Whimsical Musings of a Loon

With the Six Nations rugby well under way, and with Wales beating England at the weekend (sorry had to mention that), I am often left to ponder the strange hold this sport has over so many people. I can't quite define what it is about rugby, that seems to route itself into the Welsh psyche so forcefully; an intricate web of randomness, that seems to signify so much to our identity. No, I can't really fathom it out. But I can explore what it means to me. Last week a video appeared doing the rounds on rugby message boards and emails, someone had compiled footage of great Welsh rugby tries and moments through the ages and put it to music. Some of the tries I had only ever seen once before, or possibly never. Others I remembered only too well indeed. Watching this internet video made me feel incredibly emotional. Yes, I was being a big girls' blouse, and began blubbering into my keyboard. Rugby can be a beautiful game - flowing moves, darting runs, amidst hard knocks and bloody

Two old ladies in the house cleaning paraphernalia aisle. Old Lady 1: Ooo! Old Lady 2: What, what WHAT!? Old Lady 1: Just look at that. Stainless steel cleaner. Old Lady 2: What? Old Lady 1: I know. An actual cleaner, that cleans stainless steel. Old Lady 2: How marvelous! I used to leave the stainless steel to soak in soapy water. Old Lady 1: I know! Isn't it amazing that they can do these days? Old Lady 2: The world is filled with such fabulous things. Stainless steel cleaner, well. Old Lady 1: I'm not buying any though. Old Lady 2: No, neither am I. Ladies shuffle off. Bizarre.

Unless you went on holiday to the moon last week, or was in a coma, you would probably be rather aware of the snow that hit the UK. It was apparently the heaviest snowfall in about 20 years. And in a typical British way, the country went snow-mad, with a large percentage of the country coming to a complete standstill. You only had to look on Facebook to see that nearly every single status update had SNOW mentioned somewhere, or the white stuff, and they weren't referring to some Amy Winehouse shenanigans. After about a day, you become tired of SNOW! being all over the news and media. Actually, after about an hour you do. Admittedly, in the rural areas or where it was heaviest, it was a relative big deal. And London had rather a lot, so naturally, the media were interested. London is the centre of the universe after all! There's only so many "viewers' photos" of snow you can take. Or roadside reports from freezing looking reporters standing in torrid conditions a