has presented many opportunities, and each opera has provided me with new skills and, more importantly, professional stage experience. The opportunity to work with a top orchestra, top conductors, directors and great singers, in addition to the incredibly high level of coaching received as part of the Associate Artist Programme, has given me a really good grounding.

How do you choose repertoire, and prepare for competition? Do you feel competitions are important to the development of a performer's career?

With competitions, planning is the most important aspect of preparation. If I know I have to put together a 17 minute programme, I will firstly listen and allow gut instinct to choose for me. It has to feel right - I have to be able to see myself up on that stage singing those arias with the orchestra.

Competitions are important for many reasons, most obviously exposure. But it's the experience you gain that is most important - you carry it with you throughout your career.

What does being the Welsh representative in the Cardiff Singer Competition mean to you?

It has always been an ambition of mine to represent Wales in this competition. There are many international competitions, but none where you actually represent your country. I hope it will be a positive thing for my career; I just want to enjoy the experience and show people what I can do.

Which musicians inspire you?

Many different singers, for many different reasons, have inspired me. For Lieder it has to be the late Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau. His knowledge was unsurpassed and his recordings prolific.

For opera, American baritone Robert Merrill; technique and character were at one with each other. Others would be Keenlyside, Terfel, Warren and Milnes. Strangely, the voice that introduced me to singing was Pavarotti. My parents loved the Three Tenors, and as a child hearing his voice was like hearing perfection.

The BBC National Orchestra of Wales will be performing as part of BBC Cardiff Singer of the World 2013 at Concert 1 on Monday 17 June, Concert 3 on Wednesday 19 June and the Final on Sunday 23 June.

The Gresford Disaster of 22 September 1934 was one such case. The Gresford Colliery sat just north of Wrexham, the original shaft being sunk in 1908. By 1911 the pit, owned and run by the Westminster and United Collieries Group, was ready to be opened.

There were two shafts: the Dennis, named after the mine owners, who were the principal landowners in the area; and the Martin. The Dennis shaft reached a depth of approximately 2,264 feet, while the Martin was just a few feet shorter. Together, they were the deepest mining shafts in the whole of Denbighshire.

It was unfortunate that the Dennis shaft was very prone to fire damp. Working conditions in the Dennis were always poor, the air being constantly hot and humid. Ventilation was also bad and while there had been a degree of mechanisation, because of the conditions underground some of the coal was still mined by hand.

By September 1934 the Gresford Colliery was employing around 2,200 miners. The previous year the colliery had made a loss and manager William Bonsall was under considerable pressure from the Dennis family to ensure that it did not happen again. That September the colliery was working around the clock in an effort to increase profits and on 22 September 500 men were working the night shift.

At 2.08am a huge explosion rocked the mine. The explosion occurred about 1.3 miles from the bottom of the Dennis shaft and fires immediately broke out. The fires not only killed 266 men, they also blocked access and trapped miners behind the flames.

Six men managed to escape, all of them enjoying a mid-shift break when the explosion took place. Soon volunteer rescue teams, from Gresford itself and from Llay Main Colliery, arrived but they, too, encountered disaster.

Three members of the Llay team were overcome by gas; John Charles Williams, the team leader, was the only survivor. It was later rumoured that Williams was the author of the anonymous ballad The Gresford Disaster, a poem that was openly critical of the managers and management of the mine.

All weekend the rescue teams battled with the flames and the rubble. But on the Sunday evening they were eventually withdrawn as conditions were felt to be too hazardous. The shafts were capped and the fires allowed to burn out. Only 11 bodies were ever recovered from the mine; the rest were sealed up underground.

There were more explosions over the following week but with the mine sealed and nobody working underground they did not cause undue problems. However, a few days later, mine worker George Brown became the final victim of the Gresford Disaster when he was hit by flying debris after a blast blew off the cap on the Dennis shaft.

The disaster brought untold hardship to the area. The wages of over 1,000 miners were docked by the owners as the men had failed to complete their shift - short sighted and incredibly cruel management. And, of course, the mine stayed closed.

By the end of that autumn it was estimated that 1,100 Gresford men had been forced to sign on the unemployment register. Relief funds were set up, with over half a million pounds raised, but they could not even begin to compensate for the loss of regular income.

The inquiry that began on 25 October 1934 highlighted a lack of safety measures and bad working practices in the colliery. Te owners faced possible criminal charges over negligence, and they brought in a formidable team of barristers to fight their corner. They refused permission for anyone to enter the closed-off pit, something that was widely seen as a deliberate cover up.

