It was well into the day before I realised that it March 1st. St David's Day.
Here at the end of Long Mountain the tranquility remained unstirred; no outpouring of national pride discernable in or around in our 6 Welsh acres (or beyond as far as I could see). No public holiday. No male voice choirs. No lava bread, no cawl, no leek broth. No national dress or bardic speke. Did Dewi Sant pass unnoticed here? Possibly. Welsh nationalism seems only to take the form of bi-lingual road signs and government propaganda. Otherwise it's English with a smattering of Polish. The rugby mght be the exception.
But today the ever vigilant Radio 4 with its eye on The Regions, brought us a programme from St David's far down in the south west of the Principality. Here is the Healing Well that sprung from the place where Non, mother of Dewi Sant gave birth. The place behind the legend of this patron saint who brought Christianity to the Celts - whether they wanted it or not. It was one of those good programmes to listen to in the car.
I wondered which national plant would be preferable in the buttonhole: Daffodil? Leek? Leek? Daffodil? Did I waste moments even considering the options? Of course. With an eye to design, style and originality my vote for buttonhole of the day went to The Leek. But then I got to thinking of the leeks in our garden (still there and waiting to be eaten) and wondered how on earth would I fix something the size of a small log to my lapel? And the smell.... And the daffodil - wasn't that something of a Lloyd George-ish innovation? And then which variety? 'King Alfred', 'Thalia', 'Tete a tete' or 'Tenby Daffodil'?
....Which complicated thought brought me to the top of our lane; a short drive which now requires some concentration - the ruts and pot holes are becoming deeper by the day. Dangerously so - small sexy cars and little children could get lost in them - and what with Powys County Council's mega Highways deficit (££Millions since you ask) our small works will be right at the bottom of the maintenance list. Dream on. Print fewer sheets of paper in 2 languages, save trees, save money. Invest in tarmacadam is what I say. (Are there are more Welsh votes in good road surfaces than ancient tongues I ask myself?)
So home at last. And look, the daffodils are out by the door. That's celebratory enough isn't it?