Did I mention that I’m one-eighth Welsh? Cymraeg, I believe it’s said. That’s pronounced Kem-riyeg. Okay, I admit, I’m not vaguely Welsh. But I love the place. I’ve never had a bad experience there. I stay there at least once or twice a year, if I can help it. I’m even typing this with a Welsh accent in my head.
It’s difficult to say when the love affair started. Maybe it was when I was an urchin, scampering about the rock pools of West Wales with my fishing net. Or, maybe it was when I took my young family to the end of the A-road and mobile phone signal, for days on end.
Whenever it was, I discovered that Wales is a State of Mind. It’s a rejection of the nonsense that pollutes many people’s lives. It’s a celebration of poetic simplicity in life’s pleasures. It’s bloody contagious, that’s what it is. Dangerously so. Good people of Wales, beware! We want to live here.
So, we’ve adopted this fantasy in recent years. Could we live in a place where we visit for a holiday? Of course! But, could we? Maybe. Would it be the same? No, obviously not. Would there be problems? Would we even be welcome? I hope so. Can I learn Welsh? Prynhawn da!
We already moved across a thick boundary line once in the last five years. Could we do a thicker one? Your comments really would be useful.