In the Vatican they ask all Welshmen to raise a hand.
And so we have a new Pope: Pope Francis from Argentina.
Now we all (should) know a region of Argentina, in the south, is called Patagonia. And we all (should) know that many of the people there speak Welsh.
I have previously proved, beyond reasonable doubt m'lud, that Pope Benedict was Welsh (see here). Now we know, very early on in his pontificate (trans: PontyFicate) that Pope Francis is Welsh.
I often wondered why Argentinian flags, shirts etc. were/are popular amongst Welsh fans whenever England make it to the World Cup: I think we now know the answer to that.
So well done Pope Francis. We all know (or should) that Welsh comes from the Germanic for 'foreignor' and was used for many peoples at the edge of the Roman Empire (the Welsh, the Walloons, the Wallachians etc.) so here's to our Welsh Pope!
It all bodes well for Saturday doesn't it?
Oh, and his first public Mass is to be on St Joseph's Day as a special nod to my dad who I can reveal is indeed Welsh.
I rest my case. I think that's all the proof we need. All I'm saying is don't be shocked if Pope Francis is hoping the Bluebirds go up this year.
Now we need a special edition Francis pint from Brains Beers and a Pieus Pie from Clarks Pies. They can send me free samples to get this blog's official thumbs-up.
After a week in which everything that could go wrong seemed to go wrong, Mrs H suggested that we (her and I, the grown ups if you like) should take some time out and go to the cinema.
So we did. The only film that seemed suitable, half decent and not a cartoon or similar was Avengers Assemble.
I'm a mug for a nostalgic film
So we bought our tickets then went for a bite to eat and a drink. I had a beer with my vittles. The drink cost £2.70. If Old Pa Hurley is reading this he might well have fallen off his seat. No, not from imbibing too much Brains Dark, but from such a cost. To the rest of us it seems quite a normal price.
The idea - as passed into law in Scotland - that there should be a minimum price on beer would hit people like me, who enjoy the occasional beer or a wee tipple at home a couple of times a week. Even moreso those who do likewise who are struggling on limited incomes, a small pension etc.
I know binge drinking and problem drinking is a problem, but as with speed bumps placed through towns, this all seems to hit the many and the law-abiding just because a tiny minority can't behave themselves.
Anyway, we went off to watch the film. Hmmm. Don't even get me started on why oh why we have to sit through almost 30 mins of adverts (including some films I now know virtually the entire plotlines of, and a series of local authority adverts - tax money well spent???)
A couple sitting in the same row left after 60 mins. We left after90 mins. It was painful. Like Power Rangers pretending to be for grown ups. X hits Y who then fights Z who starts to argue with A, who doesn't want B to lose his temper, who then fights C, who's taken out by X.... and so on ad infinitum.
All the special effects etc. just made it a mind-numbingly annoying boredom.
Why is it when I want a break from the woes of daily life, the trials and tribulations of the week, I never get to see a thoughtful, inspiring film?
The last film I saw that made me think, was nostalgic, had real characters and was equally happy and sad, was the Iron Lady. She certainly beats the Avengers into a cocked hat! I'll drink to that.
This sign was pictured in Namibia, the former German colony in South West Africa.
I don't know the setting, but isn't it reassuring to know that "kein pinkeln" is an instruction I think most of us could follow...
I suppose rather than guidelines or a request, it could also be a sign next to barrels of Carling just to reassure the punters. if so, it could be our humanitarian duty to export some Brains Beer to Namibia asap.
It might help their rugby supporters (if not their team) in the morale stakes.
Feb 25th and 26th: A Welsh invasion is on the cards
Being a Cardiff fan I am so used to losing, it has surely been a source of time-off Purgatory for time-served?
Have times changed? Judging from yesterday they may well have. What can I say about last night's Carling Cup semi-final football? Very, very exciting.
When Miller missed the first penalty for Cardiff my pessimistic thoughts were "oh no... here we go again." After hitting the woodwork three times in total... it looked bad.
Yet thanks to some superb penalty saves from City's keeper Heaton, Cardiff are through to the final.
The match was so exciting, I was glued all evening. It may even have finished some of the more elderly members of the extended Hurley family. We may have to do a head count of all my uncles.
This morning I made my way into the kitchen to put some bread in the toaster with a wide smile on my face and a spring in my step. On informing the youngest about the glory that is Cardiff City (last time I checked, to my horror, she supported Liverpool), I was told that they had seen the goals already on the morning news.
Then Mrs H chipped in with "see, why did you watch it last night? We've seen all the goals this morning."
I was gobsmacked. Whatever else? Celebrate Christmas on Boxing Day? Or Good Friday on Low Sunday? St David's Day in April? Watch the Six Nations in the Summer?
Needless to say I did some brisk tut tutting as I buttered my toast, and in polite, refined society (which I have shoehorned myself into despite the protests) that is quite a rebuttal let me tell you!
Could it be more exciting? Yes! Cardiff will be in Wembley on the 26th Feb. The day before (yes, that's the 25th, thank you professor) Wales play England at Twickenham. Ohhhh... can Y Cymry reclaim Llundain for the weekend? Two victories would be fantastic, and so much more cultured than the behaviour of Queen Boudicca of the Celtic Iceni tribe when she last visited London.
