Llên Lên

I've a post over at The Dabbler on how Wales can catch up with Scotland and South Sudan in the race to independence - not by being miserable, or fighting some Arabs, but rather through the potency of cheap literature.

It worked for the Afghans, it can work for us.

Read on, then start writing. Our country needs you.

Tercio de muerte

Nick Clegg, the leader of Britain's Liberal Democrat junior partners in the Coalition of Evil with the Conservative Party, has threatened us all with "muscular liberalism" over the coming year.

I can't avoid the image of a skinny man in a white t-shirt and 501s edging daintily around the sweaty dance-floor at Amsterdam's celebrated "Love Girder" club on "Tower of Power" night. Whatever happens, he's going to get hurt and it'll be available on the Internet.

It's really not good enough. Once you could vote for the Liberal Democrats and thrill a little at the frisson of cost-free rebellion. Now they're in government, hobbling along on their knees with Mr Cameron's crop and ashtray balanced on their heads.

Who's to blame for this? Now, I don't want to sound like one of the lipless witchfinders who populate The Guardian's online comment site, but personally I blame The Guardian.

That newspaper has an impeccably liberal tradition of lecturing voters on their vulgar failings between elections before inching its slack, exfoliated buttocks onto the Fence Post of Indecision come polling day.

But the General Election of May 2010 was different. On 30 April the paper's editorial "enthusiastically" and at great length endorsed the Liberal Democrats under the banner "The Liberal Moment Has Come".

Foreign readers, most Britons and, as they realized with a corretto jolt on 10 May 2010, loyal Liberal Democrat voters, had no idea what this panto-horse party stands for.

The Liberal Democrats are like an episode of the moreish "X-Files" spin-off "The Lone Gunmen", but without the sexy lady. Imagine a windowless rabbit run filled with trolls, gabbling geeks who've never met a barber, and sad-eyed men with peppery beards, jackets made of car rugs and no friends, and you have a vision of the Lib-Dems' annual conference.

It is a grim statement about the Conservatives and Labour that literally millions of otherwise sane Britons prefer to vote for these Airfix models and "Internet researchers" than for the grown-up parties.

It is an even grimmer statement about The Guardian that it chose the 2010 election, the only one seriously flagged up to produce a hung parliament, to back these sagging wifeswappers as the Queen's Champions.

It is the grimmest statement of all that no one noticed the near-Ickean truth about the Liberal Democrats, namely that above the human spam of their membership there rules a caste of reptilian posh people. The Astors, Jo Grimond, Jeremy Thorpe and Nick Clegg - they may have had their shortcomings, but their socks are clean and they've never had to buy a pair themselves.

Furthermore, a glance at the parliamentary constituencies the Lib-Dems represent - shrill suburbs, offal-mulching Celtic counties, Liverpool - would suggest that, manifesto pledges apart, they're not much bothered about people who enjoy ITV or work for a living in places without water-coolers.

It should not require excessive analysis to conclude that, given a choice between the cleft-scratching Labour frontbench and the languid Tories with their toothsome Mrs May, Mr Clegg would opt for people who don't buy their suits off costermongers.

The Tories and their Liberal Democrat appendix are like Stalin, but in a good way. Back in the 1930s Stalin decided that he wanted to make the Soviet Union a powerful force for wrong in the world, and that he would need flinty engineers, massive tanks, and strong-jawed men to fire both.

What he did not need was tens of thousands of wispy-bearded feuilletonistes in peasant smocks, lippy lorgnette-dipping bluestockings, bolshy trade unionists, pitchfork-wielding mobs, cleverclog Israelites, trainee Napoleons and people who had known him at the seminary.

The problem was that much of the Soviet Communist Party and ruling class was made up of precisely these groups. The ferocity of the purge in which they were subsequently purged was such that the word "purge" doesn't really convey it. Imagine pigbreathed men wandering blindfolded through the crowd at a Coldplay concert, swinging chainsaws, flamethrowers and yetis about in a random but deadly fashion, and you're getting close.

Those who survived were a red-eyed phalanx of psychos who snorted vodka, smoked trees, dammed rivers with human heads, played Poland like an accordion and parked their tanks on top of Hitler's house. Not pretty, but more effective at getting rid of Nazis than Futurist poetry, innovative camera techniques and endless speccy speeches.

On the other front of the class war, the Tories and Liberal Democrat leaders now face a similar problem. They ache to turn Britain into a country fit for Baroness Thatcher to die in, but have to overcome two groups - the core Liberal Democrat membership, and the people who voted for them in May 2010 after reading that Guardian editorial.