The owners were never prosecuted and no single cause for the disaster was ever found, although Sir Stafford Cripps, the miners' legal representative, did later use evidence given to the Inquiry as one of the arguments for the nationalisation of coal mines in 1947.

As part of the nationalisation agreement, however, all records of the disaster and the colliery itself were destroyed - yet another betrayal by those in power.

Gresford Colliery reopened in January 1936, with miners working from a totally different angle and direction. The pit continued to run until it was finally closed, as uneconomical, in November 1973.

The Gresford Disaster remains the second largest mining disaster ever to occur in Wales. It decimated the Gresford area and is still seen as the result of cynical exploitation of working men by mine owners. It has to be remembered.

Any moment of wakefulness where you remember you're asleep in a bunk (or a 'fart coffin' as I have christened mine) that happens to be travelling 60mph in the direction your feet are pointing, brings with it a real paranoia that you're going to end up squashed against the partition, with the top of your spine telescoping out of the back of your skull.

As you can see, I wasn't very good at distracting myself.

The Joy Formidable's tour bus

My fitful sleep is further disturbed by vibrations from my phone. Finding anything in a fart coffin is a challenge. Well, it is if you haven't spotted the handy pouch for storing essential whatnot on the bunk wall.

It takes me 10 minutes to find my phone. I'm a little frantic because it's 7am over here, which makes it 2am in the UK. If someone is trying to call me, it must be something serious. Or a drunk mate. I have quite a few drunk mates.

When I finally retrieve the phone - and my glasses - I see that my mum has phoned. My heart starts beating quicker: if my mum's phoning, in the middle of the night (in the UK), then something must have happened at home. A host of awful possibilities flashes through my mind. I type out a quick text reply.

Morning. Just missed your call. Quite worried about you. Is everything OK?

A couple of moments later, my phone vibrates with a reply.

We are fine. Just worried about u because of situation in Boston. Mum.

"Situation in Boston"? What "situation in Boston"?

I drag myself out of the fart coffin and go to the front of the bus to see if I can find out what is going on.

The Joy Formidable's indefatigable and laconic tour manager, Andy Tinsley, a man who'd have an escape route planned in advance of the apocalypse, tells me that a terrorist is at loose in the city, that the terrorist has been throwing bombs at people, and that we're under 'lockdown'.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, the bus can't go anywhere, the gig's postponed and we're not supposed to leave the bus or let anyone on the bus, unless they've got police ID. As soon as they say it's OK for the bus to move, we're getting out of this city."

Oh, this is not good news for me! Not only am I supposed to be doing my radio show in Boston the following day, but Mike - who's babysitting me at the radio studio - has managed to get us tickets for the Boston Red Sox ballgame the next day - which has also been postponed.

Selfish bloody terrorists!

The real disappointment is the fact that I won't be able to do my show. It's Radio Wales Music Day today and the opportunity to broadcast live from the US on tour with a band (mostly) from Mold would have been brilliant. Last year I picked up a number of new listeners, some of whom are still tuning in (Hello Joe! Hello Lynn!). They're buying Welsh music, telling their friends about it. It's quite something.

I open the blind on the tour bus window and peer outside, expecting to see someone in a balaclava weaving down the street towards the bus, Looney Tunes bomb in hand, but there's no one out there. Not a single soul. I can, however, see Fenway Park, the home of the Red Sox. We're parked right next to it. Fate has quite a way with salt and wounds.

The bus outside Fenway Park

I do a live insert into Radio Wales' news show Good Evening Wales, standing outside the bus. I feel safer outside, frankly. A 50-foot long bus feels like a much bigger potential target than even my catastrophically large cranium.

Of course, the journalists on Good Evening Wales appear to know an awful lot more about the situation in Boston than we do. The satellite TV on the bus is being flicked from rolling news coverage to 80s films to US cartoons, mostly staying with the latter two.

Andy has navigated bands through earthquakes, storms, mass brawls: a lone terrorist isn't going to faze him, not so that we'd notice anyway.

The rest of the bus are stirring, now. There's the band, of course: Ritzy, Rhydian and Matt. There's Emma, the merch manager (from Connah's Quay, near Mold). There's Christian on lighting and easygoing profundity. Aaron handles monitors, flat caps and tequila-fuelled wrestling. Neak is the bus geek and brilliant sound engineer. Mancini is guitar tech and effortless cool. This is Mancini's home city - how must he be feeling?

