Look what I just did. Look what I put in my coffee. Instead of a sugar, I tried sprinkling Welsh Sheep Poo liberally over the top. Luckily, the Welsh Sheep Poo is chocolate covered.
I’ve made myself a Welsh Sheep Poo Mocha.
It’s oh so yummy.
Hang on a sec, there’s somebody shouting at me through my triple glazed bullet proof window array. I’ll go and see what they want.
Ok, so I’ve just had the first scream of ‘racist!’ at me from a Millennial. They love using their labels, these butt-hurt snowflakes. You see, they believe that the fact that the Sheep Poo is declared as being Welsh is cheap racist cultural appropriation on my part.
Ha! Well, feck you, Millennial! Head off to your safe space. I have the right to claim the Sheep poo is Welsh.
Many many decades before your parents had the misfortune to conceive you during what was supposed to be a non committal casual sexual encounter until your existence spoilt their plans (something they’ve always hated you for, by the way), I lived on a farm in Wales.
Yes, I did.
Ok, it is true that the farm and farmhouse cannot be found anywhere on Google Maps these days, but as a tiny tiny young person, I was there. Back in the day. Honest.
At school we’d colour in dragons on St David’s Day. Not actual dragons, but drawings of them on paper.
My careful and concerted effort to not let my crayon stray beyond the lines, instantly grants me the privilege of being able to say the word ‘Welsh’ without any recourse. So there, Millennial, stick that in your timeline and share it.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh yes, for a perfect Mocha, always use Welsh Sheep Poo.