The methods at the disposal of Mssrs Cameron and Clegg lack Stalin's plebeian vigour and, thanks to Baroness Thatcher's economic policies, industrial machinery, but they found their way:

1. The slow, gleeful tearing up, non-acidic recyclable page by page, of the Liberal Democrat manifesto over the course of a whole year has deprived the most mole-like party activist and low-wattage Guardian reader of any grounds to believe that anything they think or do has any meaning.

2. The appointment to visible but powerless ministerial posts of preachy MPs from the Lib-Dems' ample, dun-clad array. Chris Huhne accepted the post of Secretary of State for the Environment, knowing full well that Tories think the environment is what they drive their Jags over at 120mph on the way home from regular acts of drunken indiscretion.

3. Giving a few competent Liberal Democrats impossible jobs like restraining the flashing blade of Chancellor George Osborne or deputising for men who would think nothing of cuckolding them and their sons-in-law, at the same time if possible.

But the estocada that felled the stumbling Lib-Dem oxen was the Alternative Vote campaign. This dispelled any doubts about their leaders' determination to slip the bonds of surly supporters and touch the sac of power.

1. Electoral-reform martyr Roy Jenkins himself described AV as "vile stuff, sort of thing they sell in boxes in supermarkets", and the Liberal Democrats' sole identifiable policy for 40 years has been to call for Proportional Representation, so this was bound to dismay the besandled masses.

2. The "face" of the campaign was comedian Eddie Izzard, whose previous achievements included promoting the euro, portraying a German, and speaking French in public. In particular, he looks better in a frock than most voters' wives. A poor choice to win over bluff patriots.

3. With Daily Mail and Telegraph readers it's best to say everything twice, so the campaign made sure AV was put to a referendum. Referenda are intrinsically European and suspect, being associated with Napoleon III (not even the proper Napoleon), Hitler, the Common Market and the Swiss.

4. What makes Britain worth living in, apart from Bettany Hughes, is that fabled sense of fair play. There's an altruism that neither state dependency nor Mrs Thatcher could banish, and when it looks at AV it sees benefits for one party alone - the dastardly Liberal Democrats. Pipes are tapped out and wirelesses retuned to the cricket.

5. Finally, the Celtic nations of Britain held elections about the same time under a form of real proportional representation. The referendum might as well have said "We Liberal Democrats think you English are dimmer than a Manxman. Would you like to keep us in power forever?"

A question remains as to why The Guardian decided to boost the Liberal Democrats at the 2010 election, leading as it did to a Conservative government, the comic emasculation of the Liberal Democrats themselves, and an end to hopes for proportional representation.

Readers of this web blog will be familiar with the long struggle of Wales to destroy anything that looks like giving England a break. So, were the Learned Elders of Capel Seion behind it?

As with "Operation Clark County", there is little evidence of Cambrian cupidity in this case. Instead I'm reminded of those cosy Catholic apologists who reach their mid-fifties and suddenly run off with the chambermaid. Glimpsing America surge past into the heroic age of Obama, The Guardian abruptly spat out the snaffle and raced for the finishing line, only to fall flat on its face. Both of them.

What next for the Liberal Democrats? Mr Clegg is a student of German politics, and hopes his frumpish footsoldiers will squelch off stage left to give Labour a hard time. This will allow him to fashion a British version of the Free Democrats - people with expensive cars and even dearer doctorates, undemanding constituents and the occasional foray into the Privy Council.

But we Welsh haven't finished with the Liberal Democrats yet. As I wrote back in October 2008:

"The Liberal Democrats have not been doing badly of late, but that's largely because we've transferred our Silurian attentions to the major parties. Watch out for adopted Welsh Lembit Öpik, though. He's bidding to be President of the party, and owes us one after the way he treated the lovely Siân Lloyd."

The Montgomeryshire Candidate need only relax with a game of Romanian strip poker for the Lib-Dems' true nightmare to begin. Not merely a nightmare, but a Nightmare of Horror.

WikiLeaks - Wales responds

Wales "enjoys" WikiLeaks report of corruption, violence

Text of report by Welsh official Taffinfform news agency

Boyograd [formerly Cardiff] 1 December (Taffinfform): Welsh government spokesman Griff [Gruffydd ap Gruffydd, fab Gruffydd] reacted with customary bemusement to revelations on the WikiLeaks website about levels of corruption and imaginative violence in Welsh official institutions.

