Any language you like - so long as it's English.

Byline: Ian PARRI

AS FIVE of us sat down in a pub in Criccieth recently to chatter very much about nothing, putting the world's little foibles to rights, the couple on the next table began to glare at us.

They were very much the couple typically married for quite some time; sufficient for them to have long expended their idle chit-chat on each other. Unless, that is, they were communicating telepathically.

That said, there was very little in what we were saying likely to raise their hackles. The weather came under the cosh, and we commented on how wonderful Criccieth looked in its swathe of flower beds. No one even grumbled about the price of beer nowadays, and not one of us lit up in their presence.

Nonetheless, with a final glare and some unintelligible muttering, they upped sticks to sit by the bar. A quick check revealed that none of us had forgotten to shower in recent weeks, and we just hoped that they'd meet a class of person more to their liking on their high perches.

The muttering continued as I edged next to them later to seek service at the bar, which intensified to a crescendo when I began chattering to the barmaid. In Welsh, of course, as one does.

Bingo. Whether they were tourists or monoglot English speakers who lived locally, of whatever nationality, they were obviously objecting to us using our first language in our own country. How uncivilised of us. We just clean forgot about our lowly status.

This incident sprang to mind on reading the Sunday Times last weekend. In it, a rather silly buffoon called Simon Hacker - any relation to Jim, I wonder? - describes how, on a visit to a pub in Abergavenny, Monmouthshire, he feared ``a silent reception - or, worse still, one in Welsh''.

Hur, hur. How original, how enlightened. The man's obviously travelled extensively all over the Home Counties, complete with requisite chip on shoulder.

As for finding a pubful of people speaking Welsh in Abergavenny, of all places, it regretfully shows the pitiful level of his general knowledge and research. He'd have more chance in the Chubut Valley in Argentina, if truth be known. This nadir of knowledge that some monoglots descend to deserves our pity, be they speakers of English, French, German or whatever. It must be a dreadful existence being terrified of anybody who dares utter a word in any other language. This poor man must be a complete wreck in London if Abergavenny fazes him.

Oh, how they must rue the loss of Empire, when pith-helmeted chappies in khaki shorts could insist at the crack of a rhino-whip that the natives spoke the King's English in their presence. For Welsh today, read Zulu, Swahili, Gujerati, Hindi, Irish, Arabic.