By Melissa Knight, Marketing Manager, Ogi

TV shows rarely have that big moment these days – that rattle of emotion – but Adolescence on Netflix has it.

It hit harder than I’d thought it would. Maybe because I still carry echoes of my own teenage years. Maybe because the world that today’s teens are growing up in feels so unrecognisable. Or maybe because it all just felt a little too real.

The show follows a 13-year-old boy caught up in something terrible – and it doesn’t take long before you stop seeing a character on a screen. You start seeing bits of someone you used to be. That awkwardness. That quiet yearning to belong to something, anything. It stirs something deep. A reminder of how fragile those years really are.

When I was thirteen, the “playground” was a real place. It was splintered wood and metal slides that got too hot in summer. It was scraped knees, whispered secrets, dares you regretted before you hit the ground. But what happened in the park stayed in the park.

Fall out with someone? It was over by the time you got home. Embarrassed yourself? You laughed it off by the next day. There was a mercy in how temporary it all was.

Now, the playgrounds have shifted. They’re glowing screens and endless scrolls. They’re everywhere – and nowhere. What happens in them doesn’t stay there. It follows. It’s screenshotted. Shared. Immortalised. The stakes feel higher, the audience wider. And the exit? Not so obvious.

It’s easy to forget how hard it is to grow up while being watched. Not just by friends and peers, but by an invisible world waiting to react. And while some corners of the internet offer comfort, others are far more insidious – especially for boys. Adolescence pulls back the curtain on that. Shows how some of these digital spaces dress up in language that sounds supportive, even healing – until you listen a little closer and hear the undercurrents of anger, of control, of something deeply warped.

And it’s subtle. A new phrase. A new tone. The way a joke lands that makes you tilt your head and wonder. The bravado that sometimes feels a little too rehearsed. These shifts in language and posture – they tell a story, if you’re listening closely.

One scene in Adolescence made that painfully clear: a boy explains the meaning behind certain emojis to baffled adults. Every child watching understood immediately. The adults had no idea.

That moment stayed with me.

Because that was it – the line in the sand. The quiet reveal that there’s a whole world of coded language, of cultural shorthand, happening in plain sight. A language that, once upon a time, you spoke fluently – and now, you don’t. Not fluently, anyway. That gap? That’s the gap we need to notice, and bridge.

Since watching, I’ve been thinking a lot more about those spaces we grew up in – how physical they were. Playgrounds where risk came in the form of a fall from the monkey bars, not a comment thread that spirals into humiliation. Community spaces where you learned about people through presence, not profile pictures. But now, the playgrounds are algorithmically curated. The games have changed. And the communities? They’re scattered across platforms, even continents – some warm and welcoming, others cold and echoing with cruelty.

I’ve found myself paying closer attention lately. Asking better questions – not to interrogate, but to understand. “What was it about that video that made it funny?” and “Do you think they really meant that, or were they just trying to go viral?”

Sometimes those questions lead somewhere. Sometimes they don’t. But the asking matters. It says: I’m here. I see you. And maybe that’s the most any of us can do – be present. Not in every scroll or click, but in the pauses in between. In the quiet moments when the noise dies down and the real stuff can surface.

Because the truth is, the risks of growing up haven’t disappeared – they’ve just changed shape. They’ve gone digital. They’ve gone quiet. And they’re far more persistent.

So, we adapt. We put up a few guardrails – not walls, just soft boundaries. Filters. Time limits. Conversations.

Not because we want to control the experience, but because we know and remember what it was like to fall. And we’d rather the landing not be so hard.

Adolescence didn’t just remind me of what it means to grow up – it reminded me how much the environment matters. That the scaffolding around a person – their playground, their peers, their virtual hideouts – shapes them. And that those scaffolds are ours to notice, to question, to repair when needed.

I didn’t expect a TV show to shake me like this one did. But I’m glad it did. Because it made it clear: we might not be able to rebuild the old playgrounds. But we can still help make the new ones safer. And maybe that’s enough.

“Ukraine is fighting not just for its own freedom, but for the principles of democracy and justice that should unite us all”, says Herald Editor, Tom Sinclair

THERE are moments in history when leaders define themselves—not just by what they say, but by how they treat others. On Friday (Feb 28), in a shocking display of arrogance and ignorance, President Donald Trump showed the world precisely what kind of leader he is. In an extraordinary and disgraceful diplomatic blunder, Trump asked Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy to leave the White House, cutting short a meeting that was meant to strengthen ties between the two nations. Instead of supporting a country fighting for its survival, Trump chose to humiliate its leader.

