Monday, 8 September 2014

Dear Scotland, from Wales

Dear Scotland,

Hey mate. Sorry we haven't chatted properly in a while. We've both been pretty busy, I guess. You with your brilliant Commonwealth Games (well done, btw - you did a bang-up job!) and me with those world leaders that came to visit. So I thought I'd write you a quick letter to say some of the things I want to.

I know you're thinking about leaving, and obviously, it's totally your choice. I do understand why. England sometimes acts as though, because its Mum owns the house, it's in charge. And whenever its annoyingly loud little brother London comes round, it acts like this is his home, and England just quietly mumbles behind its back. I think we all know that London is the favourite child, anyway. And I know there's that massive utilities bill that we're all having to pay now, which was without a doubt mostly London's fault that time it came to stay and got steamingly drunk every day, on both its own power and also, I suspect, a large amount of Carling Black Label, and just started pissing all over things and leaving the kettle on. That wasn't cool. Also, I know how frustrating it is when everyone else refers to the house as "England's" and totally forgets that it's the UK (Uber Koolz)'s.

But we've had some great times! Do you remember that cracking party we had in 2012, with all the sports? It was so much fun! And your mates, like Chris and Andy, they came and made it a party to remember. Yeah, it would've been a good party without you, but it was a life-changing party with you.

I know the idea of living on your own is mega-enticing, but what if you can't find a nice place? What if it's damp? What if the front door sticks? At least you know the problems you've got in this house. And who knows, maybe England might actually take our concerns a bit more seriously now it knows you're serious about getting out.

I know if you went I'd probably get a bigger room. But I think England would sulk a lot, and there'd be no gaining control of the remote. It'd be reality and faux-reality shows until I die of TOWIE overdose! And England will probably eat all my Caerphilly and only buy mild Cheddar :-/. Maybe Northern Ireland would come down from the attic room once in a while. Maybe the Isle of Man would actually come in from that weird shed it's been living in. But it just wouldn't be the same. You and I come from pretty similar backgrounds, and I really enjoy living with you.

But like I said, it's your choice. If you really want to leave, I'll totally respect that. You're great, and I hope you find somewhere that you deserve. Somewhere Enlightening (see what I did there?!). And if you go, can I please come round for a monthly telly-night? If it goes well for you, maybe I'll start looking as well.

I just wanted to write this to you so you know how I feel. Best of luck with your difficult decision, lovely.

Your loving housemate,



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