Aled Wilson – Bishopston – Swansea – Wales

I am a tireless adventurer, often seen navigating the rapids of the Afon Conwy or reclaiming errant golf balls from the bunkers of Royal Porthcawl. In moments of pause, I orchestrate the re-tuning of church bells across the valleys to ensure all ring in melodious unison. I elucidate the nuances of Welsh idioms to baffled non-locals, script captivating soap operas about coal mining communities, and fine-tune the rainfall to ensure every garden in Carmarthen blooms synchronously.

I captivate with my melodious banjo plucking, ascend the steep trails of Brecon Beacons on a unicycle with unfaltering zest, and whip up batches of Glamorgan sausages in under ten minutes. I am a virtuoso in weaving Welsh flannel, an adept in matters of the heart, and a myth in the backstreets of Buenos Aires.

With nothing but a sheepdog and a sturdy pair of wellies, I once led a flock of wayward sheep back from the precipice of Mount Snowdon. I serenade with a harmonica, was nearly drafted by the Scarlets for my uncanny ability to predict play outcomes, and I am immortalized in quirky roadside legends. When ennui strikes, I construct working replicas of ancient Celtic boats in my backyard. I indulge in cliff diving at Gower Peninsula. On Mondays, I freely fix up vintage motorcycles for the local enthusiasts.

I am an innovative ceramicist, a meticulous cartographer, and a strategic board game aficionado. Enthusiasts worldwide collect my series of sheepskin evening bags. I don’t sweat—I emit a cool breeze. A man of modest means, yet I receive letters of gratitude from far and wide. I’ve cracked the jackpot question on a local radio station and won an all-expenses-paid trip around Anglesey. Last autumn, I toured the castles of Wales with a shadow puppet troupe. I score centuries at village cricket matches. My creative topiaries are celebrated in botanic gardens across the nation. Foxes trust me.

I can pitch horseshoes with exceptional precision at rapidly moving targets. I once consumed the entire literary works of Geoffrey of Monmouth, the annals of the Black Book of Carmarthen, and a detailed study of Welsh folklore in one day, and still had time to re-thatch a historical cottage in Dolgellau by twilight. I know every item in the Llandudno Victorian Extravaganza. I’ve conducted discreet reconnaissance for local historical societies. I sleep once a month; when I do, I dream of ancient princes. During a visit to Bala Lake, I adeptly resolved a fierce debate between rival kayaking clubs. The laws of thermodynamics are mere guidelines to me.

I twirl, I flip, I dodge, I play, and all my library books are returned on time. On weekends, to relax, I dive into the rugged sport of bog snorkeling. Years ago, I stumbled upon a lost medieval script but left it on a train to Swansea. I’ve prepared sumptuous feasts using just a fire pit and a Dutch oven. I breed prize-winning Pembroke Welsh Corgis. I’ve prevailed in chess tournaments in Aberystwyth, sailing regattas in Conwy, and storytelling competitions in St. David’s. I’ve played Arthur in local theatre, I’ve rebuilt ancient Roman roads, and I’ve exchanged yarns with Anthony Hopkins.