Wales - Can it ever be a World beating super power?

Before I start my rant I must warn you that when I say this article is dedicated to M.S. I DO NOT mean Multiple sclerosis as I’d rather dedicated my leg to a chainsaw. M.S. is the initials of a lovely person in my life.

Now Wales is an intriguing country, I say intriguing because I don’t want to offend the Welsh by saying its rubbish and I don’t want to get people’s hopes up by saying it’s awesome. The irony is that I’ve most probably offended many Welsh people by saying the latter...

What strikes me about this nostalgic country, whose ethnic minority largely consists of sheep, is not the phenomenal scenery, its history of being the world’s biggest coal port, the Millennium Stadium, Ryan Giggs or Tom Jones but the mere fact that the Heir apparent to the Throne is actually the Prince of Wales! Why?

It’s a sad truth but the poor old Welsh do get a beating in the media don’t they? After all it was the great Historian from Cambridge, Ali G, who famously claimed; “When you think of Wales, you tend to think of the fish with the biggest penis”. The irony is that Ali G’s father was Welsh. Infact, it’s the media’s portrayal of Wales that lead me to think that the only place on this planet that people won’t oppose being bombed is Wales! The only vertebrate that will object to the Americans’ bombing of Wales will be the sheep population.

I say this with great caution for fear I may upset the sheep. I have a track record of being hated by sheep. Five years have passed since my epic bike ride through the black mountains which, incidentally, aren’t black; they’re green or brown at best and were quite a magnificent backdrop to this most epic yet death-defying journey.
It was while riding through, what appeared to be, the land of the teletubbies that this incident occurred. Up and down mound after mound till suddenly, on the horizon, I could see some rather peculiar looking mole hills. These mole hills were moving and they were white. This didn’t strike me as unusual as I had realised that I was in Wales and well absurdity can, potentially, be normal. A friend of mine the other day proved this Welsh trait by shamelessly admitting that, despite having lived over eighty percent of her life in the United Arab Emirates with her Pakistani parents and having an American accent, she was born in Wales.

Quite hilarious,you may agree, but these mole hills look set to compete in terms of hilarity. As I rode towards these mole hills I noticed that they were becoming more and more fluffy. Now fluffy, white molehills are something of a rarity. So rare that they don’t exist. It turned out that these mole hills were sheep. These sheep were fearless of our bikes and set about chasing us. One sheep head butted my bike and I fell to the ground surrounded by a few hundred sheep. I feared for my testicles, brain, face and I feared what my mother would say when I got home. Strangely, I did not fear for my life partly because death will mean I won’t have to face my mother and partly because I was being attacked by sheep, the fluffiest animals since three toddlers genetically modified their kindergarten’s toy plank to form the world’s first teddy bear! Quite frankly, I’ve met scarier trousers!

Thankfully, I managed to get up and pull my bike out of the rugby scrum the sheep had formed desperately trying to decapitate my bike. I then got away as fast as possible, often reaching speeds of sixty mile per hour.

This, quite frankly, exhibited many new facts. It explained that the teletubbies are from Wales, sheep are fierce animals, the Welsh rugby team’s scrum practice is, most probably, conducted in the Black mountains and I’d rather die than explain to my mother how I ended up on the brink of death in Hospital. Dying before mother sees me is, quite frankly, the safer and relatively painless option. The most worrying fact however is that moles live in sheep and that trousers can be quite scary.

What about the Welsh in general? And the Prince of Wales?! Well, quite frankly, the Welsh are a wonderful bunch of people (albeit colour blind - the Black mountains aren't black!) and the country is one of the most beautiful in the world. The Prince of Wales is aptly named just refer to the previous sentence for further details. It will however always take a hammering in the press and it is probably because, as a nation, it has less power than a triple A battery. Sheep can't destroy a mountain bike let alone a mountain in Wonga Wongistan and so all we can say is that Wales and its army of sheep don't stand a chance in becoming a super power. Barack Obama, Osama Bin Laden and Duracell Bunny, your jobs are safe, for now (Only because I want to look like I believe sheep will eventually rise above all of us and therefore not end up in hospital with several sheep related injuries and then suffer the wrath of my mother).

specialK
(Thanks M.S :)- You're the best)

Never bet against my Mother.

It's not often you get asked to go to a protest involving fellow members of your ethnic minority and it's not often you get to go to 10 Downing Street. So naturally, I turned down the opportunity in favour of organising the music on my computer in alphabetical order (manually) when my mother asked me to join her at this protest. My mother who is nicknamed 'mum' by her work colleagues, isn't one to give up easily and is a master of the "guilt trip". I am certain she can guilt trip Osama into handing himself over to the American's. (Secretly I'm hoping the CIA and FBI are reading this blog. If they are please write to me at: Yes, you may take my mother to America to work undercover for 2 years, 75, Higneath Gardens, Sallford, Essex. Ig54jy) (That's 2 years without a nagging, hormonal mother...believe me that is better than winning the lottery...apart from when I need money. In which case having both my mother and a handsome lottery jackpot is quite useful.)

She started her whining and whingeing about how I'm a useless son who won't do anything for her but my computer's music files needed me more! I mean, why stand out in the cold for hours to raise our fuehrer's awareness of a desolate, 'no hope till evry1 dies' political / humanitarian situation in a country he isn't even leader of? It is like giving a new born baby to a foster father and then asking him to breast feed it!

