Yes it’s that time of year. I hear people say “Oh how I hate January it’s so dark and depressing”
WHAT !!!! Are they mad ? it’s nearly the start of the 6 Nations.
As an exiled Welshman the memories come flooding back, quite literally, as the part of West Wales I lived in was so wet, I was 15 before I realised you could actually take an anorak off !
But for all you men out there, here’s some friendly advice, It’s time to start rubbing your back, flexing that dodgy hamstring, because you know that you are going to have to get out of all shopping and DIY obligations until March 19th.
My advice is to start sowing the seeds of doubt immediately, just a gentle limp to start, and a few “oh it’s ok, I’m sure it will pass”.
Don’t forget we’ve got five weekends to get through, so start preparing.
My cryotherapy sessions have already started, and I’m already making at least three trips to the fridge daily.
We dream again of another Grand Slam, and then we start negotiating with our maker, to decide which games we would be prepared for Wales to lose, in exchange for beating England…
It’s the start of that magnificent winter festival, when we lie awake in the middle of a silent, cold frosty night, and remember trips to Paris, Murrayfield, HQ, and Rome, when those of us of a certain age get misty eyed recalling JPR, Gareth, Benny, JJ, and for those of as old as me, Keith Jarrett and Barry John playing on a grainy black and white television.
The wonderful thing is that each championship brings new ones to add to the memory bank.
This magnificent winter festival never lets us down.