When we started filming back in January we set out to make a series that would also tell the owners' stories and give an insight into why they treat their dogs the way they do. I will never forget Lisa telling me how her beloved shih-tzu Dora helped her get her life back on track, or Louella revealing that her miniature poodle Tyra was the baby she'd never had after she lost contact with her daughter when she was a toddler. I'd like to thank all the owners who let our cameras into their lives.

As for our goddess of grooming Leanne Couch, well, Leanne is a force of nature. Five kids and owner of two 'Mucky Pups' dog spas, all before turning thirty. It's hard to see how Leanne has any time to sleep or eat, but it's great to see a young businesswoman with so much drive and guts. All the Couch clan; mum, brother, sister and Leanne live in the same street and all support each other.

By Leanne's side through thick and thin is her hubby Lee. How he copes with Leanne's crazy world is beyond me. Just before we started filming Leanne fell pregnant with baby number five and decided she wanted the entire house done up and decorated, plus the Cardiff store adapted. So - despite recovering from recent surgery - Lee got to work while trying to run his own business at the same time.

I guess one moment that sums up making this series for me is standing on the dance floor in the groom room during Leanne's doggy speed dating event. As the owners strutted their stuff with each other and their pooches, three Bichons took to the floor and stated doing a doggy conga! Barking Mad? Yes the world of dog spas can be pretty weird, but at the end of the day if the fur-babies and their parents are happy I say each to their own and good on them for doing what they like.

Episode 1 of Barking Mad: The Welsh Dog Spa is on BBC One Wales & BBC Wales HD, Monday 7 September at 7.30pm

Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight Before I Kick The Bucket goes to air. I can’t believe I just wrote that. It’s my first television documentary and I’m pinching myself repeatedly to double-check I’m not dreaming. Ouch. Ouch.

It seems like only yesterday that I first met Rowena Kincaid, the indomitable heroine and presenter of the programme. It was late last summer and I’d been asked to meet her in a pub. I knew nothing more than that she was terminally ill and had an idea for a television programme. I stirred my drink anxiously and eyeballed the clientele. Which one of these people looked the most ill?

Imagine my shock when Rowena introduced herself. The healthiest and happiest looking girl at the bar was, she told me, gravely ill. She told me her story. It was one of bad luck and heartache, punctuated with blue jokes that caught me off guard. Diagnosed with incurable breast cancer, she was now living in a state of limbo. Unsure what to do with what little time remained, she’d had the idea of making a documentary about bucket lists. I liked this girl. She was fearless and funny.

How everything unfolded, I’m not entirely sure. Within days Rowena had charmed BBC Wales into commissioning her idea and strong-armed me into making it with her. Fast forward 12 months and I’m still hanging onto her coat-tails. I’m franticly typing out this blog whilst Rowena prepares for her final day of press to publicise the programme. I’m pinching myself again.

It would be a lie to say the process has been easy. Documentary-making is hard at the best of times, let alone when the crew comprises of a first-time filmmaker and a presenter being kept alive by chemotherapy. Health concerns have been real and disruptive and it’s been a struggle to helplessly watch a dear friend ride the roller coaster of cancer. Yet in truth, this project has been a privilege and pleasure to work on. Over the last few months I have witnessed humour, grace and dignity in the face of adversity. I have seen a human spirit that refuses to submit. Rowena, getting to know you has been a joy. I’m so proud to call you a friend.

Rowena Kincaid’s Before I Kick The Bucket is so much more than a film about dying. It’s a masterclass in the art of living. It is funny and frank and frighteningly brave. Rowena, you are an example to us all.

Before I Kick the Bucket, Tuesday, July 21, BBC One Wales, 10.40pm
bbc.co.uk/iplayer

Before I go on, just look at two stories we’ll be covering. On one hand we’ll be joining boatman Colin Evans on the tip of the Llŷn Peninsula as he takes tourists to Bardsey Island. He says it’s not really a money-making venture, so we’ll get to know a little bit more about what his motivation really is. On the other hand, at the eastern edge of the north, just seconds from the Cheshire border in fact, Carol Vorderman will literally be flying into Broughton - and getting hands-on with the latest in the multi-billion dollar world of cutting-edge aviation. Just an idea of the diverse content to expect…

You might already have seen My Real North Wales with Sian Lloyd. Reporter Sian Lloyd grew up in Wrexham and in a 30-minute special, she travelled around north Wales meeting people connected with adventure tourism, country houses and heritage railways, as well the residents of a Caernarfon housing estate and an old friend who makes her favourite Welsh cakes.

Breathtakingly beautiful, the Llŷn Peninsula is one of Wales’s most popular holiday destinations. It’s also a stronghold of Welsh language and culture: tourists flock to find that corner of ‘Welsh’ Wales. But the question that worries a lot of residents is this - can Llŷn still keep its language and culture strong, while keeping a welcome for its visitors? Welsh Heartland - Llŷn Peninsula is four beautiful and thought-provoking programmes following the people of Llŷn from spring to autumn as the seasons come and go.

