I seem to have ruffled a few feathers but I stand by my opinion that there's never any need for "national mourning" to the point where things grind to a halt.
Not seen the series - don't have Apple - but I second Jimaroid's recommendation of the novels by Mick Herron that the series is based on. Terrific stuff.
Apart from the odd Biblical exclamation - Iesu Grist; Duw, Duw etc- there are no Welsh swear words, weirdly enough. Thereare expressions like "cachu hwch" which translates as "pig's poo" and is used in the same way as the English use "pear shaped", but for proper swearing, we borrow from you...
I know a lot of people from the south-west, including family members whose English is poor enough that they struggle to read and converse in it. They don't use it much because Welsh is 100% the main language in their part of the country.
With the exception of South Pembrokeshire ("little England beyond Wales") the further west you go in Wales, the chances are the only people you'll hear speaking English are incomers or tourists. Like you, I always find it a pleasure to hear.
The Welsh spoken in the North is quite different to...
Third hole at The Village in Leeds. Par three.
Drove into a bunker, adjacent to but about ten or fifteen feet below the green. Chipped onto its higher level, caught the slope and the ball rolled down and into the hole for a birdie!
Pure fluke - I could spend thousands of hours trying and...
I feel your pain.
During my Summer road trip, my (golf!) driving got so bad, I was even swinging & missing on the tee. Ended up leaving the club out of the bag. Went for a lesson this morning and creamed the ball straight down the middle pretty much every time. I was flabbergasted.
If it came with a Brad Faxon talent button, I might be tempted. As it is my no name two-quid-from-Oxfam putter, that I bought when I was first starting out, a couple of years ago, seems to hit the ball in the hole regularly enough.
Played today and, at the first, took three air shots before "driving" the ball about sixty yards into a ditch. The club didn't leave my bag for the rest of the round. The bloody thing is slowly driving ((badoom tish!) me demented.