From Planet 233
by Tristan Hughes
For many years, while I was away at university in England and Scotland, the moment I knew I was getting back close to home was when I saw a dragon on the train platform at Prestatyn. It wasn’t the most majestic or ferocious of beasts – it was decidedly portly (too many chips and hotdogs on the seafront, no doubt); its fangs were gone; its red was more sunburn than symbolism; I’m pretty sure it was holding a slightly deflated balloon. And yet, there was still a glint in its jaded, painted eye, perhaps the capacity for one final expulsion of fiery breath. Looking back, I can’t help thinking there was something apt or fitting about its presence there on the ‘Welcome to Wales’ sign: it was a pre-devolution dragon. It’s gone now. Off, I hope, into a more noble retirement; some happy mountain meadow, where all the other red dragons sit back with their pipes to reminisce about wrestling matches with their white antagonists.
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