Next, we join Llanfairfechan farmer Gareth Wyn Jones, who’s already made a name for himself in The Hill Farm and various other programmes, as well as on Twitter. In The Farmer and the Food Chain he’s on a mission to change the way we eat. He thinks the people of Wales have lost touch with where their food comes from, and in three programmes he faces three challenges: setting up a pop-up shop selling local produce in Bangor; getting to grips with the supermarkets and their supply-chains; and finding out how easy it would be to get more public money spent on local food.

If you’re looking for a thought-provoking programme, look no further than Make Me Welsh. Following eight children over the course of a school year in Gwynedd would be interesting in itself, I’m sure. However these particular youngsters come from non-Welsh speaking backgrounds and they’ve already started their primary education, so it’s a chance to learn more about the work of the county’s Language Centres, which give non-Welsh-speaking primary school children moving into the area intensive tuition in the language before they can join a mainstream school. Wherever you stand on Welsh-medium education, these stories can certainly be quite emotional.

Carol Vorderman grew up in Prestatyn and Denbigh and went on to get a Cambridge degree in Engineering before recently becoming a qualified pilot. In Carol Vorderman: The Flying Engineer, her first ever programme for BBC Wales, she flies her little plane, called Mildred, into Broughton and joins the top team of engineers there who are building the wings that are helping to make flights quieter, greener and smoother. Carol is well-known for her ability to convey complex matters in a simple way and this is a chance to get to know an aspect of north Wales that doesn’t get as much attention as its castles and mountains.

Further highlights in the season include two programmes looking at the work of the North Wales Police’s rural crime team in Countryside Cops. Laurence’s Extraordinary Ordinary Houses will be aiming to resolve some modern-day design dilemmas in Deganwy and Beaumaris, and Inspired by Snowdonia will look at some of the art that’s been inspired by the area’s amazing landscape. Not forgetting Flint Des Res, following the Flintshire housing team and Liverpool - Capital of North Wales - a programme with a somewhat tongue-in-cheek title that will be looking at the city’s substantial Welsh heritage.

One of the criticisms we sometimes get from some viewers in north Wales is that, on the whole, BBC Wales is Cardiff-biased or south-biased. The Real North Wales season isn’t there to address that - we feel the season stands on its own two feet and, of course, we do our best to reflect the whole of Wales across all our output throughout the year. Even across this season there will be themes, people and stories across north Wales that we’ve undoubtedly missed, but wherever you are in Wales, or even further afield, I hope you’ll find something new - and something that interests you.

To find out more, and catch up with programmes you may have missed, visit: bbc.co.uk/realnorthwales or join the conversation on social media #RealNorthWales.

“It was very important to us that we showed reality and that’s why the series is like an observational documentary - we see and recognise people, we then portray them. It’s an opportunity for people to tell their stories and experiences of living in this particular part of Wales. It’s a broad picture of life in Pen Llŷn during a period of four seasons; from the quietest and calmest of times to the hype of summer.

“The best way of achieving this was to get people comfortable in front of a camera, so before starting filming we spent time with them. We had their co-operation and trust and they became accustomed to us. They welcomed us into their homes and workplaces and we’re so grateful to them for this. It’s a unique opportunity to show, as closely as possible, what it is to live here.

“We’re experienced in producing observational documentaries - we produced Pen Llŷn Harri Parri and Michael Sheen's Valleys Rebellion. We talk to real people and reflect their lives; we’re loyal to them and try to convey the truth. It’s our production model, which we’ve nurtured over the years, and on this occasion we invested a whole year following people’s stories in order to truly reflect their lives.

“We didn’t interview the tourists who appear in the series, as such, we eavesdropped on their conversations and perspectives in order to hear from people who live outside Wales. We gave them radio microphones, and placed cameras far away and just allowed them to talk about whatever they wanted.

“People’s stories really stand out. Characters have something to say about how we live; the realities of life and what's important. They discuss social values, community values and cultural values. It’s an opportunity to hear from people who are in touch with Pen Llŷn.

“And people are moving into the area and are drawn to this way of life. Some visitors choose to learn more about this way of life, but there’s no denying that the area is under huge external pressures because of the appealing landscape and the values of the people who live here. There’s a danger of it being destroyed, the balance is fragile - the language is holding its own, but under enormous pressure.

“There have been a few programmes over the years about the Llŷn Peninsula, but perhaps they didn’t really know the area. We wanted to show how things really are. Welsh is heard on the programme and there are subtitles; I feel proud doing this with BBC Wales - presenting this linguistic balance - it’s important that we use both languages and create something realistic.”

Welsh Heartland: The Llŷn Peninsula.  Monday, June 1, BBC One Wales, 7.30pm.

bbc.co.uk/realnorthwales

As a small two-person production team, whenever you see Larkin and Dale cooking or eating, that means Emily the producer and I are behind the camera or a sound kit trying to concentrate really hard on capturing everything on film. Some days this is very hard to do when the food looks and smells so good.

But, don’t feel too sorry for us, we generally descend on the leftovers. The food might have gone cold but it was always still really tasty. So we have no complaints and that is especially true when we headed to Hong Kong for three days – you’ll see some of the amazing food we came across in episode two. Sorry we can’t offer you all 'smellivison' or any tasters though.