This was not just a moment of political theatre; it was an insult to every Ukrainian citizen suffering under Russia’s brutal invasion, to every soldier defending their homeland, and to every nation that has stood up against tyranny.

For all his bluster about “making America great,” Trump’s latest act proves yet again that he does not understand the difference between strength and bullying. A strong leader stands by their allies. A weak leader turns their back when it’s convenient. A strong leader understands diplomacy. A weak leader throws a tantrum when things don’t go their way.

Trump’s dismissive attitude towards Ukraine is a betrayal of not just one nation but of democratic values themselves. Under his administration, the White House has become a revolving door of diplomatic disasters, with world leaders leaving insulted and America’s reputation in tatters. Instead of standing up to Vladimir Putin—the aggressor responsible for this war—Trump appears more interested in undermining Ukraine at every turn. His words and actions send a dangerous message: that the United States is no longer a reliable ally, and that dictators can act with impunity.

Unlike Trump and his administration, the people of Pembrokeshire have demonstrated true solidarity with Ukraine. When Russia launched its unprovoked invasion, our community stepped up. Five vans filled with essential supplies were sent directly to those in need, organised by The Pembrokeshire Herald and backed by the incredible generosity of local people. Our firefighters have sent vital equipment to help their Ukrainian counterparts. Across our county, individuals and businesses have raised money, collected aid, and stood in unwavering support of Ukraine’s right to defend itself.

We do this because we understand something Trump never will: that integrity, compassion, and standing up for what’s right matter more than self-serving political games. Pembrokeshire knows that Ukraine is fighting not just for its own freedom, but for the principles of democracy and justice that should unite us all.

History teaches us that bullies never win. Whether it’s on the playground or the world stage, those who use power to intimidate and belittle eventually face their reckoning. Trump’s pathetic treatment of Ukraine will not be forgotten. The world is watching, and America’s allies are taking note. The bonds between democratic nations will not be broken by one man’s petulance.

The Pembrokeshire Herald remains steadfast in its support for Ukraine. We stand with President Zelenskyy. We stand with the Ukrainian people. And we stand with all those who believe that democracy, freedom, and justice must prevail over the cowardice and corruption of those who would rather appease tyrants.

Trump’s disgraceful behaviour will be remembered for what it is: a moment of shame. But the bravery of Ukraine and the solidarity of those who support it will be remembered for what it represents: hope, resilience, and the undeniable truth that justice will triumph in the end.

Is AI ready to blow, or is that just the sheep talking?

WELL, my dear Pembrokeshire pals, the digital world is more fired up than a dragon on curry night, thanks to the arrival of DeepSeek R1, the Chinese AI that’s apparently set to give Silicon Valley a proper wake-up call. Imagine trying to tame a wild rugby match—it’s that level of chaos in the tech world right now.

DeepSeek R1 has all the brains of the best AI models but costs less to run than a sheepdog on leftovers. This clever little system can do everything from solving complex maths problems to writing software code—and it’s doing it on a budget so small, even Dai down the pub would raise an eyebrow.

Now, let’s make sense of the panic. Silicon Valley, home to all those American tech giants, has been happily chucking money at AI projects like a kid in an arcade. But along comes DeepSeek R1, built with brains and thriftiness, and suddenly, the Americans are as flustered as someone who’s just learned they’ve put the bara brith in the oven without any raisins.

There’s talk of this AI revolutionizing everything, but don’t go thinking it’ll do your Tesco shop for you just yet. These systems are powerful, yes, but they’re also unpredictable. Like a sheepdog that’s great with the flock but refuses to fetch the stick, AI can be brilliantly useful—until it’s not.

And here’s a tidbit for you tech-curious folks: the real excitement isn’t just about what this AI can do, but how it was built. DeepSeek’s team has shown you don’t need a dragon’s hoard to make magic happen—just a lot of smarts and a touch of daring. It’s a lesson for all of us: sometimes, it’s not about having more, but using what you’ve got wisely. (Although, let’s be honest, that approach doesn’t work for rugby teams. More muscle is always better there.)

So, should we be worried? Probably not. Should we be paying attention? Absolutely. Because whether we like it or not, AI is here to stay, and it’s shaping up to be as much a part of our lives as tea and Welsh cakes.

Until next time, remember: always back up your files and never trust a computer that doesn’t understand rugby scores.

Yours digitally,
Professor Barry Davis
(Geek, proud Welshman, and occasional biscuit dunker)