declared itself an independent republic,
it's been something of a pain
having to go trough Welsh customs.
For one thing, I dislike dressing up
in a shawl, red gown and Welsh hat.
the Customs Officers can sometimes be
overly critical of my baritone
when we sing 'Land of My Fathers',
and I can see them struggling to keep
their faces straight at my efforts
to pronounce Llanfairpwllgwyn-
gyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllanty-
siliogogogoch. My leek soup
is in need of more cream, they tell me.
With all this added rigmarole,
the queues to get across the border
are horrendous. Thank heavens
for Gwyneth, with her coal-black hair
and a smile to gladden any valley,
who'll send you through fast-track
for a bunch of golden daffs
and the timely bestowal
of a hand-carved lovespoon or two.
