A brief overreaction to something wholly inconsequential.
Trans: LOL WALES. WE’VE ALL GOT THE SAME NAME. HOW FUNNY. WHAT A FUNNY LITTLE RACE WE ARE. LOOK AT US, IT’S LIKE WE’RE PARTAKING IN REAL AND GROWN-UP DEMOCRATIC PROCESSES, EVEN THOUGH WE’RE A PISSANT LITTLE COMEDY OFFCUT OF A COUNTRY WHERE – HO HO – WE’VE ALL GOT THE SAME NAME! AND NOW, BACK TO WESTMINSTER.
Man alive, I hate the Guardian sometimes. That article’s useful enough, of course, and can do without being undermined by lazy little asides like that, which act mostly as a leavening pay-off to the reader for having to plough through the morass of cuts, corruption, and structural unemployment that constitutes any observation of twentyfirst-century Wales. (Sorry about that, guys! We’d try to be less depressing, I’m sure, but depression is currently our only viable export.)
Or maybe I’ve got the wrong end of the stick and the journalist was actually acting to pre-empt the expression of public anxiety about the nepotism rampant in the Welsh Assembly. All of whose members have the same name, because they’re all related to each other. As well as all being constantly drunk, hymn-singing, slate-quarrying, epic-poetry-reciting, losing at rugby, and shagging their sheep. Excuse me, I’m off down the pit with a pint of Brains S.A. and a daffodil.
My aunt went from being a Morgan to a Jones without either family having being near Wales for quite some time. Weird.