I wish millipedes were rare around here, I have had to evict several plump specimens most days recently while they are trying to traverse our floors in a very leisurely manner without being stepped on (often feet find them before eyes do, which we would rather not have happen). They also tend to cause my big girl to dance around shrieking "Look Daddy, Bichinho, Bichinho!" (Little creature, little creature!) at the top of her voice until I do something about them.
Absolutely nothing that comes out of Wales surprises me any more. It was bad enough 30-odd years ago.
I remember my brother telling he how he took a friend of his there to visit my mother some years ago, so he could see for himself what the place was like (it was easier than trying to explain). Friend was something of a drinker, so they stopped off in the nearest watering spot, which happened to be a very rough place favoured by the tougher variety of local drinker (if anyone). Of course, it being Wales, it wasn't long before three thuggish looking customers marched in, dressed rather incongruously in dandyish costumes from somewhere round the time of the Renaissance, right up to the feathered felt hats, and ordered their lagers. The friend ventured to ask what they were doing:
"We're the Three Musketeers, innit?" (It should, he thought, have been obvious in hindsight.)
"Oh, cool, which one is which?"
The biggest brute brusquely indicated himself, then the other two in turn: "I'm d'Artagnan, he's Porthos, he's Aramis."
Unfortunately the friend knew the story. "And Athos? Will he be along shortly?"
This earned a ferocious glare from d'Artagnan. "Huuuh? What you talking about, boyo?"
"Well, isn't he the other one?"
"I told you, we're the three musketeers. THREE!" He held up three fingers for emphasis. "Can't you count or summink?"
"But then you should be, er, umm..." d'Artagnan and his fellow warriors slowly, menacingly turned to face him and stared expectantly, beers in hand, but fortunately for the friend he was not yet too tanked up himself, so he eventually got the message from my brother, who was urgently signalling behind their backs that perhaps this was not the best time to complete their literary education, and decided to back down before it was too late. "Never mind boys, umm you look great, have a nice evening!"
Wales, eh...
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