It's Raining, It's Pouring, My Love Life Is ... None Of Your Damned Business Actually

It's tipping down or more exactly it's coming down only just beyond the horizontal so strong are the winds. The cover has blown off the barbecue twice today and I have had to venture out to retrieve the situation.

But despite the ghastly weather a middle-aged man's thoughts turn to mid March and the Cheltenham Festival. Now less than four weeks to go until the roar that greets the first race. I will be going for the first three days and a smile adorns my face just typing about it. Get on!

It's been a busy old time and I've enjoyed the last two weekends in Anglesey. The first I went with JRS for a highly convivial few days of beer and sport. We partook of the former and watched the latter. We did have our golf clubs with us but the weather dissuaded us from using them and instead we confined our exercise to walking round to the Ship Inn at Red Wharf Bay for Sunday lunch. We managed to fit that in around watching three games of international rugby, two live rubbers in the Davis Cup and a disappointingly one-sided Superbowl. A capital weekend. Thanks John.

I made another lunchtime appearance at the Ship last weekend but this time it was Saturday and I was with Sharon. The landlord paid me the compliment of remembering my face. We even went back to Red Wharf Bay on Sunday but this time gave the Old Boathouse a go. Most excellent fish pie and a fair enough bottle of Sauvignon blanc. It's a hard life.

My vague prognostications on the Six Nations are looking mildly wise. France have improved, England are competent but don't score enough points when in the red zone, Ireland are zealous and well-prepared, and Wales came an almighty cropper in Dublin last week. Utterly predictably Mike Phillips got into a scuffle. Poor little soul.

My thoughts are turning to purchasing a new car now that Sharon no longer has a company car. It must be my age because I am most interested in value for money and fuel efficiency. However, fear not, the Overgraduate will not be divesting himself of the precious Jag. It shall remain a weekend indulgence.