The deal here in Wales, as it was in Bristol, is that the Mrs works full time filling the heads of impressionable young folk with left wing nonsense, Joshua goes to nursery two and a half days a week and I look after him the rest of the time. But until today I had somehow managed to avoid going to the young mums play group in our village. Today I made my debut.
A few of the grandmothers in attendance I recognised from Church and there was a mum with whom my wife has made friends who introduced me to other young mums. Joshua played happily with the other youngsters. And then, it being a warm day, we went outside to sing some songs in the garden.
The group leader, a nice lady who I vaguely know, started us off on each song by saying 3, 2, 1 in Welsh. Or was it 1, 2. 3? But I sang along happily and Joshua banged a xylophone with gusto, if to a completely different rhythm than the song. Then the group leader suggested we sing a song in Welsh. It might as well have been in Swahili and I’m sure Boris Johnson would disapprove of either. I stared at my feet. Joshua banged away to a totally different beat to the songand then it was over. A couple more songs in the first language of Wales (i.e English) followed before we tried another Celtic ditty with words stuffed with lots of ws and ys.
In a couple of years Joshua will be leaving his nursery over the river in the First World and attending a primary school here in our village where he will learn both languages. It strikes me that I might have to start learning a few words of Welsh myself.
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