"These revulations has totally and utterly come as a surprise to us, and to me, though but," he told punters in an impromptu press conference at the Martyr Dr Phil Williams Memorial Institute of Tantric Studies, Boyograd.

The WikiLeaks publication of tens of thousands of classified US State Department cables included a number of oddly stained pneumatiques from Burlington Arcade III, ambassador [extraordinary and plenipotentiary] to Wales, in which he set out his views on the Cymru Rouge administration and Wales in general.

"Graft is so much a way of life to these people that, after only six months in the post, I find myself slipping the police escort 300 dwris just not to taser me on the can [Welsh currency: 100 tans to the dwri. One dwri = 2 cents or a roofing slate. Can = American toilet].

"Extortion is never nearly enough. It only counts if accompanied by menaces, often of an outré sexual nature.

"I raised the question of kickbacks in military procurements with Defence Minister Anffawd [Iago Anffawd, fab Sieffre Siomedig, fab Gwil Goll]. Have any of you boys at Foggy Bottom ever been keelhauled around a coracle? I guessed not. Item - they're round. It never ends.

"They gave me 30 minutes with a 'fat bird from Carmarthen' then used me as a rudder. We got as far as Lundy [former English island in the Bristol Channel, now used by the Welsh Army as a underwater political prison and weapons testing range] before I agreed to drop the matter."

"We's never heard of this fucker or his so-called, soi-disant America," explained Griff. "We denies these hackersations, and disasorcerates us selves from whatever's going to happen to him in the next week."

"And," he added.

Political analyst John Osmond of the exiled Institute of Welsh Affairs, Chester, said much of the confusion can be attributed to two factors, nomenclature and not really giving a shit [Welsh: malu ffwc ddim].

"The Cymru Rouge manifesto dealt with the traditional Welsh blights of corruption and violence by simply reclassifying them as 'The Economy' and 'Public Relations' respectively. Investment from Eastern Europe and the Middle East seems to have vindicated this policy so far, and complaints from the allegedly late Ambassador Arcade are unlikely to change that," he expanded.

Asked about the current whereabouts of Burlington Arcade III, spokesman Griff feigned indifference to reports of a pair of ambulances bearing the US envoy to the Martyr Shakin' Stevens Cosmodrome, Abergavenny, after a freak accident at the unveiling of the Newport transporter bridge and noyade.

"You might well think that; I couldn't possibly comment," he quipped, "largely because I's monged on 'shrooms, see. But a fiver might get you the audio track of a rocket launch tragedy."

"We didn't eat him," he added.

Source: Taffinfform news agency, Cardiff, in Welsh 0058 gmt 1 Dec 10

Gwae y Cayman

A pronunciamento from the Prif Sasiwn of the Cymru Rouge (Commissariat of External Relations and Instant Rebuttal):

So! Once again, the expressed will of literally millions of ordinary, working-class men, women and children, poor-to-middling peasants, discharged policemen and revolutionarily-inclined students has been thwarted by the machinations of International Capital and its ten-fingered hirelings!

The Learned Elders of the Intern Net have spurned the inherent right of all Welsh to have a domain name ending in '.cym'. Instead, they have added insult to ursury by granting this domain name to what we gather is some sort of crocodile.

The Cymru Rouge has long supported the dotCYM campaign, if only as a means of compiling our list of suspiciously-literate Welsh for the slate-quarry pioneer battalions, and would have put the banner on our website if we'd been able to work out the html code.

To put some sort of big fish ahead of Wales is little better than giving preference to the so-called English and their Scotch masters. In light of this farsighted attack on our stealth acquisition of the trappings of statehood, we, the Rouge, hereby proclaim a boycott of the Intern Net, the Web Ring and all forms of the Ram.

This boycott is mandatory for all Cymru Rouge cadres and any other Welsh.

In the spirit of not making things worse for ourselves for once, we have commissioned the University of Central Meirionydd (formerly Compute 'R' Us, Eldon Square, Dolgellau) to carry out a study of Intern Net use with a view to mitigating any economic and social damage the boycott might cause.

The findings of the study are as follows:

"Former Vice-President Al Gore of the United States invented the Internet (sic, passim) as a means of conquering space by environmentally more tedious means than firing rockets full of scientists at it.

"President George W Bush saw little virtue in either pursuit, and so the Internet remained empty until some Dutchmen found it and filled it with porn.