After more than 12 months of being behind the scenes and seeing everything that goes into opening a foodie business, especially the endless paperwork and red tape, I wouldn’t fancy doing it myself. You’ll see as the series airs that even for Larkin and Dale it has been hard work and graft and that it isn’t all glamorous. So I’ll stick to eating the takeaways.

Larkin and Dale’s Takeaway Revolution is on Friday 3 April at 7.30pm on BBC One Wales.

Penry (or Penri) Williams was born in Merthyr Tydfil in 1802. He was the son of a stone mason and house painter and from an early age showed remarkable skill as an artist. In this, the young Penry was encouraged by his school teacher, Taliesin Williams, the son of historian and folk tale collector Iolo Morganwg.

Taliesin must have had an eye for talented young artists as he also encouraged and helped the sculptors Joseph Edwards and William Davies. Clearly, despite all its many vices and problems, the seething melting pot that made up industrial Merthyr Tydfil was fostering artistic talent at a rapid rate of knots.

By 1816 the young Penry Williams was already producing remarkable pieces like “The Merthyr Riots” and it was not long before he came to the notice of iron masters and patrons of the arts like William Crawshay and John Guest. Recognising exceptional talent when they saw it, the two ironmasters paid for Williams to travel to London where he lived and studied at the schools attached to the Royal Academy.

At the Academy school, Williams was taken under the wing of the Italian painter and teacher Henry Fuseli. He was quick and adept and responded to the teaching in the most positive way, seizing his opportunity to develop his art.

In 1821, when he was just nineteen years old, Penry Williams was awarded the Silver Medal by the Society of Arts for “drawing from the antique” and from that year on he was a regular exhibitor of portraits and landscapes at the Royal Academy and at the Society of British Artists.

In 1827 Penry Williams moved to Rome where he was to live for the next fifty years. Before he left, however, he produced a series of magnificent watercolour views of south Wales and England.

His industrial landscapes – one in particular, showing an ironworks at night – were based on sights and scenes around the industrial valleys of Wales. They were atmospheric and realistic but, at the same time, they were imbued with an artistic excellence that showed his innate ability and the quality of the art education he had received.

In 1828 Williams was elected associate of the Society of Painters and Watercolours and exhibited with them each year until he resigned in 1833. His studio in Rome gradually became something of a pilgrimage site for all visitors to Italy – Welsh visitors being particularly welcome.

Penry Williams died on 27th July 1885. Since moving to Italy he had concentrated on producing Italian views and scenes of ancient Roman life. They were invariably finely judged and well produced but to the eyes of many they lack a little of the emotion that can be found in his early Welsh views.

“The Procession Returning from the Fiesta of the Madonna Del Marco” is considered his masterpiece. The painting is carefully constructed, the figures in the foreground contrasting beautifully with the sight of Vesuvius smoking away in the background.

This painting, along with several other remarkable works on an Italian theme – works such as “The Ferry on the River Ninfa” and “Girl with a Tambourine” - were later acquired by the National Gallery. They have since been passed on to the Tate.

These days Penry Williams work can be seen at the Museum and Gallery, Cyfarthfa Castle, and at the National Museum in Cardiff. He remains one of Wales’ greatest painters, a man who came from humble beginnings in one of the most robust and formative of all valley communities and went on to be hailed as one of the greatest painters of his age.

Do visit the BBC's Your Paintings website for a gallery of paintings by Penry Williams.

The Rhondda School of artists was never an actual school, in the formal sense, and was in no way an official grouping. The members produced no manifesto or statement about their aims – they were, simply, a group of students from the Rhondda who, in the early 1950s, travelled by train down the valley each day to study at Cardiff College of Art.

The legend about these six men states that they would spread their drawings and paintings across the seats of the railway carriage – thereby discouraging anyone else from entering the compartment – and discuss painting and art for the full length of the journey. For two hours, as the old steam train rattled down the valley, these eager and dedicated men would discuss art with all of the bravado and enthusiasm that go with youth, talent and emerging skill.

The men in question were Ernest Zobole, Charles Burton, Glyn Morgan, Nigel Flower, David Mainwaring and Robert Thomas. They came from different locations in the Rhondda and so boarded the train at different times and at different stations but their aim was the same – to discuss art and artists.

Zobole had been born in Ystrad, the son of Italian immigrants who arrived in Wales in 1910. He is perhaps the best known of the group, a man whose gradual move away from descriptive painting to more abstract work reflects the general trend within the Rhondda School.

Zobole, who died in 1999, might have been the best known but all of the group were influential in their effect on art within Wales.

Charles Burton, for example, became Head of Art at the Polytechnic of Wales while it was still based in Barry, dozens of students passing through his department each year. Once he had finished his course, Burton had moved from Cardiff College of Art to London, to study at the Royal College. With no grant to support him he had to sell paintings in order to live. It was a hard lesson to learn but one which the young man took to with gusto.

These days the sculptures of Robert Thomas can be seen at many locations, in particular in Queen Street, Cardiff. They are stunning representations of Welsh life but it is probably the tall and striking statue of Aneurin Bevan, just opposite Cardiff Castle, that people will know best.