Sian is here, too (also from Mold - basically, we're invading). That's 10 people aboard the bus - not including Bob the driver - who's just about the best and the most reliable at what he does in the whole business.

When the band and crew wake they have certain bodily requirements that can't be met on a tour bus. If anyone ever explains 'hot bagging' to you, it'll haunt your every waking hour.

Everyone takes this most surreal of situations in their stride. There is good camaraderie aboard this bus. By all accounts, this is not always the case. Try and imagine living in such close quarters with nine other people, for months at a stretch, doing an exciting but rather repetitive and stressful job, far away from your family and friends. No one on the bus would want you to feel any sympathy for them. They understand they're involved in one of the most exciting industries in the world. But there are also times when they have to be stoic and unbelievably sacrificing of their personal space.

Neak shows me the area of Camarthenshire where his son lives on Google Maps. Beautiful green hills in a panorama that is so like my home I feel incredibly emotional - but manage to fight the tears back.

In short, despite the lockdown and the threat of a terrorist drive-by, we leave the bus and go hunting loos, coffees and sandwiches. Some things are worth the risk of extremist detonation.

Ritzy, Emma, Christian and I walk through a more of less deserted part of Boston. It's surreal but not scary.

Spirits and banter are good. Ritzy's Cookie Monster baseball cap helps lighten the mood. However perverse this universe can get, it's not going to allow someone in a Cookie Monster hat to get blown up.

We find a cafe that's open. Christian recommends something with steak and cheese. I phone home to discover that the whole family has been clustered around BBC News, monitoring the situation as if my life depended on it. It didn't feel that way. Not at all.

I learn that my daughter has had the results of a guitar exam she'd sat a couple of weeks ago. She's in tears because she hasn't done as well as her friend Anna. It's only weeks later that it dawns on me that she might have been in tears because her dad was in the middle of a news story eliciting all kinds of melodramatic coverage.

The overriding emotions of the day are relief that nothing happened to us; disappointment that the show in Boston - one that we'd all been looking forward to - had been cancelled; and gratitude that the long hours marooned in one place were alleviated by the great people aboard the bus. It was more fun than you might imagine.

Eventually, after over eight hours of not being allowed to move, word comes through that the lockdown in this part of the city has been lifted. We head out towards Philly and park overnight at a mall the size of Mold.

We shower and Emma and I eat Mexican food that isn't really Mexican food, surrounded by TV screens that let the remnants of the story flap in the wind for a bit, before resuming their normal schedules.

I go back to my bunk musing that sometimes the eye of the storm really is the most peaceful place to be. And I sleep like an old dog.

It may sound melodramatic but the Swans' success is a tale which is so inspiring, they're talking about a Hollywood film being made about it!

Of course, the football side to the story is rags to riches stuff in itself - club goes from near bankruptcy to the top league - but what we found when making the programme is that that tells only half the tale. And that also, in truth, this is a human interest story and an emotional rollercoaster ride for anyone with a nodding acquaintance with the club.

In 2001, a group of local people and the newly-formed Swansea City Supporters Trust joined forces to wrestle control of their beloved club from an owner whose decision to cut costs by sacking players was met by widespread dismay in Wales' second city and, for that matter, the wider football community.

Suffice to say quite a bit of progress has been made since the days of the unpopular Tony Petty. And it's all down to the fans in the boardroom.

Learning to run a football club is one thing. Turning it in to a multi-million pound business is another, so the achievement is a marvellous one. There are glorious football tales to be told along the way - in the documentary you'll hear from the hat trick hero whose goals saved Swansea from relegation to non-league football in a win or bust game, and now watches from the stands of the Liberty Stadium as a season ticket holder.

Leon Britton, one of the first signings made by this board of supporters, still plays in midfield choosing to be loyal to the club which took a chance on him. He told us his story at the club and his hilarious first impressions of it!

And what about the owners themselves? This eclectic group of builders, accountants and carpet salesmen currently deal with million pound contracts and recruit world class footballing talent. Ten years ago they were learning as they went along. As vice chairman Leigh Dineen put it when they first bought the club: "Right, what do we do know then?"

Then there are the fans. They'd experienced years of mediocrity and farce (seasoned fans will remember the seven-day reign of former Cradley Town youth manager Kevin Cullis). Each supporter we interviewed had a story, one man even losing his job not to miss a game.

But as the editing process went along we found the story of married couple Anne and Nigel Gigg was compelling enough to, at times, drive the narrative of the programme. From their joy of the glamorous 80s football enjoyed at Swansea under manager John Toshack to the tears they shed when the club faced Hull, where they had to win to stay in the professional league. I've suggested to Anne and Nigel they record the programme as it's a small slice of their family history.