"This was the Golden Age of the Internet. Since then use has decayed, and the current inventory of Internet content is as follows:

• 89% porn
• 4% pictures of cats
• 4% people blaming Israel
• 2% German cannibals seeking dinner dates
• 1% the Scaryduck publishing empire
• 2% creative accounting."

On the basis of this, the Cymru Rouge has devised a reach-around so that any patriotic Welsh can achieve his goals without entering a modem. We have categorised the above categories into three categories:

1. Porn, pictures of cats, and people blaming Israel. A girlfriend from Newport, incontinent aunt and television licence will suffice.

2. German cannibals. We assume that anyone who wants to be stuffed in a Pfälzer Saumagen will have already bought the one-way ticket on the Kürten Express by now.

3. Scaryduck. Media projections suggest that Scaryduck will acquire controlling shares in all British newspapers, commercial radio stations and works of fiction by 2015, so sit still and all will be well.

5. Creative accounting. Over half of all legally employed Welsh are involved in this industry - Wales's second largest - and are therefore exempt from the Intern Net ban in the workplace. Instead they will be expected to undertake an indefinite strike in support of our cause.

For the plutocrats who control the Intern Net, the pressure will be unbearable.

As for dotCYM, we applaud their continuing campaign and suggest that they now demand total and utter control over the domain name '.ll'.

Henffych!

Paul Pot - Brawd Rhif Un
Huw Samphan - Brawd Rhif Dau
Ta Moc Tudor - Brawd Rhif Tri
"H" (out of Steps) - Groyw loyw
Prif Sasiwm y Cymry Rouge.

Dis aliter visum

"2009" was inscribed on one of the many milestones that the Boyo charabanc dislodged on its Cambrian career through the last 13 moons. Each month brought new triumphs and challenges, but not that I noticed. Let us get kinkily Fabian for a moment and carry out an annual audit.

Summary: Overall, the number of No Good Boyo posts halved on the year, a pleasing result for the leader of a movement dedicated to the overthrow of the productive aspects of capitalism while retaining its viciousness.

Prospectus: This Celtic indolence won us the accolade of 47th Welshest Web Blog in the World - a stunning drop from 10th in 2008. We pledge to improve on these figures in 2010 by sending No Good Boyo plunging into the lowers hundreds - the Cantrefi Gwaelod of torpor to which all Welsh would aspire if they could be arsed.

This we will achieve by writing less frequent and longer pretentious posts, fattened as ever by abstruse foreign tags and cinematic references. The subject matter - my Neronic debauch of Eastern Europe in its man-made fibres period, plans for the same in Wales, political extremism, vague longings for librarianly women on television, and further excerpts from my 25 years of lolling at the taxpayers' expense. And that's a promise. Now, to the detail.

January saw me take on the antick duties of Cotsengi (Hound of the Ladygarden), the hereditary inquisitor of would-be-Windsor princesses, on the demise of Sir Dai Llywellyn. His spurs and stirrups have stood me in good stead, especially when assessing twins.

February we dedicated to Santes Dwynwen, such was its Welshness. The Cymru Rouge vanquished the penny-dreadful Poujadists of the British People's Alliance, scorned comparisons between our witch-peaked principality and the sodden marshes of Atlantis, and persuaded Mancunian sage Professor Norman Geras that aesthetics, eugenics, heredity, expediency and the Will of God trump liberty every time by citing the case of nudistry.

March marked the passing of the holiday-home-scorching torch of Cymreictod from one generation to another, as stepfather of the nation Sioba Siencyn wandered off among the menhirs of Lud and our son Bendigeidfran (pictured above) served notice on Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Hemps and whatever that the Day of Glyndŵr slouches closer on all fours.

April heralded the launch of the Cymru Rouge abroad, as we hammered the Scots and pledged to save the English from themselves again by completing the Cerne Abbas Giant. The harvest will be reaped at the 2010 general election with the sickle of Siluarianism, when the Thames Valley will return a shrieking phalanx of black-clad child MPs to promote Maoist-Mabonism in the maw of Mammon.

May displayed the European dimension of our native largesse as I recalled how a young Englishman was tutored in the ways of the Welsh by a trainee nymphomaniac called Delyth, several spiked ales, a ruck of rugby players and the noble Bohemian art of defenestration.