All members of the Rhondda School were influenced by the industrial environment from which they came. It was impossible not to be affected by the winding gear of the collieries, the rows of terraced houses and the slag heaps that dominated the valley towns. Nor, for that matter, the broken old men who stood silently at almost every street corner – you would have had to be pretty unemotional not to be touched by all that. And the members of The Rhondda School were keen to reflect their communities and their way of life.

As such – at least to begin with – there was a distinct socialist edge to their work. That interest may have dissolved a little as abstract art began to make itself felt on the group’s work but it never totally died away.

The School – or group, call it what you will – broke up as the artists finished their studies at Cardiff Art College and moved away to different places and different jobs. Yet the influence of the School remained strong. It is another example of the vibrant and dynamic drive for expression that existed and still exists in the Welsh valleys.

 

And now here I am presenting a documentary called The Welsh Italians about the Welsh Italian community for BBC Wales. This is a community I grew up in, in the Welsh Valleys. It's still vibrant and full of life today and again centres around food and family.

It's not always easy to get people to come on camera - us Italians are often big personalities, however we do like to keep things private too! After some gentle persuasion, I have managed to get some great stories and secrets revealed in this two-part series. It shows how happy and settled the Italians were made to feel by the local Welsh communities, and how each have become intricately linked. You won't believe how many Welsh accents you hear during August in the little town of Bardi in the hills of northern Italy!

Episode 1 of The Welsh Italians is at 6.30pm on Sunday 23 March, BBC One Wales.

Festivals or celebrations were an important part of life in ancient Wales. Quite apart from their religious or pagan connotations, they lightened an otherwise dark and often depressing year. As such they were looked forward to by everyone in the community.

There were many such festivals in the days before the Normans came. Calan Gaeaf was held to mark the start of winter. It was there to celebrate and mark the end of bright summer days which, hopefully, had produced a fine harvest. Ahead lay the beginning of a dull, cold and uncertain winter period.

In contrast, Calan Awst was a joyous Midsummer celebration where everyone in the village or town could let their hair down. Calan Mai was a similar festival held on or around May Day, not unlike the old pagan festival of Beltane. It was a time to acknowledge that winter had passed and the fruitful days of summer lay ahead.

Calennig marked the Welsh New Year celebrations and was the name given to the tiny gifts or coins that were presented to children when they knocked the door and sang on New Year’s Day. There was a dark side to the custom as, if the door was not opened when knocked, children would often add another verse to their song, wishing the people within an evil year and a household of smoke.

The old tradition of parading the Mari Lwyd has now been revived in many parts of Wales. The Mari Lwyd, a horse’s skull shrouded in white robes, was taken around the streets, knocking on doors and demanding to be let in to celebrate the New Year. Now regarded as a happy and joyous event, the origins of the tradition are pagan and are related to fear of the dark winter and the forces of evil.

Recently given a fresh leaf of life, St Dwynwen’s Day is celebrated on 25 January each year as the Welsh equivalent of St Valentine’s Day. The legendary figure of Dwynwen was thwarted in love, dedicated herself to religion and retired to the island of Llanddwyn off Anglesey. A well on the island is said to contain her sacred fish – their movement in the water supposedly predicts the fortunes of lovers who present themselves at the well. These days more and more people are sending cards to lovers and would-be lovers on St Dwynwen’s Day, a new/old Welsh festival that looks forward to a time of happiness.

The premier and most famous of all Welsh festivals is, of course, the National Eisteddfod. The original Eisteddfod was held at Cardigan Castle over the Christmas period of 1176 when the Lord Rhys invited musicians and poets to the castle to compete for various prizes. Such bardic tournaments continued to be held over the next four hundred years but the practice died out after the Acts of Union in the 16th century as Welsh noblemen turned their backs on Welsh culture.

The festival remained dormant until the Gorsedd of Bards held a ceremony at the Ivy Bush Hotel in Carmarthen in 1819, marching in full regalia through the town. The first modern national Eisteddfod was held at Aberdare in 1860. Since then it has gone from strength, being held in August every year in north and south Wales alternately.

These days there are so many more festivals for the people of Wales – and visitors – to look forward to expectantly. It seems that the British have become a nation of festival goers and Wales, with its unique cultural heritage is ideally placed to offer both spectacle and involvement.

The Urdd Eisteddfod is now the largest cultural Youth Festival in Europe. Held at the end of May each year, the festival is a series of competitions in things like dance, singing, poetry as well as science, art and craft. The Llangollen International Musical Eisteddfod is world-renowned, a vibrant week of colour and excitement as singers and musicians from across the world descend on the tiny north Wales town of Llangollen to compete and perform.

There are so many more. From the Hay and Dinefwr Literary Festivals to Brecon Jazz and the Royal Welsh Show, the events are self-explanatory and cater for all tastes. Beyond the Border Storytelling Festival and the Big Cheese in Caerphilly are just two more modern festivals that attract people to Wales.

The World Bog Snorkelling Championships at Llanwrtyd Wells and the Green Man music festival in Glan Usk Park are two of the more unusual events held each year and are inevitably attended by thousands of spectators.

Whatever your interests there is more than likely to be a festival in Wales which caters for exactly that niche market. The Welsh love of festivals is certainly far from dead.

