I was destined to be a Churchy type and i was ordained a Priest early on and set about doing missionary work and founding a number of monasteries which i ruled over with extreme religiosity including rules the monks must plough the fields themselves and not use any animals and they were not allowed wine or beer, only water, they couldn't eat any meat, only bread and salt and then spend their evenings in prayer, reading and writing.
I am the Patron Saint of Wales and us Saints and miracle workers are a pretty elite group. We are the ones who say we have been touched by God, given powers of healing and sent visions in which we claim to see the future or the truth. Occasionally, though, the bar is set a little bit lower.
In order to become a Saint, my miracle was when i was preaching to a large crowd at Llandewi Brefi, those on the outer edges could not hear me, so i spread a handkerchief on the ground, and stood on it to preach and then all could hear me.
Not great i agree but Wales and the Welsh are so much more than a man who stood on a snotty tissue and shouted, they are known for daffodils, leeks, many, many sheep and place names devoid of those pesky little vowels the English language relies upon to make words work.
With towns named Bwlchgwyn and Ysbyty Ystwyth, you may think that the towns were named by a cat walking across a keyboard but we do have the pride of having the most unpronounceable place in Britain, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwyll-llantysiliogogogoch.
Everything was awesome. Except for the English. They're dicks because the Welsh and the English have a history and they were always trying to conquer us so the life of the clergy wasn't always easy but Wales is a land of beautiful rolling hills, peaceful dales and the strained bleating of sheep emanating from beside red faced farmers so Ladies and Gentlemen, i give you the Welsh and their Saint with snot on the soles of his feet, diolch a hwyl fawr.
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