What a great lie-in. I heard The Aussie leaving the hosue to go fly-postering this morning about 9:30, but from that deepest, cosiest, sweetest part of waking up where you're only barely conscious. Then I smiled and thankfully drifted back off to sleep.
Woke up and got up just after half-past eleven. Phoned the Aussie to see if he was bored -- he wasn't -- then range home with a cuppa in one hand, and heard the lastest. Including Chris and the Pest's offer on a house being accepted! They grow up so fast... Faster than their big brothers at least (not hard!).
So now I'm say watching the France-Ireland game with not a little trepidation. France got a whomping at the hands of les Ecossais last week, but I've just watched their third try as I type this sentence. Feck!
But there's something (okay, largely Yachvilli and Michalak in the looks dept) about the French which makes me mind less if one of my two national teams loses to them. They're a great side, with discipline and flair, but without the assuming nature of the other Big Country's team. Just as well I don't mind, says you, as they're now 19-0 up against us. And we've had our only try disallowed for a knock-on. And close to the next one, had a forward pass called. I don't want to hear the word "disarray" from the commentary team. It's only 21 minutes in!
I also found out form Mum that there's been a postal strike at Tomb St this week, so that would help to explain where that letter is from the bank.
Oh! Ireland pushing forward again... Stopped by the ref. For what, I'm not sure. Not called...
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