During the Middle Ages people in Wales developed a tradition of collective loyalty within their communities, wherever or whatever those communities might be. Put simply, people in the village or town looked after their own! Family was at the heart of this collective care but it did not stop there. If someone was in need, help was usually at hand. 

Of course, such help was usually quite primitive. Unless an injured man or woman was very lucky, something like a broken limb could well mean death; diseases such as the plague certainly did. 

Treatment was limited to herbs and potions and while the reputation of healers and herbalists like the 12th century Physicians of Myddfai was undoubtedly well-deserved, by modern standards their remedies were basic in the extreme. 

Despite this, general health care was surprisingly good in the isolated Welsh communities. The writer Giraldus Cambrensis, on his tour through Wales in the 1180s, spoke very highly of the health of the people. 

Despite being of aristocratic Norman origin and naturally disdainful of the lifestyles of ordinary working people, Giraldus was clear that the Welsh were very stringent about cleanliness, comparing their practices most favourably to other nationalities in Europe. He particularly noted the way the Welsh cleaned their teeth using small hazel twigs. 

Much of the help given to sick people was, for many years, in the hands of the local ‘wise woman’ or the elderly members of the family. Monasteries and other religious settlements could and often did offer beds and treatment to the sick with monks, friars and nuns putting their own safety to one side in an attempt to aid those in need. 

Such help, naturally enough, depended as much on geographic location as anything else – put simply, it depended on whether or not there was a monastery in your area. The dissolution of the monasteries in the years after 1536 effectively put an end to such assistance. 

The 18th and early 19th centuries saw a dramatic change from a rural environment to an industrial one as Wales, fuelled by copper, slate, iron and coal, became one of the industrial powerhouses of the world. Inevitably, in the new world that was being created health care was now linked to, and governed by, such things as the social and economic conditions that people were forced to endure. 

By the end of the 19th century the population of Wales had risen from the fairly consistent 350,000 of the mid-17th century to an amazing two million. People came in their thousands to the industrial areas of Glamorgan and Monmouthshire, lured by the iron works and coal mines. And, of course, industry brought with it distinct problems in the area of public health. 

Among other things, poor housing, overcrowding and lack of proper sanitation quickly proved to be a fertile breeding ground for diseases such as cholera and typhus. In the cholera outbreak of 1848 no fewer than 3,000 people died in Glamorgan alone. In Cardiff the death toll was just over 300 but overcrowded and unhealthy Merthyr Tydfil lost 1,389. 

One of the results of this tragedy was the setting up of Boards of Health. By 1872 over one million pounds had been invested, by the government, in sewerage and water supply. Some of this, although clearly not all, was spent on the industrial areas of Wales. 

The Public Health Act of 1875 was intended to further combat the squalid living conditions of people in urban environments but, unfortunately, its effects were delayed as the mine owners and iron masters were supposed to help pay for the improvements – something they bitterly resented and fought against. 

In lieu of other help, many people in the mining communities and in port cities like Cardiff paid into insurance schemes or Friendly Societies – perhaps a penny a week – that would give them a fund to ‘tap into’ if they required medical treatment. That was fine, but it did not even begin to help those operating just above the poverty line or who were actually out of work. 

Hospitals were usually provided by charities or, in cases like the miners’ hospital in Caerphilly or the Royal Hamadryad Hospital in Cardiff Docks, through the levying of a toll collected out of men’s wages. There were a number of small isolation hospitals across Wales, set up in the 19th century and catering for people with diseases like smallpox, scarlet fever and diphtheria – again, usually paid for by contributions from working men.

Lloyd George’s National Insurance Scheme of 1911 did provide some sort of help but worked on the basis of contributions from individuals, employers and the state. The only treatment it catered for directly was for people suffering from TB – Wales was one of the worst affected parts of Britain – and, crucially, it did not cover dependents.

When the Depression hit Wales in the 1920s there were immediate cuts in wages and many mines closed. In Merthyr Tydfil alone the unemployment figure rose to nearly 70%. The result was an immediate blow to the health of out of work miners and their families. By the time of the Beveridge Report in 1944 it was clear that something had to be done and Aneurin Bevan, Minister for Health in the post-war Labour Government – himself a miner before being elected to Parliament - forced through legislation to provide health care that was based on citizenship rather than employment, class or money.

Despite their fine and ancient traditions of health care, the people of Wales had suffered grievously in the aftermath of industrialisation. With the creation of the National Health Service an intolerable burden had been lifted from the shoulders of the working men and their families.

BBC Wales is looking at the health of our NHS in 'Health Check Wales' for a week from Sunday 25 January 2015 on TV, radio and online.

That death occurred at his home in Celigny in Switzerland on 5 August 1984. He was just 58 years old. He had, for years, been an alcoholic and had nearly died from overuse of hard liquor in 1974. Even before that, in 1970, he had been warned that his kidney was enlarged and told that this could and would cause him significant problems in the years ahead. Burton chose, as might be expected, to ignore that advice.

Alcohol was always a significant problem for Richard Burton. He claimed to have been drinking heavily at the age of 12 – and smoking. Both vices remained with him to the end.

At one stage Burton was putting away three bottles of vodka a day and, although he tried to avoid it, he had to undergo the 'drying out' process that so many other movie stars had also had to endure. During the shooting of his film The Klansman many of his scenes had to be shot with him sitting or lying down because he was unable to stand.

