"We don't know what an Ukraine is," said Archdruid Cynghangedd ap Cytgan, "but its Eurovision song sounded like something particularly cross from the Independent Calvinist-Methodist (Calvinist) hymnbook, and there was no way you heathens were going to beat the Word of the Lord."
In a letter addressed to the Russian Ministry of Wholesome Entertainment, and delivered by a chain of flowergirls in the Hallowed Cleft Stick of Coglas, Cytgan went on "We have so much in common. Judging by what I hear on the wireless, you Cossacks also like singing and shouting in unison, and nurture a deep resentment towards your neighbours.
"I enclose an eight-track cartridge of, er, us, basically, so you get the general idea. If all goes well, we'll send over Mrs Eluned Price with some sheet music, an antique vowel-extractor from the National Museum at St Fagans, and tufts of sheepdog hair you can glue in your nostrils.
"We assume you have your own piano, or can fashion one from those squeeze-boxes you like to play.
"See you in 2017! Bring the missus!"