(By the way - don't worry you hardened football fans, there's plenty of goals and match action as well as all that sentimental stuff!)

At a time when English football's Premier League is dominated by billionaires and oligarchs, there is a fan owned club competing with the best of them. And it was a privilege to help tell the triumphant story.

Simon Davies
Reporter and writer, Swansea City: The Fall and Rise

Say It With Flowers captures the heady highs and downtrodden lows of the great singer Dorothy Squires. It features Ruth Madoc as the singer later in life and Gillian Kirkpatrick as the young Squires.

Ruth Madoc and Gillian Kirkpatrick in Say It With Flowers. Photo: Toby Farrow

I caught up with Ruth following the first performances, and while she was still reeling from the death of her fellow Hi-de-Hi! actor and best man at her wedding, Paul Shane.

She told me: "I will always remember Paul fondly. After all those years working on the show, the pantomime, the musical, we were more than colleagues, we were family. He was a wonderful man and it hurts to lose him."

In Say It With Flowers, Ruth plays Squires as she returns to Trebanog, in denial about her bladder cancer, bankrupt and homeless after one house has burned down and another flooded.

At the peak of her career, Squires, who was brought up near Llanelli, enjoyed a high profile marriage to the young Roger Moore and played to packed auditoriums.

But after the collapse of her marriage, she became more famous for her obsession with suing people (including Rupert Murdoch) which led to her being banned from London's High Court and branded a "vexatious litigant".

Dorothy Squires pictured in 1970

Ruth said: "She is a tragic figure and at the stage I play her, things are a bit desperate.

"However, she was a wily old bird and not absolutely desperate because she blagged from various people and never believed in paying a bill – she was quite extraordinary.

"I remember her very well because she was such a Welsh icon and we basked in her success because of it. I remember once seeing her with Roger Moore in a restaurant in the 60s and thinking how wonderfully glamorous she looked.

"The interesting thing for me is she shows where Shirley Bassey got her dynamism from because Dorothy was the first to do it - she had a terrific sense of theatricality."

The play is not supposed to be a biopic and the plot does not unfold in a linear time frame - rather exploring memory, unresolved issues and relationships from the star's life.

Ruth Madoc as Dorothy Squires in Say It With Flowers. Photo: Toby Farrow

The director, Pia Furtado, told me the effects of Squires' bladder cancer provided a useful theatrical opportunity.

She said: "When she came back to Wales to live, she was really unwell and we discovered through research that one of the effects of a serious bladder infection can be delirium, which offered us the opportunity to revisit these key unfinished moments during her hallucinations.

"The moments we have chosen are there because they were the root of her emotional distress – her relationship with Roger and her niece and that desire we all have just to be loved, which she seemed to carry with her always.

"There was never anybody else after Roger Moore for her and the fall-out of that was really heartbreaking and the difficulties she had with her family and establishing her roots also seem a really key theme, even though they are perhaps not as dramatic as the various legal battles she fought."

Music of course plays a big part in the production, with some original recordings of Squires as well as renditions performed by Gillian Kirkpatrick.

Gillian Kirkpatrick as Dorothy Squires in Say It With Flowers. Photo: Toby Farrow

Pia added: "She had a phenomenal voice but that sort of music just isn't in vogue now.

"There was so much angst and you can really hear the emotional pain she was in as her voice seems to mirror her experiences.

"Gillian has done an extraordinary job in listening to the sounds she made and capturing them. Ruth and she have really encapsulated the essence of Dorothy without mimicking her which I think allows the audience a real emotional connection."

Ruth said she hopes the play will go beyond the hype surrounding much of Squires' life and the torrid things that were often written about her in the press and show just what a charming and unique character she really was.

"I don't attempt to impersonate her as that would be totally wrong but I attempt to act her and I hope it really delights audiences because she was extremely lovable and it’s right that people should know the person as well as the diva."

Ruth Madoc during a rehearsal. Photo: Kirsten McTernan

Pia's vision was to reveal the many different Dorothys and demonstrate how she kept reinventing herself throughout her life, from her early life in Llanelli and her onstage persona to the glittering heights of her Hollywood fame.

"There was a very specific type of personality that lots of stars from that era, like Dorothy and Judy Garland, shared, which was being driven solely by a need for adulation.

"I think Gillian and Ruth really capture her ability to be both a superstar and somebody grounded in her Llanelli roots at the same time. She was somebody who really experienced both ends of the spectrum and something about that is really heartwarming."

