That our First Minister here in Wales has gone completely mad is now beyond doubt. But as with so many little and irrelevant men who suddenly feel a surge of excitement coursing through their veins as they whiff a vague scent of power, Drakeford’s other dominant characteristic is a complete absence of any sense of humour. In that vein, I have a joke for him which starts in a place like where I live, right on the border with the accursed English infidels.
An Englishman is out strolling in the hills of Shropshire but gets lost and, in error, and somehow avoiding the patrols of Mr Drakeford’s Stasi, he wanders across the border into Wales. The first person he meets is a farmer with whom he strikes up a conversation.
Englishman: “That your dog?”
Welshman: “Aye”
Englishman: “Mind if I speak to him?’
Welshman: “Dog don’t talk.”
Englishman: Hey dog, how’s it going?”
Dog: “Doing all right.”
Welshman: (look of shock)
Englishman: Is this your owner?” (Pointing at the Welshman)
Dog: “Yep.”
Englishman: How’s he treating you?”
Dog: “Real good. He walks me twice a day, feeds me great food and takes me to the park once a week to play.”
Welshman: (Look of total disbelief!)
Englishman: “Mind if I talk to your horse?”
Welshman: “Horse don’t talk.”
Englishman: “Hey horse how’s it going?”
Horse: “Cool.”
Welshman: (Extreme look of shock!)
Englishman: “Is this your owner?” (Pointing to the Welshman)
Horse: “Yep.”
Englishman: “How’s he treating you?”
Horse: “Pretty good, thanks for asking, he rides me, brushes me down often and keeps me in a nice stable to protect me from the weather.”
Welshman: (Look of total amazement!)
Englishman: “Mind if I talk to your sheep?”
Welshman: “That sheep’s a fu*king liar!!”
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