I only briefly touched upon the death of one of my grandmothers a few years back but, for a completely random reason, I picked up the order of service from her funeral just moments ago. I'd always been somewhat proud of my 'mixed heritage' (using that term in the loosest possible sense because I'm entirely Anglo-Saxon), with a particular fondness for my globetrotting Welsh grandmother and her inability to pronounce any initial H ('Ospital, 'Otel, etc).
But it turns out there's a very important fact buried in the potted 'istory contained in that booklet.
She wasn't Welsh.
Not technically, anyway. She was born and raised in Wales, yes... but her parents were from Worcester and London (Highgate, fer crying out loud!).
All these years I've been happily telling people I'm a little bit Welsh (and they nodding sagely, saying that probably explains my morose tendencies), and it's all been a lie.
Well, fuck.
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