- North Wales coast - The Rhylviera
- Rest of North Wales - Mid Wales
- Mid Wales - Middlewales, in order to make the Tolkien-cultists infesting Machynlleth feel at home.
- South-West Wales - Ireland (Tenby will be called Galway and Pembrokeshire West Cork. Having your head slammed in a pub door by the Young Farmers will be known henceforth as "the craic")
- The Valleys - Little Switzerland. Tonypandy will be twinned with Zürich's Needle Park.
- Glamorgan - Westworld.
- Cardiff - The Torchwood.
3. In a similar move, the Welsh language will be rebranded as Gaelic, so no one will be scared of it anymore.
4. The Academi Gymreig, which attempts to regulate the Welsh language, has issued its latest list of words we ought to use instead of just saying English ones with a comic accent. They are:
- Spambot: plastic luncheon-meat holder.
- Charlota: singing bustily.
- Chwerthfawr: laughable.
- Cotseinio: to mark oneself out as a bit of a tool.
The model sentence provided was "Chwydais 'nghinio yn syth yn y spambot wrth glywed Glenys Blydi Kinnock yn ceisio charlota. Chwerthfawr oedd i'w gweld hi yn cotseinio ei hun gymaint."
5. Under family pressure, my brother Annwn has agreed to call his dog Bruno, instead of Duw ffyc aye - his all-purpose greeting.
6. The Senedd has announced the summer list of who is and who isn't currently Welsh. Terry Jones is out, and anyone who 'd like to play for the national football squad is in.
7. Plaid Cymru capo Dafydd Iwan returned No Good Boyo's jaunty greeting on the gristly streets of Dolgellau, and so is assured of both of my votes once again.
8 comments:
May I presume to suggest that you sold your vote a tad cheaply, Mr Boyo? At the very least, you should have asked for a 3-course meal at his mother's place - Leek soup, toad-in-the-hole, mash potatoes, runner beans and spotted dick sounds good to me. I'm assuming that Plaid mothers are excellent cooks. It would explain why their sons are not fussed about all the decent restaurants disappearing after the post-liberation exodus of foreigners.
GB, Plaid members are required by party statutes to like flummery, cockles, seaweed, cheese on toast (our national dish) and ale with bits of twig in it. Immigration policy assumes that the foreigners who flee the new, vowel-free hegemony will be replaced by Cornishmen, Bretons, Basques and Gypsies seeking a haven where they can speak odd languages and eat roadkill in peace.
I'm going to have to broaden my studies of Welsh cuisine. Or start them, to be more precise. "Welsh rabbit, stew and faggots!" shouts a chimpanzee swinging above me. I never knew rabbits tasted different in Wales. Are there Welsh restaurants outside Wales?
Is Torchwood's Scotch-American supremo Bummy Jack going to be Welsh or not this year? People are asking questions.
The Welsh rabbit in entirely made of cheese, GB, thereby proving our claim to the Moon. My friends Sioba Siencyn and Iago Anffawd planned a chain of Welsh gastropubs in England, to be called "Evans". The upstairs dining room would be called "Evans Above". I'll ask how they're getting on.
Captain Trousers has the dark hair and strange, ratty eyes of a Swansea Jack, not to mention the name, Scary. His welcome into the national scrum is expected sometime this summer, once he's survived a familiarisation run along The Mumbles Mile.
It's good to be kept abreast of machinations back in the land of my grandfathers, however complicated it seems.
I have to admit that I am scared of the Welsh language.
It's a public service, MC.
And how could anyone fear the language that gave us such euphony as ."Mae haerllygrwydd y llywodraeth yn ddychrynllyd"?
Great that you're back, Boyo. "Evans Can Wait"* is another possible title for these ambitious and long-awaited culinary emporiums.
* Copyright: I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue, 1995, approx.
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