There'll be more about Dilwyn's return to Europa base camp in the next post.  But first we have the shocking news of an attempted Welsh technology theft at our HQ here in Cerrigydrudion land.  On the morning in question, the perpetrators (see photo) turned up at our back door looking decidedly apprehensive.  We reached for the tin of Procter & Gamble (tm) Jehovas Witness Spray, but this proved unnecessary as the assailants appeared to be completely unfazed by our Darwinian evolution diatribe.

Their accent was definitely not that of the local ffermwyr cymraeg going on about lost sheep or the endless amounts of subsidy cheques they have to cash.  No, the accent was unmistakeable - these people had come all the way from Colorado Springs out of a western film and they wanted to meet Cymrunaut Dilwyn Griffiths. 

We explained to them that Dilwyn was away on an icy planet somewhere in the depths of space and could they come back later.  But all the time they kept trying to peer behind us to look at all the dials and stuff in our control room.  Then when the female espionater distracted us by showing us some pictures they had brought with them of mountain lions and Ronald McDonald and stuff, the other agent produced a camera and started snapping away at the blue-prints of Cymru V which we had been poring over shortly before their arrival.

They hadn't reckoned on Uncle Rhodri's army grave-digger corps training though and the spooks were easily apprehended.  They were brought into the kitchen where we identified them as husband and wife team, Agents Philip and Mary Sidney who were sent by their son, Lockheed Martin Mars Mission mastermind, Wayne Sidney. There we are, isn't it.

Wayne, it turns out, has been tasked with getting another mission to mars together and was running out of ideas.  He hatched this plot to find out how our new drum 'n bass funk engines work and to steal the technology for Barack Obama's lot over there.

Anyway, we made them a cup of Welsh tea (Paned Cymreig - gorgeous stuff) and then broke out the tin containing Mamgu's Simnel Cake of Truth - the confectionary equivalent of being punched in the head by a short fat man in drag.

In the best traditions of villainy, shortly before we were to kill them, we told them everything -  all our secrets - like what we use the plastic funnels for, how we hollow out all our biscuits, and just what it is that Megan thinks is dog food. 

They seemed so nice though that we just made them another cup of tea and asked them to write again soon when they got back to the states.  But not to tell anyone anything. We gave them a nice hat for Wayne too.

To Guy Roberts - your tip-off came too late. Araf, dim parcio.