Ill health seemed to accompany Burton at all times. He suffered from arthritis, dermatitis and, inevitably, cirrhosis of the liver. Although his death came as a major surprise for many of his fans, Burton had been complaining for some time about severe neck pains and he eventually succumbed to a massive brain haemorrhage.

Born Richard Jenkins, in Pontrhydyfen just north of Port Talbot, he was brought up by his sister after his father deserted the family. Taken under the wing of his schoolmaster and drama coach Philip Burton, the young Richard went on to take his name and, at his urging, carve a niche for himself in the theatre.

In the 1950s and early 60s Burton was the darling of the theatre circuit and his 1964 interpretation of Hamlet was outstanding. He was, many felt, the natural successor to Olivier but Burton turned his back on the stage and moved to Hollywood.

Burton's tempestuous relationship with Elizabeth Taylor – he married her twice – has tended to over-shadow what was clearly a great love affair. At the end of the day, however, they were not good for each other and there are many who claim that his failure to win the Oscar for Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf – Taylor won the award for the same film – was the last nail in the coffin of an already doomed relationship.

Richard Burton was buried in a red suit, proud Welshman to the last. He always said that he would have preferred just one cap for Wales at rugby than playing Hamlet at the Old Vic or Stratford. And there are many who claim that he could have played at a high level had the acting profession not caught him in its grip.

Burton was a great fan of Dylan Thomas. They met many times, although there is no doubt that Burton was twice the drinker than Dylan would ever be. He was buried with a copy of Thomas' Collected Poems on his chest.

Richard Burton was, possibly, one of the greatest acting talents to come out of Wales. Although he wasted and squandered that talent, his life was lived as he wanted it to be lived. And nobody can begrudge him that.

George Jeffreys was educated, first, at Shrewsbury School, then St Paul's and, finally, Westminster Schools in London. He went up to Trinity College, Cambridge, but left after just one year, without taking his degree, to enter the Inner Temple and study law in 1663.

Married twice – reputedly for money – his second wife, Anne, was a woman with something of a temper. She was supposedly the only person Jeffreys was ever frightened of and a popular, scurrilous ballad of the time referred to the couple as 'St George and his Dragon'.

Jeffreys' legal career began in 1668 and by 1671 he was working as Common Sergeant of London. His rise 'through the ranks' was rapid and, despite his strongly held Protestant beliefs, he saw no problem in carrying out the duties of Solicitor General to the Catholic Duke of York, a man later to become King James II.

George Jeffreys was knighted in 1677 but really made his mark as one of the principal officials sitting in judgement on those accused as part of the Popish Plot. It was a time of some hysteria in Britain when everyone feared the plots and devilish deeds of the fiendish Roman Catholic minority in the country – hence the Popish Plot.

The arch perjurer Titus Oates appeared before Jeffreys and his court, easily and elegantly told his lies, and Judge Jeffreys was happy to condemn innocent men on the basis of this false evidence.

Jeffreys must have had his doubts, however, because in 1685 Oates himself was brought to justice. Jeffreys heard evidence and gleefully obtained the conviction of Titus Oates, a thoroughly unpleasant and obnoxious individual, for perjury. It was a bad tempered trial that often degenerated into a slanging match between Oates and Jeffreys, moments when the law was forgotten and the trading of insults became the norm.

Jeffreys would have dearly liked to impose the death sentence on Oates. It was not legally possible and, instead, he had to be content with sentencing his arch enemy to a series of whippings that beat Oates to within an inch of his life.

By 1685 Jeffreys was serving as the Lord Chief Justice, a post that carried considerable power. It was a position he thoroughly enjoyed. He had achieved a reputation for ruthlessness two years earlier when he condemned Algernon Sidney, one of the Rye House conspirators, to death.

Contrary to all legal practice of the time, which demanded two witnesses against an accused in any treason trial, Jeffreys decreed that in this case one would suffice. Sidney's writings on republicanism could act as the 'second witness'.

His behaviour, outside the courtroom, was now beginning to cause a few raised eyebrows. It was a time of hedonism, of excessive drinking and eating for most people of means, and George Jeffreys was no different from anyone else in this respect. Unfortunately, he was also a ruthless and iron-fisted judge. Many people noted his behaviour and marked him down for a reckoning at some stage in the future.

When James, Duke of York, became king, Jeffreys was appointed Lord Chancellor. He was also elevated to the peerage as Baron Jeffreys of Wem. And then came the Bloody Assizes.

In 1685 the Duke of Monmouth rebelled against his uncle, the new Catholic King James II. Monmouth's rabble army was easily defeated at the Battle of Sedgemoor and George Jeffreys was sent to the Western Counties to dispense justice on the rebels. According to popular legend, he condemned 700 men to death. In fact, the figure was probably closer to 150.

There is no doubt that Jeffreys was harsh in his judgements – he did not earn the epithet 'the Hanging Judge' for nothing. However, the law of the land demanded the death penalty in all cases of treason and it was the prerogative of the king to grant mercy. The fact that James chose not to show clemency has been conveniently forgotten by history.