I still felt my organised windows media player will have a more profound effect on the planet than standing outside with people around you just shouting, as if G. Brown was going to hear their chants! He probably still got the 35 inch thick bullet-proof windows installed during the time Tony was in-charge to prevent weapons of mass destruction being thrown through his windows by protestors. I must digress here, as I have a major issue with Tony Blair and the British population that voted for the bloke in the many general elections he won. It still bamboozling how a man called Tony, which sounds like the name of a plumber, was voted by the British public to run one of the most powerful nations in the World? I highly doubt a plumber was going to do any good for our nation let alone the world. "Cash for honours scandal" is an anagram for "ridiculous call out charge just because your granny is stuck in the boiler". Ok, it isn't but still you get my drift...

Anyway back to my mother, she wasn't finished and changed her tactics by aiming at my softer, 'mummy's boy' brother who faltered in his rejection to her advances by using far too many "erms" and "aahs". I, not ready to let my bro crumble to this household menace (my mum that is, not his incoherence or the kitchen rat that keeps on nicking my chocolate...or is that my mum?), decided to give into my mum and take my brother. After-all it was going to involve a tube journey. Yes, I admit it, I love the tube, and it really is awesome. Again, I must digress from this very sensitive blog about a humanitarian crisis in Sri Lanka by letting you all know why I love the tube. The tube really is steeped in a vast history and I feel everyone seems to either complain or have no opinion about it simply because they don't know its history; they don't appreciate the intricacies of the work that is carried so that we can have such an amazing mass transit system. I mean for example, did you know the tube have people called Fluffers? These wonderful people actually go into the tunnels at night and clean out all the hair that has been blown into the tunnels from the platforms! God, I do sometimes doubt whether I can live the rest of my without the help of a psychiatrist.

So, with my mum leaving for the protest with her chums and my bro thoroughly disappointed at not being able to win against his mum, I decided to get set for this excursion to London. I thought I better wrap up (statisticians claimed the weather will be quite cold) and consulted a Welsh guide to arctic survival. I really was determined to keep the cold out and used top of the range arctic gear to keep me warm; Gloves, two scarves, a big coat and a fluffy sheep. I must digress here yet again to crush some vicious rumours going around town about myself. I categorically deny any rumours that I fancy sheep. I find them wholly unattractive and they do not inflame my sexual ardour. I think the blasphemous comments made by some people in town are absolute poppycock! (I believe this is what we British called: "stiff upper lip")

All this digression is making my blog feel like a television program on sky one. 5 minutes (lines) of blog and 10 minutes of utter bollucks (aka TV adverts). It also feels like a program being interrupted by party political broadcast.

So there I am ready for the off and my brother is ready with his much more simpler arctic survival kit, a coat and an iPod, and we start walking down to the famous Gants Hill tube station. I've decided to stop digressing so I won't explain why Gants Hill tube station is famous. At first it was quite a pleasant walk with good company but then my brother realised that it was me he was walking with and decided to play his iPod at full volume so he doesn't have to listen to the crap coming out of my mouth (people do often confuse me with a broken toilet). Scary how he seems to be the only one on this planet who does that to me! There really is some global slowing down going on and it's not just the economy!

Obviously, the tube journey was rather standard apart from the lady at the ticket counter shouting at me because my brother did not have his oyster card. God there is never any winning for me. Arriving at Westminster was actually quite a shock. I had never seen so many Tamil people outside a temple in my life. I was almost embarrassed to hear these people talk in their mother tongue; I'm just so used to seeing these large flocks of Tamil people in certain places only. Westminster tube station is NOT one of them. Walking out of the station the first thing I noticed before seeing the large mob of people gathered on the street was the pub. I noticed the alcoholic smell of some of the protesters, not a good sign on the face of things. I secretly wanted John Prescott to make a cameo appearance and punch a few of the protestors. If you ask me I think the entire protest was triggered by pub statisticians (accountants) and tabloid newspaper statisticians. The tabloid statisticians realised they won't have enough stories for the newspaper on the Sunday and the pubs in Westminster were suffering from bad business since Charles Kennedy stepped down as leader of the Liberal Democrats. The statisticians realised that Downing Street is the "hip" area to be when it comes to protests and decided to start up the protest themselves.

Yes, you may argue that I should've stayed at the protest for more than ten seconds if I wanted to see a punch up but I was filled with a strange sense of melancholy and decided to cheer myself up by walking along the strand and walking into McDonald's. It was the first time I've walked into a McD's for at least 3 years and my god has it changed! It now has some post modern seating arrangement with Wi-Fi. It still doesn't cater for sheep though, although my sheep was happy to laugh at the big macs, quarter pounders, filet-o-fish and Chicken nuggets. I still felt a tad melancholic which is better than being an alcoholic I suppose. Or is it?

So really, what can we conclude from this? Who are the winners in this protest? Well the hundreds of thousands of people who are homeless, hungry or dead in Sri Lanka have clearly not had their lives improved, statisticians are still cocks, sheep have given up on trying to take over Wales and have become rudimentary arctic cold weather gear and I know why the central line platforms at Bank station are curved. This leaves us with two key winners; my mother, pub landlords and, above all, the Media.

 

Special K.

 

Before I sign out for tonight, I must take the opportunity on this blog to thank Mr. George W. Bush for his wonderful service to the world and bearded people. I wanted to do a whole article on him as homage to the humorous man from Texas but I could only find one thing of note. It was yesterday, while thinking of a solution to end world poverty, did it occur to me that I did not know the great man's name. Yes, I use the term "great" ironically but I really had to find out what the W stood for! I thought it might be something conservative like William or Wilkinson but it turned out to be WET! Yes, the leader of the "greatest" nation on Earth is called G. Wet. Bush. The worst thing is that he was bullied at school and was "affectionately" known as "Skip the Foreplay". I tell you something, that really does explain a lot.