Say It With Flowers runs at Sherman Cymru in Cardiff until 25 May before going on tour around Wales, with dates at Clwyd Theatre Cymru, Mold, Torch Theatre, Milford Haven and The Ffwrnes, Llanelli.

Gillian Kirkpatrick in Say It With Flowers. Photo: Toby Farrow

There will be a captioned performance and audio described performance on 25 May and a post show talk on 22 May.

It also stars Heledd Gwynn as Squires' niece Emily, Lynn Hunter, Aled Pedrick and recent graduate Matt Nalton as Roger Moore.

The play has been written by Meic Povey and performer and writer Johnny Tudor who was a close friend of Dorothy Squires.

For further information and tickets, please contact Sherman Cymru on 029 2064 6900 or visit shermancymru.co.uk.

The weather was very mixed with heavy rain, sunshine, hail and cold winds, so the thermals and waterproofs both came in handy. There was even a little snow on the Brecon Beacons and some flooding in Carmarthenshire.

Ray Garner, who runs a weather station at Llanfynydd, recorded over 72mm of rain in 24 hours on 14/15 May making it the wettest May day there since 1996. The previous wettest was 17 May 2002 with 58.9mm.

Last Friday parts of southwest Wales were hit by thunderstorms and Martyn Brock took this amazing photograph of fork lightning in Milford Haven.

Fork lightning in Milford Haven. Photo: Martin Brock

Aberporth in Ceredigion was the sunniest place in Wales yesterday with over 14 hours of sunshine, while Tredegar in Blaenau Gwent was the warmest place with a top temperature of 19.7° Celsius.

Looking ahead, there is plenty more dry weather to come this week with only a few millimetres of rain expected. It will also turn cooler and windier by Thursday with north-westerly winds bringing fresher air to us from the Arctic.

As for the bank holiday weekend, well at the moment it's looking mixed. A little rain and a few showers are likely but there should be some fair weather and sunshine as well. Temperatures are likely to be near or below average but out of the breeze and in any sunshine it will feel quite pleasant.

Derek

Jean Davies was retiring from Neath Port Talbot council after 35 years. She loves The Beatles. So her team decided a trip to Liverpool would be the perfect way to give Jean the send-off she deserved. Colleagues spent months organising the weekend of a lifetime.

Now since X-Ray is involved - you've probably guessed - it didn't go according to plan.

Assistant producer Helen Ainsworth - our own Sergeant Pepper - was on the story and working on a Beatles-style treatment for the report. She could hardly contain her excitement as the props arrived, waving John Lennon style specs around the office and trying not to laugh too hard as I tried them on.

She'd also come up with some ideas for PTCs (pieces to camera) to mirror some of the most iconic images associated with The Beatles. We needed an Abbey Road style zebra crossing. But clearly, filming four of us crossing a road, while trying to time the delivery of lines, and avoid causing traffic chaos – was going to be a challenge. Help!

The X-Ray Fab Four!

Helen gave a Health and Safety briefing to the crew and contributors before we began. She told us that our researcher would be looking out at all times to ensure it was safe to continue filming. If she told us to stop filming and leave the road, we should do so immediately. And we were asked to confirm that we were happy with what we were being asked to do. We were on.

We rehearsed on the pavement at the side of the crossing several times before attempting to film. When we were sure we couldn't prepare any more, we waited for a good break in the traffic.

One usable take in the can straight away. The next, we broke off as a car approached. Then, another really good take. Job done. Even better, we managed to get a really good result for Jean too. The Fab Four would be proud.

If there's anything you'd like the X-Ray team to investigate, give them a call on 03703 334334 or email xray@bbc.co.uk.

Incidentally, I hope Radio 3 know I am eagerly awaiting the viola celebration.

I was immediately struck by the vibrancy and drive of Fitkin's music, and looked forward to the opportunity to play more. I did not have long to wait as our second Vale of Glamorgan concert would feature works by the composer.

We opened the concert with Fitkin's Cello Concerto, with soloistRaphael Wallfisch. Composed for Yo-Yo Ma, and premiered at the BBC Proms in 2009 by the BBC Symphony along with Ma, the work casts the soloist in the role of a lone traveller through life. The traveller tries to keep to his own path, but is continually buffeted by outside influences in the guise of the orchestra. Sometimes, he is swayed by these influences, sometimes he remains resolutely upon his own path.

