The size of the group tends to vary: tonight it was six, but it can be eight or so. It seems that in the 80s there was a short-lived Welsh class, with a teacher and everything, and when that came to an end in '88 (when I was 7!!) they decided to carry on amongst themselves. It's funny, as I said on FB a little while ago:
Ro'n i'n synnu, pan 'ych chi'n ystyried pa mor hir maen nhw wedi bod yn mynd i'r peth 'ma, wel, ie, digon teg, maen nhw'n gwybod mwy o eiria na fi, ond do'n nhw ddim yn ymddangos yn llawer mwy hyderus na fi. Chimod, fel ro'n nhw'n peidio i feddwl fel fi, a cheisio cofio'r gair iawn ac yn y blaen.
Although I did make more mistakes, I think it's fair to say.
We started with a bit of a chat, then took it in turns to read the poem Cân Ionawr by Bobi Jones and work out what it said (hard!) then took it in turns to read and translate a magazine article (easier!) and finished by reading a tiny bit of a book.
Sparky Cola, when you've passed your driving test, and Willow Fae, when you've progressed a bit further through the course, you should come too! Please?!?
Please feel free to correct me. Thanks! 
= "Oh, is that how it's spelled!"
. Great, Soapy. Welsh in the wild, is the bit, I love best. You can't pre-plan anything, and the thrill one gets when someone understands you; and you comprehend them - wow. The joy of flying by the seat of ones pants. 
