After eating as much as we could of the heavily oiled Welsh breakfast, we headed out into the parking lot. My husband needed to excuse himself as the grease was already turning his stomach and creating – gas.
He walked a foot into the adjacent grove of trees to ‘do what he needed to do’ out of earshot and olfactory distance.
Just as he was passing in front of the parked cars to ‘relieve himself’, a group of stout, brawny, scowl-y faced Welshmen approached us and headed straight for my husband. One of them shouted angrily;
“HEY! What are you doing? You up to something DODGY?!”
I knew I had to reply for my husband and I to have the best chance at shifting the suspicious anger of the group. He did in fact look like he was up to ‘dodgy’ behaviour – like he was doing ‘something’ to the front of one of the parked cars.
(Trembling) I walked up to the group;
“You don’t want to go over there – we just ate a delicious breakfast here (BIG smile!) and aren’t used to the richness of the food.
My husband is absolutely up to something dodgy – he is farting.”
Thank GOODNESS that worked. They all broke out into laughter, my husband turned bright red. One Welshman yelled out to others, that were also approaching;
“Hey, this guy here was just up on two wheels, killing our sheep!”
Laughter, and another turns to me and says;
“That’s a down right pathetic Welsh accent you got yourself there, where are you from?”
When I told him Canada, he replied ‘you poor thing’ and then told me that his friend (who he grabbed and pulled over), played ‘ice hockey’, and he was good at it (in his opinion).
He asked me which city I was from and I told him – Vancouver. This time it was the ice hockey friend who replied (in a REALLY thick, nearly unintelligible, deep gruff voice);
“Oh Vancouver, tha’s my favourite hockey team.
I love you! You are so beautiful. Sexy accent.
Oh yah… I own a farm close by (he starts to approach me – my husband stays back!), and I have lots of room for you and our babies.
Nowhere is better than Wales, with me!”
I responded by stating that I was obligated to decline as I was now very happily married, and on my honeymoon (more BIG smiles!). I pointed to my husband.
The whole group – now six or eight men, let out a harmonious ‘awwwe’. My ice hockey playing admirer quickly (and wittily!) replied;
“Ok love, meet me here in 2 years – to the date – and I will be waiting for you. You should be done by then – no?”
With smiles and waves, we took our opportunity to escape during the hilarious, back slapping group laughter that ensued.
The whole exchange my husband did not open his mouth to utter a word. It may have worked out better that way!
Now, to London!
- Blood Pudding and Broken Toilets (WAL ’10 Prt 5) (habitualrunaway.wordpress.com)