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The honesty of drunken Welsh rugby fans

The honesty of drunken Welsh rugby fans

So in the aftermath of Wales’ unexpected rugby victory against England (which no doubt will be romanticised for the next 10 years), I find myself at the infamous City Arms pub with a gazillion Welsh rugby fans drinking away. So I have to navigate past the sticky floor (although oddly no harmonious singing at this point) to the toilet.

While waiting at the queue, some bald-headed bloke (the worse for drinking) looks at me, and twigs that I don’t exactly look Welsh. And proceeds to grill me about who I am, where I come from (giving Wales as an answer doesn’t seem to wash with him) and what I’m doing there (drinking, and waiting to pee).

If I was feeling maleviolent and playful, I could have started speaking to him in Welsh, but I’d already seen three almost-fights that weekend and had no desire to be a victim of a fourth one. Especially in a grotty mens’ toilet. So I answered as good-naturedly as I could – and to be fair to the guy, he wasn’t outright offensive or racist. He just reminded me of just why I will never belong in Cardiff. Or Wales for that matter. Although I suppose I could wear one of those red Welsh rugby tops. Although they look better on the ladies than the men.

His final sentence was a clincher though. Realising that he may not have been the most polite person around, he decides to make amends by complimenting me. Well, my race, by saying that Asians (of course) had the highest IQs. Patently untrue, but nevertheless yet another stereotype.

Bet you don’t get this kind of trouble in San Francisco. Actually, you probably do.

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