It's wicked to mock the afflicted

Our humble narrator sometimes forgets that he lives in a foreign country. It is not unusual. Everyone speaks a dialect of English and I have been here long enough for the novelty of things like biscuits versus cookies to wear off. That is until the Welsh are in town. It’s not only because they speak another language and their English is affected with a singsong lilt usually heard in West African accents. This is secondary to the truly bizarre and alien behaviour of this race. Firstly, their god is a vegetable. Behold the Leek! They carry effigies. They dress in full body costumes of them. The less devout wear pins upon their lapels. Upon their heads, they wear hats shaped like the blessed scallion. I have seen one welsh penitent carrying an eight-foot Leek. They wear kilts as well, but it is merely a pretext for public exposure of their genitalia. I was walking behind a large group as they shouted randomly at passer-byes and buses¹; one Welshman paused to adjust his kilt. He carefully tucked the back hem of his kilt into the chain of his sporran and checked to ensure that both cheeks were fully exposed. He then hurried to catch up with the rest of the pack, chanting a song of incomprehensible words. God save us if they do not have a good result today².

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1. The only natural predator of a Welshman is the red double-decker bus.


2. FUN FACT: In Britain, fans riot when their team loses whereas in America it's usually the town of the winning team which is burned down.