So, instead of rugby this blog will know turn its attention to… cricket! Nah, not really, though I have watched some of our winning ways. Who knew that failed furrin crickteers could play so well? Or, if I’m being honest, who really cared. Still, now that they are out there winning, and fans are singing olé olé olé the rest of us will be happy to see them do well.
In case you all didn’t know, the Six Nations finished up on Saturday. We were playing first, on account of the BBC organising things. Bloody English! And the match was one of the most entertaining, plus we scored over 50 points. All good. You know, apart from that last minute try from Italy after we really should have put the ball out of play, but no point in moaning. As the brother said, sure, no matter what we scored those french fuckers’d probably go one better. But we had such high hopes  as it looked like Scotland might just do enough. But no, bloody crappy refs asking stoooopud questions when everyone and their dog could see that there was no grounding visible, therefore the benefit of the doubt must go to the defending team, and therefore you may NOT award the try should have been Mr. TMO’s call.
But, what can you do? Pray for payback come the Autumn, that’s what. So you’d better watch out then.
I would have loads and loads of photos of the terribly exciting and thrilling St. Patrick’s Day Parade from Sligo, only as the brother was invest-igamating the new camera he hit the delete all button. I saved some, but not all. Mainly the attention grabbing parade consisted of bands. Marching pipe bands. In rain gear.