The two topics are not inherently linked, by the way.

Perygl. That’s a good word isn’t it? Any idea what it might mean? I’ll give you a hint. It appears on warning notices. Warning notices that you might die if you’re a bit of a tit (qv). It means ‘danger,’ hence the passing resemblance to ‘peril.’

Here’s a belter. Igam-ogam. I defy you to get that one right. Go on, give it your best shot. I’ll wait. Tum dee tum dee tum.

It means ‘zigzag.’ However, Welsh mutates faster than viruses do. If you look it up there are maybe 30 different variants on this. Check out this website.

https://www.wordhippo.com/what-is/the/welsh-word-for-ea64ffa1fa36bc1eafc9ff95ee5c3583ac68c035.html

Now we change direction to consider how to be a tit. Susan uses this term freely. It’s not as strong as ‘wanker,’ nor as pejorative as ‘fuckwit.’ It’s a word for those people who make you raise your eyebrows in frustration and mild disbelief.

Susan’s very entertaining sister, Kathryn, has had some face-to-face experience with the public. I suspect she’s done a bit of eyebrow raising in her time. She used to work in the local theatre (though sadly not the Paladiwm), and had some truly odd questions posed.

‘When does the 7:30 performance start?’ This left me floundering, I have to say. It’s not as if you have a support band to suffer through, or a few odd racing formulas to sit through before the main race, is it?

‘I see Roy Orbison has died. Does that mean he won’t be appearing?’ That’s a real care in the community question, isn’t it?

Let us adjourn now to the Tourist Information Board where Kathryn is currently gainfully employed. Here are two real corkers.

‘You can see a dolphin from the Great Orme. What time does it go past?’ That’s enough to make you catch your breath a bit, isn’t it? It’s the Irish Sea, for goodness sake, not Flipper and his pals at SeaWorld. Ditto for the porpoises and seals. Jesus wept.

Now a pleasingly surreal one. Bluff northern enquiry. ‘What’s wi’ the squid on’t promenade?’ Kathryn patiently explained there had been a storm the night before. It was of such violence that the prom had had to be more or less bulldozed to clear the bits of seabed, pipefish, starfish, assorted crustaceans, and other now dead wildlife. Including the squid that the cleanup team had somehow missed.

‘Oh. Right. I thought it might be one of them art things.’

The best tit that Susan and I saw was sitting in the passenger seat of a car, feet on the pavement, slathering his nose with suncream. We were on the way to dinner, so it was about 7:30 at night, and there was heavy cloud cover. I knew, and Susan knew, that if we caught each other’s eye, mayhem would ensue. We did, and it did. We had to stop walking because we were laughing so much.

By the way, Susan refers to Moses, aka Lurcherboy, as a bit of a tit, but I don’t think she really means it. I think he’s fab. Though I do see Susan’s point of view.

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