Perhaps the most glaring instance of a miscarriage of justice was in the case of Alice Liske who Jeffreys had condemned to death for sheltering supposed rebels. She had not been part of the rebellion and the men she shielded had not been captured or condemned. Yet Jeffreys was adamant – she was guilty.

In the wake of the bloodless revolution of 1688 when James fled and William and Mary succeeded to the throne, George Jeffreys was left in a quandary. He did not know what to do and, in the end, remained in London until William's troops were at the city walls. Then he decided to follow James into exile.

Unfortunately for him, he got no further than a tavern at Wapping where, despite his disguise as a sailor, a previous victim of his legal judgements identified him.

A mob quickly gathered at the door of the inn and a terrified George Jeffreys was taken into custody – as much to keep him safe as to punish him. Incarcerated in the Tower of London, he died on 18 April 1689 from a rare kidney disease that had deviled him all his adult life. 

George Jeffreys was certainly not an attractive figure. A man with a vile temper – possibly caused by the pain of his long-standing illness – he was also more than capable of engaging in personal vendettas against people who had annoyed or displeased him. Nobody doubted his ability as a man of law but he was self-serving and quite prepared to put his own beliefs behind him if he felt they might hinder his career.

George Jeffreys, the Hanging Judge, remains one of those Welshmen people would rather forget about. Yet he did his job, as he saw it, for king and country. It was just unfortunate that he died with the blood of so many innocent people on his hands.

In terms of his other writing, he was a perfectionist. He worked slowly, experimented with a single phrase; writing sentences a hundred different ways before he was content. I’m heartened to discover that this same work ethic was clearly shown during his time at the BBC.

The BBC archive undoubtedly reveals to us that, as well as being a great writer, my grandfather was an excellent actor. Richard Burton described Dylan as an ‘explosive dynamic performing force’, and ‘a dangerous rival for other actors’.

My mum, Aeronwy Thomas, had strong memories of her father. Recalling their weekly reading sessions, acting out the stories, she described her father, while reading Hansel and Gretel, adopting ‘a falsetto voice’ making ‘quite a convincing old lady’. As well as dramatic parts, Louis MacNeice discovered that, when necessary, Dylan was capable of ‘underplaying’ a role.

This was never more evident than when my grandfather read his own broadcasts, letting the words speak for themselves. The one that really stands out for me is Return Journey, which shows how he was profoundly moved during the Second World War – especially after seeing the impact of a three-night-blitz on his hometown of Swansea.

The script sees Dylan describing the devastation caused, while also seeking out his younger self amongst the destruction. In his usual style, my grandfather researched the piece meticulously, in order to ensure that he had correctly named all the shops and buildings that had been ruined.

On a different level, hearing my grandfather’s beautiful voice describing a mischievous boy taunting cats and the exploits of his eccentric aunts and uncles in his classic A Child’s Christmas in Wales, never fails to make me laugh. His friend Bert Trick described listening to him saying ‘The glorious voice boomed out of the loudspeaker’, and the ‘living room filled with the presence of Dylan’.

These are just a few examples from the one hundred and forty five separate engagements that my grandfather had with the BBC. These included writing scripts, reading poetry and short stories, as well as acting. He also became a regular on many panel discussions, making him a well-known radio personality. I hope both the lighter, and the more serious, sides of my grandfather’s work for the BBC can be reflected in this season.

You can find out more about the Dylan Thomas season on the website.

I'd read somewhere - in the dim and distant past - that Henry Jackson Thomas Jr of Los Angeles, California - formerly the young actor who left Steven Spielberg in tears during his E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial audition - spoke the language of Heaven.

So I Facebooked him.

And waited.

And at some point between August and December, I forgot about it.

Then, on 22 December 2012, Henry phoned home (well, he replied, anyway):

Dear Owen,
Hi, sorry to have let this email go unanswered for so long. I speak a little Welsh although I admit I am very rusty as I've had no one to speak with for quite some time. I will check out Hwb and see if I'm able to pass myself off as mildly fluent. If there is still any interest on your side of things, please let me know?

Hwyl,
H.

And that's where it came to a halt. Because I joined the BBC a few days later, and among everything, totally forgot about Henry.

Until now.

Who'd have thought Elliott from E.T. spoke Welsh - however rusty?

This led me to ask - how many famous - yet unexpected - Welsh speakers can we think of?

I put the question out to Twitter.

It invoked a few hilarious responses - typically from former Wales Rugby Union and League international, Gareth Thomas:

I was also reminded of Deiniolen-raised, British cycling coach, Sir Dave Brailsford.

Further trawling revealed some other names. So, here's a list of well-known folk you may not have realised spoke Welsh, but somewhat bemusingly, do!

World Wrestling Entertainment is a global machine. Admittedly, it seems to me to be the domain of young men with too much time on their hands, but Mason Ryan (also known as Barri Griffiths of Tremadog) has managed to hone a career out of it. ‘Barri 10-foot’, as he was known on this side of the Atlantic, trained under the late great Orig 'El Bandito' Williams, and now seems destined for transatlantic superstardom.

Ceiri Torjussen - the Emmy-winning Los Angeles-based TV and film-score composer and arranger. Which of his Hollywood movie credits would you know? Die Hard 4.0? Hellboy? Underworld: Evolution? Scary Movie 2? Repo Men? Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines? He's a bit famous, is Cardiff-born Ceiri!