In June I continued to unravel the remaining threads of the New Labour tapestry. In a show of appeasing Baroness von und zu Kinnock, for fear that she might use her new position as Minister for Europe to thwart our holiday plans, I incidentally listed her most outstanding shortcomings. Mr Brown must have noticed this, as he rapidly shifted her to liaison with dozy countries and the UN.

Wales's own first minister, Rhodri Morgan, in July tasked me with encouraging immigration by affluent metro uitlanders. I came up with seven cracking reasons why Wales is the place to live. Morgan's resignation followed in December, and was deemed by the unkind to be an eighth.

August went down in history as the month some slackers voted me the 47th most intense Welshman on the Intern Net, and prompted me to give the following assurance:

I pledge to the people of Wales that I shall not cease from recounting my abuse of Soviet hospitality, fatal cocktail recipes, inaccurate film reviews, scorn for the public-spirited and desire to mate with various fading, and in some cases deceased, 1960s celebrities.

The reference to fading stars came back to haunt me that very same month, when Gordon Brown rejected my campaign to have Fennella Fielding's birthday enshrined as a national festival of anti-jihadist defiance. No 10 flaunted its dhimmitude by dubbing my patriotic efforts "not in accord with government policy". Just wait until May, Herr Braun; Mr Cameron strikes me as the sort of chap who appreciates a finely-turned fetlock whatever its vintage.

In September I reclaimed the name "Britain" for all of Wales, although my suggestion that Israel should rename itself "Nelson Mandela" did not win such universal approval.

I added my many voices to the campaign to commemorate Iolo Morganwg, the inventor of modern and Medieval Wales, with a cromlech on Primrose Hill. It gave me the opportunity to extol the fine Cambrian virtues of theft and deceit throughout October. We are not unique in being a bunch of lying tea-leaves, but who else has elevated it into a national epos?

Nepotism is also a characteristic that we prize, sensibly enough as some of our mountainous counties regard incest as a competitive sport, so I was proud in November to recommend my brother Steffan ap Morthwyl fab Boyo as leader of the less intelligent wing of the English Left.

He combines the timing of Arthur Scargill with the appeal of the Kinnocks, and would give Labour plenty of opportunity to get used to opposition.

And in December our daughter Arianrhod reminded me that the title of Most Welshest Boyo must constantly be defended, like Offa's Antifaschistische Schutzwall itself. While trailing through the sports and weaponry section of John Lewis, a leading Welsh workers' cooperative retail unit, out of all the misshapen baubles she chose a rugby ball.

Above my work trough hangs a draft election poster. I stare out at the voter, above the slogan "Êtes-vous plus Gallois que Lui?" Once I eyed it complacently. Now I'm not so sure.

Atlantis - the Poor Man's Wales

From the Press and Instant Rebuttal Office of the Cymru Rouge:

The bourgeois and lumpen Anglo-Saxon media have circulated rumours that a Greek imperalist colony "the size of Wales" has been discovered off a beach in the Canaries.

In support of this assertion they cite Google Earth, a neo-Copernican organisation that propagates the "Round Earth" thesis, so you might as well say you read it on Wikipedia for all the impression it makes on scientific socialists.

The Prif Sasiwn of the Cymru Rouge takes this opportunity totally and utterly to reject any linkage between the Atlantean white settlers and the ordinary, working-class helots of Wales.

"Like the Dutch before them, the Greeks are not content with colonising other countries but are setting out to annex the very sea bed," explained the Cymru Rouge Commissar for Anti-Cosmopolitan Affairs, Griff ap Ystlum.

"And they're trying to cover up their irridentist activities by appropriating the history of Cantre'r Gwaelod, the historic Welsh county that some dolphins stole in the Middle Ages," he continued.

The authorities have been investigating any possible Atlantean acts of subversion in Wales itself.

"Machynlleth is full of bearded hey-nonny Englishmen in stripy clothes, usually trailing unkempt common-law wives and kids called 'Uthur' and 'Morgana' behind them on the way to the Social," stated the Prif Forthwyl (Mattock-in-Chief) of the Tangnefeddwyr police force, Chwyldro ap Ffistan.

"They live in wigwams and drink their own piss - and quite possibly ours too. We just don't know," he added.

"The Tangnefeddwyr are not sure whether this lot are a Socratic Fifth Column for the Greeks, but we've decided to make them more at home by relocating them to the historic site of Cantre'r Gwaelod itself," pledged ap Ffistan.

The scientific community was also wisely unanimous in refuting any links between Atlantis and Wales.

