Dalston’s entire Welsh community spilled out onto the streets last night in a spontaneous expression of joy following their team’s dramatic victory over Belgium in Euro 2016.
Mr Bedwyr ap Cynddylan-Williams – Dalston’s entire Welsh community – told the Mercury: ‘Oh yes, I spilled out onto the streets all right! A right spontaneous expression of joy, it was. There’s lovely.’
Mr Cynddylan-Williams has been Dalston’s only Welsh resident since Max Boyce gave up his Colvestone Crescent bedsit when the gigs dried up in the ’80s. He proudly maintains Mr Boyce’s collection of giant leeks, however, and brandished one in celebration last night, bringing traffic on the Kingsland Road to a standstill. Also, he was dressed as a daffodil, for some reason.
‘It is quite a responsibility trying to keep Welsh culture alive in Dalston all by myself,’ he told the Mercury while sobering up at Stoke Newington nick. ‘I frequently perform Under Milk Wood – by myself, like – around various drinking establishments, but I don’t think the average Dalston resident shares my poetic Welsh soul. That’s why I keep getting barred, I expect.’
Then he went on one of those romantic withdrawals into the dark recesses of the brooding self that the Welsh are prone to and, inevitably, started reciting poetry about coal mines and death. But by the time we left he’d perked-up and was singing a spirited ‘Delilah’ while being restrained by several officers.
We noticed that, throughout the entire interview, although he has happy to bang on about football and the death of the steel industry, Mr Cynddylan-Williams did not mention rugby, which is not like him. Didn’t mention it. Not even once.
In other Euro 2016 news: We asked the English FA why it was that Wales are so patently superior to the English team despite the staggering disparity in wealth, resources and population between the two countries. They said they didn’t know, but in future they were going to make the England players drink Brains Bitter and eat huge quantities of laver bread three times a day. Not to make them play better, just to make the useless bastards miserable.