The work is very atmospheric - I particularly liked the opening when the soloist holds one long note with varying degrees of vibrato for what feels like an eternity, while the colours and textures of the orchestra shift around him.

Concluding the first half, 21 strings players were left on stage to perform Lithuanian composer, Justé Janulyté's Elongation of Nights. When I first read that this was for 21 solo strings, I got rather excited and wondered was it a contemporary spin on something like Strauss' Metamorphosen (for 23 solo strings).

However, this was very much an anti-Metamorphosen. Commissioned by the National Lithuanian Philharmonic, this work uses special string effects (ponticelli, harmonics, tremolando) to evoke the image of the elongation of night and diminishing of the day.

The harmony is based on the natural tuning of stringed instruments - fifths (before any double bassists write in - I know you are not tuned in fifths - the rest of the string section salute you for your individuality!) and while this was like nothing I had ever heard or played before, there was something very organic about it.

The second half was given over to Fitkin's Mindset, first premiered by the Royal Ballet at Covent Garden in 2009. I would love to see this with the choreography - this really is music that makes you want to move.

It is quite exhausting to play, but if you can separate your mind from the creeping numbness in your arms (if you're a string player), you hear that the music is also very uplifting.

Garry Walker conducted the rehearsals and performance with his usual no nonsense, pleasant manner, dissecting the complicated rhythmic passages that needed attention, whilst being sympathetic to the tiring physicality of the music.

Moreover, it was a pleasure to work with Graham Fitkin again - his manner of active participation in rehearsal should be an example to all young composers.

Bizarre creatures including cockatoo squids, sea squirts and squidlets will grow and transform against a futuristic experimental backdrop created through a range of ever-changing art projects.

The Animacules - pond life that swims towards the light. Photo: Genetic Moo

Microworld: Arcadia is the brainchild of the digital art collective Genetic Moo, and will feature light projections, robots, electronic sounds and live music.

Each of these multiple artworks will interact with one another but will also evolve in response to user activity. The cockatoo squid responds to calls and will even duet with a saxophonist, while little 'cone jellies' will change colour according to the clothes the audience are wearing.

Audience members will also be able to lend their faces to little squidlets, which are made of an assortment of hands and can be fed and sustained by different coloured light.

The Cockatoo Squid. Photo: Genetic Moo

The founders of Genetic Moo, who prefer to remain anonymous, said: "We were inspired by a BBC programme called Microworld, which looked at some of the world's most iconic ecosystems.

"We decided to use different types of technology to create our own self-sufficient ecology, where different types of creatures grow and change and build in number as the show progresses.

"We've invited a whole host of different artists to participate in this experimental project and bring their own unique talents along for people to engage with in this exciting space.

"With things like the squidlets, people will be able to create their own little artworks and if they come back to the show a few days later, will be able to reactivate their squidlets by shining light on them.

"They can also alter the colour of living coral with what they are wearing and even use their mobile phones to change creatures' colours or participate in motion tracking.

"Over the course of the exhibition, one of the collaborators, Sean Clark, will use a piece called Memory Mirror, which will gather data from interactions made during the show, which can then be played back to audiences."

The Fly. Photo: Genetic Moo

Artists taking part alongside Genetic Moo include Tine Bech, who is responsible for three light sculptures which change in colour as you move around them.

Roboticist and dancer Paul Granjon, who is head of sculpture at Cardiff School of Art, is bringing along some interactive machines, while Sean Olsen's breed of robots will splatter the surrounding area in paint as they move and Jane Webb will thrill people with her recycled components, lights, lasers and mirrors.

Wendy Keay-Bright from Cardiff School of Art and Design will also use different apps to explore how touch, and gesture interaction can engage young people with communication difficulties.

Microworld: Arcadia will inhabit Arcadecardiff at the Queens Arcade in Cardiff from 21 May to 2 June. Admission is free and the gallery is open from 12-6pm each day except Mondays. For more details visit geneticmoo.com.

Most people know about Lawrence's remarkable life and career in the desert during the First World War. His death and the circumstances leading up to it are not so familiar.

Thomas Edward Lawrence was born on 16 August 1888 in Tremadog, north Wales. His family was not Welsh but, having been born here, Lawrence qualifies as a Welshman and during his short life he did have an affinity with the country. He was the illegitimate son of Sir Thomas Chapman and spent his formative years in Wales – perhaps his love of wild places stemmed from this time.

Educated at Jesus College, Lawrence (the name was adopted by his father when he left his wife and family to live with Sarah Junner, Lawrence's mother) became a specialist in the Middle East and its archeology.

