How Not to Celebrate Saint David’s Day

Today was St David’s Day. The Welsh Day.

Yesterday someone asked me ‘How are you going to celebrate St David’s Day?’

This (as you can imagine) threw me into a bit of a quandary.

In days of yore I’d have celebrated this most auspicious of days by dressing my children up in strange costumes made of old shawls, lacy doilies and antimacassars and then sending them to school thus attired. Much to their shame as the other children had proper costumes from ASDA and didn’t understand antimacassars.

Truth be told no one actually understands antimacassars.

The children, however, were not home. Or children. Or the least bit interested in the mysteries of antimacassars as they appear to have little relevance to either physics or the law (ah – the folly of youth, they’ll learn).

So, what to do? I hit upon an idea. A massive celebration meal that included Everything.

Or at least everything Welsh.

This is what happened:

First I invited a Welsh Family.

Then I mixed together chopped leeks, some spoonfuls of seaweed, a number of ripe daffs, half a loaf of Bara Brith, sixteen tons of coal and a tin of Catatonia.

Whilst this lot was gently simmering I popped down to the bottom of the garden to slay a dragon (being a tad short of handy knights at the mo I had to do it myself). But the dragon was quite sexy in a clawed sort of way so instead of slaying him I invited him to dinner.

My guests (The Jones Family) all were very polite. Tom asked ‘What’s new pussycat?’ (I think he fancied me). Aled was walking on air (I think he fancied me). Gryf commented on my fine mouldings (I think he fancied me). Only Catherine-Zeta seemed a bit upset. ‘What, no antimacassars?’ she whined.

Luckily the dragon ate her (I think he fancied me) (or it could have been the antimacassar I was wearing under my old shawl).