Regular readers know I have a pet hate I’ve spent years trying to eradicate.
Readers who aren’t regular will hopefully empathise with me, despite their temporary uncomfortableness.
“Temporary Uncomfortableness” sounds like an album by a pretentious 80s synth band that only reached No64 in the charts before its disappearance into the musical void caused them to disband and return to their previous day jobs as pretentious lecturers in pre-Byzantine pottery.
Well, it does to me, anyway!
I felt so strongly about my pet hate, I once led an angry mob holding flaming torches and pitchforks* to the Senedd, demanding ‘Something must be done!”
*Actually, the ‘mob’ consisted of me and my Uncle Cledwyn, holding wind-up torches and wooden forks from my local chip shop and we were more grumpy than angry, because it rained and we’d left our umbrella on the train.
However, our protest went un-noticed because the Senedd was deserted.
Uncle Cledwyn reckoned the AMs were all WFH – and he didn’t mean ‘Working From Home’.  WFH were the initials of the exact description he used, which was so crude (although, to be fair, not unwarranted), I daren’t repeat it here.
Despite my grumpy protest, plus all the articles I’ve written about it and the petition I handed in to No10 with almost 23 signatures, demanding “Something must be done!” . . . something hasn’t been done!
Which is why, when you venture outside, despite the bitterly cold weather you’ll inevitably encounter the horrific sight of grown men strutting around in shorts, displaying their pasty legs and knobbly knees , as if they were on the beach in Rio De Janeiro . . . or Swansea Bay . . . on a boiling hot afternoon.
I’ve pointed out countless times that men who wear shorts in the winter look ridiculous – especially when they wear woolly hats to keep their heads warm! But I’ve seen more men’s knees around this year than ever.
So, congratulations gents! You win!
Feel free to trudge (bare) knee-deep through the snow.
I won’t write another disparaging word about you.
Although I retain the right to think, when I pass one of you, “Look at that WFH!”