Robert Plant. Yes, the Led Zeppelin frontman (it seems) learned Welsh in 1973, after buying a sheep farm in the tiny hamlet of Aberllefenni, between Machynlleth and Dolgellau. Although it seems Plant's family history in the area stretches back a little further - as he and Jimmy Page would stay at his family's holiday cottage in the early seventies. Bron-Yr-Aur - reputedly just off the A493 from Machynlleth to Aberdyfi - was where Plant and Page composed two songs named after the farm - Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp and, yes, you guessed it - Bron-Yr-Aur.

George North, Wales and British Lions international. George was born in King's Lynn, Norfolk and raised in Rhoscolyn, Ynys Môn, where he attended Ysgol Uwchradd Bodedern (I'll be honest, I really didn't know he spoke the lingo!).

Then there's Cincinnati, Ohio native, Professor Jerry Hunter. He’s not exactly Hollywood, but he’s worth seeking out! Jerry was crowned winner of the Prose Medal at the 2010 National Eisteddfod of Wales for his Welsh-language novel, Gwenddydd. A more unlikely mix of accents you'll rarely hear - a broad American drawl when speaking English, and a Bangor twang when speaking Welsh - quite something!

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi hapus to one and all – but particularly to the aforementioned siaradwyr Cymraeg!

All those who heard him hold forth - often in places like the County Club in Cardiff - have never forgotten the man or his themes, whatever they might have been on that particular day.

Born on 15 August 1908 at 9 Calvert Terrace, Swansea, Wynford came from impressive stock. His father was professor of music at Swansea University while his mother was descended from Daniel Lewis, one of the Rebecca Rioters in 19th century Glamorgan. So from an early age the twin elements of academic excellence and rebellion were in his blood.

Wynford Vaughan Thomas was educated at Swansea Grammar School where his English master was none other than DJ Thomas, the father of the poet Dylan Thomas.

Wynford left the school to continue his studies at Oxford just as Dylan was starting. He emerged with a second class honours in Modern History and was soon working for the National Museum of Wales as the curator of manuscripts.

In the middle years of the 1930s Wynford decided on a change of career - partly because it meant he could be close to the girl he later married, Charlotte Rowlands - and went to work for the BBC in Cardiff.

His rich and distinctive voice made him ideal for presenting programmes on the radio and in 1937 he gave the Welsh language commentary for the coronation of King George VI. Other broadcasts soon followed.

However, it was as a war correspondent during the Second World War that Wynford Vaughan Thomas really made his name. Initially, he was employed to make broadcasts about the Home Front but his reporting on the Blitz was so moving and so effective that the BBC decided to use him for other, rather more dangerous duties. He became something of a roving reporter.

His most notable broadcast came in September 1943, given from the belly of a Lancaster bomber, high over Berlin. With anti-aircraft shells bursting all around, the aircraft was caught in the beam of a searchlight and Wynford's dramatic commentary vividly captured the danger and the excitement of the bombing raid.

“Berlin burning seen from 19,000 ft was the most beautifully horrible sight I’ve ever seen”.
You can hear more about the story of Wynford Vaughan Thomas's report recorded during a raid on Berlin in BBC Radio 4's Archive on 4.

Other famous broadcasts from these wartime years included several from the Anzio beachhead, a memorable one from the broadcasting studio of Lord Haw Haw in Hamburg and a powerful and stunning commentary from the newly liberated concentration camp at Belsen. He wrote a book on the Anzio landings, a work that was later made into a major Hollywood film.

In 1945 he was awarded the Croix de Guerre by the French government after being present at the liberation of Burgundy. As he later said, tongue pressed firmly in his cheek, he had spent several contented days in a wine cellar, along with his soldier comrades, and emerged with a medal.

After the war Wynford Vaughan Thomas continued to make regular broadcasts, usually at events of national importance. These included the 1953 coronation of Queen Elizabeth and, in 1965, the funeral of his BBC colleague Richard Dimbleby.

In due course, Wynford moved on from the BBC and became one of the founders of Harlech (later HTV and now ITV Wales) independent television. As director of programmes for the new station he had a great say in what was actually broadcast to the Welsh nation.

Wynford wrote several books in his long career, notably Madly in All Directions and Wales: A History. However, it is for his joint presenting with Gwyn Alf Williams of the landmark television series The Dragon Has Two Tongues that he will always be remembered.

In later life he became president of the Council for the Protection of Rural Wales, in which capacity he formally opened the Pembrokeshire Coast Path in 1970. He had always been passionate about Wales and the Welsh countryside and this was an opportunity to give something back.

In 1974 there was further recognition when he was made an honorary druid. That same year he was given an OBE, an award that was raised to CBE some 12 years later.

Wynford Vaughan Thomas died at his home in Fishguard on 4 February 1987, his passing undoubtedly creating a vacuum in Welsh broadcasting and in Welsh cultural life in general.

Some years after his death a memorial was erected in his honour at Aberhosan - it is in the form of a telescope, looking out over the countryside of Wales. Wynford would undoubtedly have been very pleased.