Conrary to popular belied, Lawrence was not a conscript in the war. He was co-opted into the British Army in early 1914 to undertake a survey of the Negev desert. The story of his wartime activities behind Turkish lines, activities that really did swing the war in Britain's favour, are too well known to recount here.

Suffice to say that after 1919, Lawrence was disillusioned and bitter about the way the Arabs had been treated – and with his own part in the betrayal. He was naturally a shy and retiring man, although supremely egotistical, and in August 1922 he attempted to enlist in the RAF under the name John Hume Ross. He seemed to want anonymity rather than the fame and adulation he was currently receiving.

Lawrence was interviewed by Flying Officer WE Johns, the man who later created the Biggles character, and was rejected because Johns was sure the name Ross was false. Lawrence seemed to accept the rejection but later re-appeared in front of Johns with written orders that stated he was to be accepted into the RAF. Lawrence had clearly pulled strings and Johns had no alternative to pass Aircraftsman Ross, as he now became, into the service.

Lawrence was forced to leave the RAF a year later when his ruse was exposed. Still craving peace and anonymity, Lawrence promptly enlisted in the Royal Tank Corps, this time under the name of TE Shaw. It was an unhappy time for Lawrence, always unsure of his sexuality and plagued by two twin desires - on the one hand a thirsting for fame and, on the other, a fervent wish to blend in with the crowd.

Again using his influence, Lawrence persuaded the RAF to take him back and in 1925 he was sent to serve on a remote post in northern India. He continued to serve with the RAF until his term of enlistment ended in March 1935.

Lawrence had always been a keen motorcyclist and at one time or another owned seven different motorbikes. Having left the RAF he was living in a cottage he had bought in Dorset, Clouds Hill. Here he wrote much of his amazing Seven Pillars Of Wisdom, his account of the desert war. The book was published in 1935.

On the evening of 13 May 1935 Lawrence left his cottage, probably to post letters to the writer Henry Williamson. He was riding a Brough Superior SS100 motorbike and had not gone far when he approached a dip in the road. His view was obscured and suddenly he found himself confronted by two boys on push bikes.

Lawrence swerved to avoid the boys and was thrown over the handlebars of his motorcycle. He was taken to Wool Military Hospital on Bovington Camp but never recovered consciousness. He died six days later on 19 May.

Lawrence had suffered irreparable brain damage and the view of the surgeons was that even if he had recovered he would have been left with only partial speech and sight. Lawrence would probably have preferred to be dead. He was 46 years old.

Lord Allenby, victor of the desert war and the man who had given Lawrence his head to work with the Arab tribes, commented that he had "lost a good friend and a valued comrade." The funeral took place on 21 May, a private ceremony with only those who had known him during the war in attendance. There were no flowers and no military escort for the coffin.

TE Lawrence was a complex and difficult man but what he achieved in 1917-18 can never be under played. His book Seven Pillars Of Wisdom remains a remarkable testament to a man who was undoubtedly "out of his time."

As my cab crosses the Brooklyn Bridge, whatever jet lag I'm experiencing dissipates into a bright New York afternoon. I'm thrumming with excitement. The sight of these incredible towers of steel and glass, defying gravity and flattening the mundane, makes me believe that anything is possible.

I'm in The City. That's 'The City' - definitive article, capital letters - and I'm here to see the finest band in Christendom.

Sign outside Webster Hall in Manhattan

I'm travelling poor. Instead of the Manhattan hotel I stayed in last time ($350 a night - and you didn't even get to keep it afterwards), I'm in an apartment I found on the internet. Friends and family have joked that if they were going to commit the perfect murder, they'd probably order up their victim via the internet too.

Some suggested that I'd get to the apartment to find a nice steaming mug of cocoa and Rohypnol waiting for me. But Dan - who owns the apartment in hipster-infested Williamsburg - doesn't appear at all interested in having a rotund, furry north Walean sex slave.

I'm moderately disappointed.

Dan is a painter. The apartment is adjacent to his studio. He seems cool. Not so much when we're both woken in the dead of night by a woman screaming.

"Don't worry," he says. "It's another of the guests. She gets night terrors."

And so do I. Now.

The Joy Formidable's merchandise facilitator, or manager, or technician... I'm not sure what the correct terminology is... is Emma. She's from Mold. We meet at Madison Square Garden and eat Korean food in the wrong order. Then she persuades me to go and see Muse the following night. Beer and a misplaced sense of chivalry have much to do with this cataclysmic error of judgement.

