There are some comforting non-threatening stereotypes available when people nowadays, in the UK generally, feel the need to give a nod towards the existence of Wales. It doesn't happen often—Wales is usually ignored. This has been pointed out. Its own unique, ancient history is merely the stuff of myths and legends, people say. Not any truth at all, is there? This week, we had Tom Watson MP announcing to fanfares a proposal to change Labour's policy to campaign for a second referendum and a remain vote. Mark Drakeford already said that two weeks ago. But that was in Wales; it doesn't count. It doesn't even register.

Anyway, those comforting stereotypes that people have when trying to talk about their Welsh friends: we all sing in choirs; we all play rugby, now football; we all eat Caerphilly cheese, cawl, leek. Non-threatening, even passionate, those stereotypes, in their place. But don't mistake that for expressions of political national freedom, though, will you?

I nearly choked on my laverbread, leek and Welsh cake combo this week, when I read in the South Wales Evening Post about the old dialect in Swansea—meaning Welsh, the Welsh language. No old dialect, but living Welsh, and one of Europe's oldest living languages, spoken on the banks of the Tawe for the last 2,000 years and still being spoken by 31,000 people in Swansea today.