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St Davids Day


cymrococh

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Happy Saint David's day mate - your old haunt out Pembroke way is apparently about a foot under snow. Cwmbran and Merthyr Tydfil are cut off - so it's not all bad for humanity.

 

Saint David - wacky customs - apparently he used to honk his horn at six a.m. and wake everyone up. He also hated Rugby and could write AMBWILANS backward - with his left hand. He once poured a pint of dragon piss over Max Boyce's head. He shagged Charlotte Church while Gavin Henson was under a sun lamp (he likes being in Church on his name day).

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St David was a bittter little man, given to outpourings of incomprehensible bile and self-pitying moans. Hence, he was chosen as patron saint of Wales.

Listening to the Manic's and stereophonics will do that to you...

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In honour of this fine day, I'd like to bring you the words of the greatest living Welshman, Dai Young:

 

And my name - it is Dai Young,

I'm the king of Welsh goths.

The village I come from

is near Abersoch.

I was brought up on Bauhaus

and black bedroom walls

and I had my first "snakebite"

when I was in halls.

 

Now the graveyard is calling,

the sky's getting greyer.

I'll drink the warm blood of

the borough surveyor

and I'll murder the verger,

I've seen how he gawps

and I'll write on his headstone

"Here lies Jones the corpse".

 

Now, my overweight girlfriend

she sits and she quips.

Her mother's convinced she's

communing with Imps.

Her brother's alright though,

he's a good lad, is Wilf.

'cause he's into Placebo

and Cradle Of Filth.

 

At my gig up in Butlins,

the Redcoats complained.

They tried to remove me,

with bottles, they rained.

But for the first time in history,

I didn't run and hide.

and the Scousers in shellsuits

had Goths on their side.

 

Now this land of my father's,

it don't suit my needs.

I'd rather be some place,

like Bradford or Leeds.

Where the Gipton teenagers

could meet in my shed.

For advice on Mascara

and all things undead.

 

Now, my left index finger

is nine inches long.

It's harbouring over

a world that's gone wrong.

Ask me to Prestatyn

and that's what I'll do

and we'll all die together

and "Dylan" can't sue.

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He's here all week.

as laid out in the sig - book early!

 

In honour of this fine day, I'd like to bring you the words of the greatest living Welshman, Dai Young:

 

And my name - it is Dai Young,

I'm the king of Welsh goths.

The village I come from

is near Abersoch.

I was brought up on Bauhaus

and black bedroom walls

and I had my first "snakebite"

when I was in halls.

 

Now the graveyard is calling,

the sky's getting greyer.

I'll drink the warm blood of

the borough surveyor

and I'll murder the verger,

I've seen how he gawps

and I'll write on his headstone

"Here lies Jones the corpse".

 

Now, my overweight girlfriend

she sits and she quips.

Her mother's convinced she's

communing with Imps.

Her brother's alright though,

he's a good lad, is Wilf.

'cause he's into Placebo

and Cradle Of Filth.

 

At my gig up in Butlins,

the Redcoats complained.

They tried to remove me,

with bottles, they rained.

But for the first time in history,

I didn't run and hide.

and the Scousers in shellsuits

had Goths on their side.

 

Now this land of my father's,

it don't suit my needs.

I'd rather be some place,

like Bradford or Leeds.

Where the Gipton teenagers

could meet in my shed.

For advice on Mascara

and all things undead.

 

Now, my left index finger

is nine inches long.

It's harbouring over

a world that's gone wrong.

Ask me to Prestatyn

and that's what I'll do

and we'll all die together

and "Dylan" can't sue.

 

 

and did he?

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I know lots of facts about St. David.

 

He used to live in Cardiff Castle.

 

His favourite food was chicken curry (off the bone).

 

He founded Brains brewery, and as a matter of fact, his delicious recipe for Stout was stolen by his brother St. Patrick and sold to Guinness.

 

He is buried under the north stand of Milennium Stadium and this final gift has proved to be very lucky to LFC (but not the Welsh rugby team bizarrely...)

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