Is it really four years since the Lions left South Africa in face masks with their tails between their legs ?

A pandemic has thankfully come and gone and for those unable to travel to Australia and who cannot afford, or are not allowed to own a Sky sports subscription, the time has come to embark once again on the dreadful early Saturday morning pub experience that for many unfortunates is part and parcel of a Lions tour.

Apart from the out-of-body experience experienced as a result crossing the threshold of your local Ember Inn at such an ungodly hour, there are other serious health implications to consider.

Now, when I was young there were no such dilemmas.

It may seem hard to believe but in 1971 all international rugby matches kicked off in the middle of the afternoon, also television coverage was not available, so it was under the bed covers with a transistor radio the size of a microwave at 4am trying to tune in to a New Zealand radio station commentary via the short wave.

It was tough, but on the plus side we never had to endure three hours of Will Greenwood previewing each test match.

The cumulative effect of more than three consecutive test match Saturday mornings will inevitably increase your exposure to these dangers, and of course the long term repercussions.

But back to the health implications I spoke about earlier, I am of course referring to the dietary minefield that comes with watching early morning rugby in a pub, or wine bar, if you happen to live in Richmond.

Do you start with a cappuccino or a Guinness ? And as the aroma of sausages cooking in the pub kitchen invades the lounge bar, can you be strong enough to stick to your original choice of wholemeal toast and flora ?

 It takes nerves of steel to stick with the courage of your convictions, and a stomach of steel to survive the results of any lack of will power, so there are no real winners here.

Sufferers of high blood pressure, or hypertension as travel insurance providers prefer to call it, are particularly at risk due to several factors.

Firstly there is the almost cast iron certainty that the seat you have carefully selected and occupied since the pub opened, to give you optimum view of the screen, will be totally eclipsed when the largest resident of the town drags his, or her, bar stool in front of your line of vision five minutes before kick off, just breathe deeply and count to ten.

Secondly, as the referee blows his whistle to start the game, the television will mysteriously switch channels. Instead of watching Tommy Freeman steaming down the wing, you will be gazing at James Martin on Saturday morning kitchen, steaming his dumplings. I would suggest counting to twenty for this one.

Finally, there is the post noon exit into bright daylight that has you blinking watery eyed like a pit pony with hay fever. Your befuddled brain reminds you that there are still twelve hours of the day remaining for you to somehow negotiate.

I don’t pretend to know all the answers, and more illustrious scribes than I have wrestled with this problem.

Unsympathetic partners may take advantage of your lethargic state and lure you to the supermarket or other shopping establishments with coffee and pastry enticements, but beware. before you know it, you will be pushing a fully loaded trolley between the dog food and homeware aisles, with your latte and pecan Danish a distant dream.

Good luck my friends, if it’s any consolation you are not alone.