A Good Time To Be Welsh

I qualify (in the terms that are accepted by international sport) as a Welshman but I have to say I have never knowingly presented myself as anything other than English. It seems that Christian Bale is the same - he was actually born in the Principality but avers himself English. I mention this merely because I had cause to admire the work of both the Bale boys at the weekend. And yes I know that they're not related but it makes a convenient peg on which to hang this post.

These for me were the cultural highlights of the weekend: Wales beating Belgium at football; Christian Bale (and others) in American Hustle; Gareth Edwards getting a knighthood.

I watched the football with my hands over my eyes because the fear kept creeping up on me that Gareth Bale and his team-mates would have the cup dashed from their lips at any moment. I really hope that they resist vertigo and go on to secure qualification for Euro 16. I actually hope that all of the home nations make it through. I know that Scots nationalism is tiresome but there is something charmingly bonkers about Gordon Strachan and I wish him well. As for Northern Ireland, well bonkers is a polite word for the whole country but I love it and the hospitality its natives have always lavished on me. England are already near as damn it qualified but I care least of all about their fate. Humility and English football make unlikely companions.

I came to American Hustle with trepidation because Daughter Number Two (usually a good judge) warned me off it. I think she was wrong. Christian Bale (whom I have never seen give a weak performance) was excellent. I thought this yet another notable example of America washing its dirty linen in public - I first heard that summation used by my father in the context of The Candidate and I have been reliably pilfering it for four decades now. 7.5, no, 8/10. That good.

Finally congratulations to Sir Gareth Edwards, the finest rugby player of my lifetime. Period.

PS. In case anyone is interested, Big Fat Pig ran for seventy-five minutes in the midday sun and came over all wobbly as a result. But he recovered sufficiently to mow the lawn so all is well.