In the end, I rather enjoy the spectacle of the gig. But musically - and especially lyrically - it's beyond ludicrous.

Emma may try to persuade you that I was seen smiling and tapping my feet. I assure you, any outward sign of enjoyment was, erm, ironic.

We get lost in MSG, as Emma insists on calling it, making me think we're wandering around the insides of a flavour enhanced Mclusky song. We escap the worst aftershow party in history - it felt more like a wake for someone that nobody really liked - and we're mooning about gawping at the framed pictures that circumnavigate the arena. Each one resonates with history.

Marilyn Monroe sang Happy Birthday Mr President here. I got asked for ID at the bar. I'm 41. It's something of an achievement.

On stage in Williamsburg

The following day I decide to walk from Williamsburg to Prospect Park, without fully taking into account the distance (four-ish miles). Walking two miles in completely the wrong direction means that I end up having to get a cab anyway.

Ritzy is here filming a video for their forthcoming single Silent Treatment. She looks a little tired - and no wonder, after almost 100 gigs on two and a half continents in three months.

And a video shoot, which is initially fascinating, quickly becomes tedious to witness.

Ritzy is the consummate professional. She goes through take after take - from location to location - and she does it all with good grace. I bale after the inevitable pizza.

"Don't be too polite to take any," she says. So I'm not. Repeatedly.

I see my first Joy Formidable gig of this trip on my third night. It's at the Music Hall in Williamsburg, a boutique area of the city - formerly epicentre of the hipster.

Sign outside the Music Hall in Williamsburg

It's a great venue: nice room, fine bar, a backstage area where you could eat food off the floor, if you wanted. But the audience is a little disengaged. The Joy Formidable echo their audience's enthusiasm back at them, in exponential waves. However when the proportion of go-on-then-impress-me-poseurs breaches a certain point, there isn't enough for the band to feed off and truly phosphoresce.

The shape of their set has settled in the couple of months since I last saw them in Manchester. It is now honed for maximum drama. It tells a story. Few bands throw their set list together - but it is a very definite consideration for The Joy Formidable. Your ticket entitles you to a ride that will thrill you, move you, fill you heart with awe and bring tears to your eyes. It's quite something. THEY'RE FROM MOLD!

Sorry. I was trying not to mention that. Sometimes the pride just splurges out, especially when I'm watching them skewer thousands of American hearts with Tendons, then Silent Treatment.

The following night at Webster Hall, in the middle of Manhattan, is a big improvement audience-wise. The sell out crowd is poseur-free. Every one is up for it. Greatest Light Is The Greatest Shade is a nuclear mammoth stomping the hall with a bare and bloody heart.

It sounds so magnificent, so big and raw and tender and beautiful all at the same time, that every time *that* whale call of a motif rips through the room, a tear slips out of the corner of my eye.

Not that I'm a sap or nothing. No sir.

But this song is the one I want to be buried with. In fact, I'm going to eschew cremation because if I'm cremated, what will they put the headphones on?

On Stage at Webster Hall, NYC

Of the songs from the new album, Wolf's Law, the title track is the one that has evolved the most since I last heard it. It has a real naturalistic power to it.

It's lithe, fierce, gentle, heartstopping all by turn. It's like seeing the mousey, quiet girl from your form class a decade later, and realising that's she's more beautiful than all the most effulgent sunsets ever, strung together. And that the mousiness was all about a quiet intelligence you'd hack portions of your soul away to spend time with.

Oh my.

It's a damn fine gig.

As we're in The City, the band have a lot of record label hands to shake post-gig. Canvasback and Atlantic have done a great job supporting this band (mostly) from Mold.

I'm no master of small talk, though, so I watch the crew derig the stage from the sidelines. They're the equal of the Royal Engineers. A few tonnes of valuable equipment is stowed away without loss or breakage, within an hour.

The people responsible aren't luggers, they're skilled technicians who understand a damn sight more about sound than - say - your average investment banker understands about the vagaries of finance.

I go to a billiard hall with Rhydian and his "Mold scally" (her words, not mine!) girlfriend Sian. Rhydian whips my ass on the pool table - which is a deliberately ambiguous image. We hit a few bars. I probably say too much. I generally do.

Everyone's excited by Boston tomorrow. Last time round, The Joy Formidable's gig in Boston was the best I ever saw. The people of Boston are - as the broadest generalisation - the friendliest, most enthusiastic - without being exhausting or insincere - people I've met in the States.

I love Boston.

I can't bloody wait for tomorrow.