After saying the word ten times I realised I was fighting a losing battle. I was sitting in the back of a taxi at Cardiff station and I could not get the driver to understand where I wanted to go to. This was distressing because, so far as my family has been able to make out, the Kites originate from Wales. We like to think we were Welsh falconers, back in the day.
I’ve always loved Wales, and fondly remember summer trips to Ruthin Castle, my father stopping the car on windswept hilltops so I could feed the rain-drenched sheep. I haven’t been for ages but I keep my hand in: I watch Gavin and Stacey.
But here I was in a cab in Cardiff saying a word on a piece of paper over and over to no effect. ‘Swalec. I want to go to the Swalec stadium.’ The driver was of Pakistani origin and naively I thought it might be him, not me.
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