"Me and the missus went to Cephalonia, and we've got a good idea of what them Greeks get up to," commented the chairman of the Welsh Academy of Motor Mechanics, Gwil Garêj. "It's the seals I feel sorry for. As if they haven't got enough problems what with global warming, the Millennium and that."

"And there's no way this has anything to do with Wales," he persisted. "Look at that Atlantis - flat, with nice straight roads and not a cloud in sight.

"If we lived there you'd have mountains of slate, roads that end on cliff tops, it would be tipping down day and night and the sea would belong to Liverpool Corporation," noted Garêj. "And we'd still have a hosepipe ban."

The Cymru Rouge instruct the media that the random chunks of rainforest that disappear every day have nothing to do with Wales either, and that the arrival of Sting or the late Anita Roddick anywhere on Welsh territory will be regarded as an act of war.

Sic pereant omnes inimici tui, Gwalia!

A press release by Cymru Rouge Solutions PLC:

Morgangrad [formerly Cardiff], 13th Cayo, Anno Cambriae Rubrae [13th February, 2009]: The Prif Sasiwn of the Cymru Rouge congratulates itself, and invites all Welsh to do likewise, on the vanquishing of the Normano-Jutish corporatist ultramontane British People's "Alliance" clique!

This den of comprador squirrels raised their puny pennants in paws green and furred from Hunnish practices, then sought to deny the uniqueness of Welsh coal - Welsh coal, hewn from Welsh rock by the twelve fingers of child soldiers chanting slogans of narrow nationalism and slate-based autarky!

Now that pennant lies sodden in the seed of Silurian scorn, and the fierce, four-dimensional banner of Marxist-Glyndŵrism rears regal above a paddy-field of clenched peasant fists!

The British "People's" Alliance and its chief Guelphist "lackey" David Lindsay strove to subject the workers, peasants and shrieking, indoctrinated youth of Red Wales to the warped whims of lords-lieutenants, and to pen them like quisling quail in the prison of "preserved counties".

Once again, literally millions of ordinary, Maoist commissars, syndicalists and teachers of applied atheism rose up and followed the example of Commander Martyr Billy MacKenzie in shouting out a militant "NO!" to these comb-over clowns and packing them off to the country hotels where they lie with their dogs as others do with wives.

Brawd Rhif Un Huw Samphan dashed the knitted mitten of defiance across the mottled chops of the Powellite marionette "Lindsay" and pledged to put up a Cymru Rouge parliamentary candidate in each seat that the "British" People's Alliance might contest.

Within a mere seven months these hirelings, catamites and kennel-fanciers had fled to the four rims of the earthly disc to forego the humiliation of being belted, beetled, bleached and bentsched by the Viet Vyrnwy in every constituency of this and any other land.

Now, some Bernsteinian revisionists and bourgeois nationalists have criticised the Cymru Rouge for its focus on this pack of yokels to the exclusion of "New" Labour, the Liberal "Democrats", "Plaid" Cymru and the Tory "Bastards".

These parties attack Cymreictod through its institutions - the Assembly, the Eisteddfod, the Rugby Union and the sheath-bursting musk of our masculinity. Lindsay, on the other hand, was like the hedgehog in that he understood one big thing - and lived in a hedge.

He knew that our language and equally wholesome coal are the twin axes around which the fulcrum of Welshness revolves, and to deny us our consonant clusters and clods of carbon is tantamount to turning us into a bunch of Cornishmen.

And now Lindsay cowers under a deckchair, flecking the Sandbanks spume with his Saxon spittle, while we Welsh wade on, our oddly-shaped balls in our hands, towards an ever-swelling destiny.

¡Caminemos hacia la luz del Glyndŵrismo!

Brawd Rhif Un Huw Samphan
Brawd Rhif Dau Ta Mogs
Brawd Rhif Tri Paul Pot
Chwaer a Hanner Y Fonheddwraig Boyo

The Severn Pillows of Wisdom

Back from a bracing week of clouds and tooth decay in Wales, I have the latest news and developments so you don't have to.

1. The government in Cardiff has decided that the English name of the country will henceforth be spelled !Wales!. The idea is to make people think we are not only musical, but a musical. This ought to bring the pink pounds pouring in, and give our homophobe community something to do since the last gays in the villages left to be something in the London media.

2. In order to overcome the North-South divide, the regions of Wales are to be renamed as follows:

• 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.

