Hay Fever Story

My name’s James Wayling without a middle name. That probably doesn’t sound particularly Welsh to you, but I promise I am one hundred percent Welsh. My cousin’s name is Gwydion, and he lives down my road, by the way. Now that’s a real Welsh name, my aunt got it from a Welsh mythology book. According to it Gwydion is some kind of God of magic and wisdom and his name is associated with Gwynedd. We don’t live in Gwynedd, but in Clwyd though. Not that it’s much of a difference.

        This town that we’re living in, its totally boring, you couldn’t tell the difference from this and hundred other almost identical towns, and there’s nothing happening and we hardly get out.

        So yeah, it was somewhat a pleasant surprise, when on one Friday, when I came home from school, my mum announced what she called ‘wonderful news’:’ You and Gwydion are going on this weekend getaway thing! I’ve organized everything!’ she cried and clapped her small hands, while I was barely in the hallway.

        ‘Where? Where are we going?’ I turned to her.

‘You’re going to visit your grandma Sarah this weekend!’

It was like someone suddenly had crashed an invisible knife in my chest, taking away the one minute long excitement.

‘Grandma Sarah? Grandma Sarah? The one who lives in the country side?’, I said in a yowling voice.

‘Exactly. You boys need some fresh air. You spend too much time indoors.’

If I really need some fresh air, than nearby park will do, thank you very much. The thing with this crappy town we were living in was that no matter how dull, soulless and tiresome it looked to anyone, I knew there was a worse place – the Welsh countryside. I’ve been to grandma Sarah’s farm before, you see. It’s a full blown Welsh country romance completed with chickens, cows, gooses and, of course, the holy symbol of all things Welsh: sheeps. (I wonder why I’m talking about Wales so much, I’ll try to quiet that down a little).