It's not my fault, I had a bad experience during my formative years, when the saddle came off my three-wheel bike and I didn't notice until after I had leapt aboard with the usual *High Ho Silver* cry. More High than Ho, I can tell you.
Where was we all, ah yes, list'nin' to some Welsh lot from the Randa valley. I thought all rugby players were from Randy Land?
Most Welsh folk, too. Reminds me of Madam Gashee, bless her heart. She knew how to treat a shellback to a good time, before he woke on a three skys'l yarder bound round the Isle Of Wight. In a gale. In December. With a hangover. AND a dose of the old water-works flu. Without his trousers. And no bottle. And........(Dear reader, he goes on a bit, don't he?)