St George's Day: An Apology

Welsh Police Apologise in Advance For St George's Day Violence

Text of report from Taffinfform news agency

Morgangrad (formerly Cardiff), 22 April: The Prif Forthwyl (Mattock-in-Chief) of the Tangnefeddwyr (Peacemakers - Welsh police), Chwyldro ap Ffistan, has issued a formal apology to the English community of Wales over the state-sanctioned violence against them on St George's Day.

"They's going to be right ffyct over again. Sorry," Ffistan told scuba-diving onlookers at the launch of Gwynedd's first underwater political prison facility just off Bangor.

St George's Day is marked by an official parade in Morgangrad, attended by the ambassadors of Ethiopia, Georgia, Greece, Israel, Montenegro, Portugal, Russia, Serbia, Canada, Catalonia, China and Ancient Anatolia, at which the Welsh artillery fight a human dragon kindly supplied by the Chinese Correctional Facilities Service.

Representatives of the English minority have long asked in a diffident sort of way whether it might be, you know, ok if they were to join in if that's alright with everyone.

Wales's Cymru Rouge government insists that the parade is a diplomatic event, and points out that it arranges an English Folk Day celebration every 23 April which the English community is encouraged to attend.

"They dress our people up as Morris dancers in Jeremy Clarkson masks, then drive us at pitchfork-point through the teeming streets of Bethesda," Dave Eversough-Sorey, chairman of the banned Plaid Sais (English People's Party) commented from his fissure in the Martyr Cerys Matthews Re-Edjucation Camp, Brymbo(formerly the National Coal Board slurry storage dump).

"This follows the three-day local mushroom festival and coincides with National Small Arms Practice Day," he went on, blinking uncertainly in the natural phosphorescence. "They are rarely that pleased to see us."

Cymru Rouge Youth League First-Secretary Dim Clem denied allegations that English Folk Day was little more than a pogrom-building activity for schools in the Ogwen Valley.

"The practical sections of the Welsh Baccalaureate Demographic-Realignment Module are carried out in the Demilitarised Zone (formerly Shrewsbury), especially as we can't get the Katyushas and cages of apes up the road to Bethesda anymore," he explained

In further developments, the official Welsh Commission of Welsh Human Rights has referred Eversough-Sorey's comments to the Director of Clandestine Prosecutions and Ministry of Food on grounds of "cockiness".

Dim Clem, the regional representative of the Rights Commission, Prosecutor's Office and Food Ministry, was adamant that the late [sic] Eversough-Sorey would receive a fair trial prior to his execution, as was also the case with the missing members of last year's Amnesty International monitoring team.

"We didn't eat them!" he concluded firmly.

Angleterre: Mode d'emploi

This web blog is a sort of lay-by for foreign readers with more time than sense. Often they ask "No Good Boyo, yes we know what Wales is. But what is this England of which you write about?"

I have therefore taken some time out of my schedule as agitator and vivisectionist to compile a brief guide to England and those who live there:

ENGLAND; WHAT IT IS?

A network of motorways and military bases on a broad isthmus between Wales and Scotland, England is among the world's leading entrepôts for tobacco and drink smuggling.

Like many other Germanic and Scandanavian tribes, the English have been cowed by self-doubt in recent decades, and have turned from beserking empire-hurlers into a nation of social workers, drones and emigrants.

Despite brief periods of independence in 954-1066 and 1649-1660, England has largely weltered under Norman, Welsh, Scottish, Dutch, German, Belgian and again Scottish rule.

High taxation has kept the mass of the population impoverished, with potential leaders subsumed into the ruling elites through the enticement of civil service pensions. Anyone else with any sense has moved to a cottage in Wales.

Politics

All major parties are either run by Scots or soon will be. The Barnett Formula requires 2/3 of each cabinet to be made up of Scots of various types.

Welshmen were given their own country by the Here You Are Boys Act of 1998, but campaigns to let the English have one as well have been vetoed by the Labour government under the Parliament Act (Retention of Majority) of 2006.

Economy

Major English exports include all clever people and the Armed Forces. England has an extensive foreign investment programme, with franchises of drunk louts and plain, shouty women in the beach resorts of most Mediterranean countries. Imports include contraband toxins and child brides.

England has an extensive and influential European diaspora centred on the criminal community of Valencia, adulterous City commuters in Normandy and newspaper columnists in central Italy.

Culture

Britain transferred all rights to the English language over to the United States under the Lend-Lease Programme during the Second World War. This requires all English pop groups to sing with American accents with the exception of XTC, The Fall and other regional comedy acts.