So come on Welsh rugby players and Cardiff football players! Let's go for the double whammy.
Some people think sports is boring or over-emphasised. I would certainly agree that too many sportsmen (especially footballers) are primadonnas, cheats and are well overpaid, but that aside (and I am not averse to returning sports to the grass roots in some way), as the old saying, attributed to Winston Churchill, goes:
To jaw-jaw is always better than to war-war.
Or in this case, kicking a ball is better than shooting a gun. And I would far rather, as a patriot, see Wales assert herself on the sports field than on the battlefield, win or lose.
So yes, sport is just sport, but for those of us who see our love of hometown and love of country played out on the pitches of Wales and England, what a great way to celebrate what we are and where we are from - which doesn't harm our neighbours or anyone else.
So in closing and before I forget, a Happy St Dwynwen's Day to one and all and especially Mrs H.
Love is in the air! After being a 'football widow' last night she has my undivided attention tonight... maybe there's a shelf she wants me to put up? ;-) I will make her a nice cup of Glengettie. Who said I know nothing about romance?
And here, for Old Ma Hurley, is friend-of-the-family Charlotte Church singing Men of Harlech just to get everyone in the mood for Wales and Cardiff winning:
And here, for Old Pa Hurley, is his old friend, a pint of Brains. Just to get him in a patriotic mood! I did tweet a Brains employee to ask if he could get some recognition for all the hard (and patriotic) work he's done over the years. She wrote back that a specially struck medal might be the order of the day... Well, you never know.
And for my in-laws north of the border, in the Norse Orcadian lands and their vicinity, a very happy Burns Night (even though I read somewhere he was a wee bit dodgy, a Freemason no less). Yes, we can all say "Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie" in our best mock-jock accents tonight!
Sterling news! Some of the Hurley Clan have marched north to reclaim the Celtic Kingdom of Rheged from the Saxons and Danes who took it via intermarriage and stealth, even after it passed to the Welsh Kingdom of Strathclyde (from whence William Wallace - Wallace meaning "Welsh" - came to deliver freedom to the Welsh, Scots and Picts of Scotland).
They followed two pathfinders (codename Uncle Pat and Auntie Mary) who were brave enough to travel north into the icy wastes of what, incredibly, is today part of England!
Yes! The Welsh are marching to free the Cymry 'Men of the North' and I have reports back from an elderly man (codename Old Pa Hurley) that he has indeed discovered evidence of ancient Welsh culture "up North."
A pub serving Brains Beer* no less, has been confirmed back to base by two elderly men (let's call them Agent Joe and Agent Pat), reported to be "grinning widely" and with a strange gait in their movement.
At this stage, further reports of them painting half their faces blue and shouting "FREEEEEDOM!" whilst kicking a rugby ball up the high street, have yet to be confirmed.
Especially for a hairy footed Welshman who betrayed everything and moved to... London. Home of Saruman & Co.
I went on a long adventure, there and back again, and now I'm home, in The Shire with the other halflings.
Oh Hobbits in the foul, unfolksy places of the world, don't give in to Saruman and his McRubbish. Drink Brains Beer* and eat Clark's Pies* (except on Fridays). Defend civilisation!
Check out this post on Linen on the Hedgerow blog. There is talk of having one's heart interred at the Brains Brewery.
I can sense Old Pa Hurley getting quite excited.
Brains could charge for such a placement, but it could be argued that he has already bought his alcove, many times over.
I can see the casket now, with a crest of a Brains glass, a Papal seal, ancient football and cricket balls and a mop of hair argent. Motto: CruraExinani Hurley - Unas Pro Iter.
Put down that Brains SA! It's time to turn to the evil side of drinking!
Lager.
The thought sends shivers down the spine of all real beer lovers.
But the story goes that Kinsale Lager is chemical free and so you can drink it to your heart's content without getting a hangover... or is that a clever ploy by their marketing department?
I'm in a quandary now.
Lager - yuch. Kinsale - good. Hangover - bad.
Hmmmm. What to do?
I will have to track down some Kinsale Lager and report back.
All my life -- well since she became famous -- people have asked me (signing forms for the postie, at the doctors, in work, meeting new folks etc. etc.):
"Are you related to Elizabeth Hurley?"
To which I used to sigh, and resignedly respond "no."
Then just a few short months ago my long-suffering father (unofficially the biggest Brains SA sponsor in Wales) told me that we actually were related to Liz Hurley! He had discovered that she was his second cousin or thereabouts.
So now when I am asked the fateful question, I smile and say "yes."
It doesn't half take the wind out of their sails when this normal Welsh bloke (albeit with a certain charm and charisma) turns out to be related to the rich and famous.
The last person to ask me was a Pakistani locum doctor who I'd never seen before, and it was funny to watch his response.
So yes fellow bloggers, fellow Hurleys and all you various hangers-on I am sure that from now on when people stop her in the street, Liz can proudly answer:
