Wales Eye usually puts out one story a day. If there is any satire, Cneifiwr has so far failed to spot it, but every so often there are pieces which could fairly be described as investigative journalism, dealing with subjects such as fat cat academics and possibly fraudulent practices in the rollout of high speed broadband in Wales.
Those occasional nuggets aside, the staple offering of Wales Eye is a daily dose of stories quoting unnamed but invariably "senior" sources and unsubstantiated claims that something or other has sparked a major row - rows so major that nobody outside the febrile bubble inhabited by Wales Eye has heard of them.
Friday's piece, entitled "Beyond the Bard", is a case in point. It begins by claiming in its rather grating tabloid style that "serious questions have been raised about the veneration of a bard who died during the first world war", and goes on to take a swipe at the National Eisteddfod, suggesting that its "honours system" is not up to the job because it awarded the Chair at the 1917 National Eisteddfod to Hedd Wyn, rather than a soldier from Llanelli who was awarded the Victoria Cross for killing lots of Germans in the same year.
It is not entirely clear who is raising these "serious" questions, but it would appear to be Rod Richards, the former Tory MP and Assembly Member now turned Ukip. Many adjectives could be used to describe Mr Richards, but serious is not one of them.
Richards tells Wales Eye that he has read Hedd Wyn's work, and "it is pretty mediocre stuff".
Of course, Rod Richards is entitled to his literary opinion, but Hedd Wyn is one of the best loved Welsh poets, and his poems are still popular a century after his death at the Battle of Passchendaele in July 1917. Somehow it seems unlikely that anyone will be reading Rod Richards' collected speeches 100 years from now.
But that's enough about Rod Richards. A much more interesting question is why we remember Hedd Wyn, but have forgotten someone who was awarded the Victoria Cross. Come to think of it, how many recipients of the Victoria Cross can most of us name? Unless you are a military historian or relative, not one in all likelihood.
This is not to sully the memory of Ivor Rees, who was awarded his VC for a very bloody action in which he killed seven men during the Battle of Passchendaele. It is estimated that over half a million men lost their lives in that catastrophic event, with many, many more wounded and maimed for life.
Ivor Rees died in 1967 and so cannot speak for himself, but all of us will have known or met men who served in the two world wars and took part in horrific events. Many veterans never talk about their experiences, and if they do, they tend to talk about things they saw rather than the things they did.
Their message to us is the waste, inhumanity, misery and mad destruction of war, not glory or heroics.
A former Royal Navy seaman remembered how his ship had been strafed by German fighter aircraft as it sailed though the Mediterranean. Men who had been working in the metal scaffolding on the bow of the ship designed to protect it from mines had been killed, and their mangled remains could not be retrieved until it docked at Alexandria, by which time the whole ship stank of rotting flesh in the searing heat.
The point of military medals such as the Victoria Cross is not so much to reward individuals, but to set an example, encourage and sanctify what are often bloody suicidal acts.
Hedd Wyn went to war not because he wanted to, but because his farming family was ordered to send one of their sons to the army, and Hedd Wyn, whose baptismal name was Ellis Humphrey Evans, opted to go instead of his brother.
On Saturday, Radio Four's early morning Farming Today programme looked at the impact the First World War had on farming families, and the system of exemptions from conscription in particular. By chance, a complete set of records has survived for the county of Wiltshire, and they show how by 1916 the earlier patriotic euphoria had evaporated and been replaced with increasing reluctance to enter military service. One cowman wrote to the conscription panel that they would have to catch him first, and it seems they never did. The programme, available here for a few more days, helps to put the Evans family into a wider context.
Hedd Wyn won no medals or awards from the British state, but through the Gorsedd, the Welsh "honours system" so contemptuously derided by Rod Richards and Wales Eye, and on the merits of his poetry (submitted anonymously, of course), he won an enduring place in the hearts and minds of the people of Wales.
In one of his best known poems, Rhyfel ("War"), Hedd Wyn describes the war as a time in which God had withdrawn from the world like an ebb tide, leaving it to man and his "ugly authority" to fill the void, with the roar of battle casting its shadow on poor homes.
He does this and more in the space of a few, taut and spare lines.
Ugly authority - two words which conjur a picture of bemedalled royals, bishops, generals, faceless bureaucrats, barking sergeant majors and conscription panels.
Another Welsh poet who is just as loved, and who incidentally never won the Chair at a National Eisteddfod, was Waldo Williams, Quaker, pacifist, nationalist and school teacher. No CBEs or knighthoods for him, thank God. Instead he was sent to prison for refusing to pay income tax in a protest against the Korean War.
Daw dydd y bydd mawr y rhai bychain
Daw dydd ni bydd mwy y rhai mawr
Very roughly this means that a day will come when the lowly shall be great. A day will come when the powerful shall be diminished.
As a Christian, Waldo was probably thinking about the life to come, but what both Hedd Wyn and Waldo show us is that history and the fundamentally democratic nature of collective memory decide who we remember and why. Tony Blair may never face a court of justice, but the court of public opinion has already delivered its verdict. And in the long run all titles, medals and honours are consigned to oblivion.
It is a very good thing that we should remember Hedd Wyn. May Ivor Rees rest in peace.