English classical musicians are also required to have daft girly voices like Peter Pears or to look like dils (see Nigel Kennedy).

This has left the English with football and beer, both of which are consumed lukewarm according to the national taste.

In recent years cricket has been outsourced to South Asia, but rugby has acquired popularity among women who drive Range Rovers.

Health

The replacement of lard and cigarettes with Scotch bonnet peppers and crack has made the English diet more vibrant and diverse. Life expectancy and general cheeriness nonetheless remain stubbornly high, but forthcoming budgets are expected to address this.

Mynd i Rymni

A statement by the Cymru Rouge Responsibility Reallocation Department

There has been a considerable amount of what we can only soberly call total and utter over-the-top and typical anti-Welsh media hysteria about the recent comments of Uffar O'Gwair, Director of the Cymru Rouge Rugby Union and Chemical Weapons Division.

Comrade O'Gwair, speaking yesterday at the Martyr Cayo Evans (formerly St David's Day) celebrations down the staff social club of the Live Ordinance Manual Disposal Depot and Juvenile Deliquents Re-education Camp, Sennybridge, made some remarks about the forthcoming Six Nations fixture between the massed socialist ranks of the Welsh rugby squad and the prancing lager-drinkers of the Continuity Irish Free State [ed: Irish Republic].

His words were as follows: "Cromweliwn ni Iwerddon y tro 'ma fel chafodd y Padis erioed eu chromwelio ers dyddiau'r Hen Gromwel ei hyn, ynafe!"

This has been translated as "We shall give Ireland the sort of Cromwelling the Paddies haven't had since the days of Old Cromwell himself, isn't it!" (cf Reuters, AFP, Irish Government web site, UN Security Council, Council of Europe, Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, that Hague Tribunal again)

While acknowledging the possibly literal accuracy of this rendering, the Cymru Rouge deems it necessary to issue the following urgent clarification.

"In using the term 'Cromwell', bourgeois media outlets and Illuminati hirelings are trying to incinerate that Brother Uffar was suggesting that the Welsh Rugby Squad would carry out a massacre of the Irish team in the way that the Anglo-Welsh laypreacher and military personality Oliver Cromwell did on the broader Irish scene in 1649-1650.

"There is no basis for this aspertion, as an ideologically-atuned reading shows that O'Gwair was clearly using the Welsh verb 'cromweilio' in a dialect form common in the Radnor area.

"Its meaning in this context is 'to show Celtic and agro-proletarian fraternal sporting solidarity while kicking their clerical-reactionary behinds through a stack of Enya albums'.

"This will be confirmed in the forthcoming reprinting of the Welsh Academy Dictionary of the Welsh Language, once the Academy members have been released from hard labour on the Bardsey Island to Haverfordwest Anti-Hiberian Defensive Maritime Barrier.

"On behalf of the Senedd and People of Wales, we hope that this will go some way to persuading the Irish Coastguard to return the Abersoch Under-15s' ball that got blown out to sea on Friday."

Buddugoliaeth neu marwolaeth!

Brawd Rhif Naw
Clebran Brân

Cymru Rouge Citizenship Test

Literally millions of ordinary, working-class Ruthenians, Sub-Carpathians and Uzbek billionaires have taken one look at the British government's citzenship test and said "Ffycs this, mun, I's going to become a Welsh!" And we in Cymru Rouge are only too happy to have them as a counterbalance to the waves of Brummie white-flighters, Giro smack-heads and hey-nonny fans of everything Celtic (except Welsh) who clutter up our slate-laden land.

Nonetheless, standards is standards, so the Edjucation (and Fighting) Committee of the Cymru Rouge Great Angka (myself, Ta Moq, Huw Samphan and Paul Pot), have devised a series of questions to assess the suitability of these massed huddlers for Welsh citizenship, bringing as it does many rights as well as obligations.

So here's the first section. Watch this video, and answer the following questions:




1. Is Charles Bukowski a Welsh?

2. Is Rheinallt H Rowlands right to want to be like him?

3. The countryside in the video lies near Llanfihangel-y-Pennant. Which side of the road should Rheinallt be driving on?

4. Those Welsh girls look lovely, don't they?

5. But what if they're dirty?

6. How come Rheinallt has such a lovely deep Welsh voice if his pods don't look like they've dropped yet?

7. What will Rheinallt's mam say when she gets hold of him?

Answers will be assessed and sentences passed in the coming week.