March 8th

So the text from A duly arrived informing me of her illness, and thereby granting me my morning in bed. Spent it with my rediscovered friend Lt Columbo who thwarted a very dodgy dentists dasatardly doings.

Up then, and the challenge for the day is to get a run built for the newest addition to the family, who if I haven't mentioned it before is names Sherbert. He has taken up residence in the shower room for the past week, and as a result I am finding cleaning myself up for the day less than easy. In fact the first thing I usually feel as I enter the room is my right foot squashing flatone or more rabbit turds. Sometimes the ensuing paste will even lodge itself between my toes, which is even more pleasant. Anyway, enough of this, the endearing little rodent must move out to the garden asap. Just after Columbo I switched over to a very tasty rabbit recipe on Beeb One, and for a while he was at risk from others than the feline murder squad in the house.

After paying out nearly £50 for timber and chicken wire, I went with Emsy to town so she could buy herself her first mobile. Felt ofit as something of a right of passage, further evidence of her childhood slipping from her grasp. She was of course thrilled. I made sure we held hands every time we crossed the roads. It won't be allowed for much longer. At one stage we actually skipped together along the pavement and I just wished we'd done such things thousand times more in the past.

We are into March now, and the year is starting to take it's course. Jan and Feb are rather devoid of landmarks. I don't do Valentines, there's pancake day I suppose, but it's always just an addendum to the day. Feb 29th ahas been and gone for another few years. The international rugby is a sign of the late winter, but I was never that keen on it and suspected it may have shifted around in time. In fact I feel fairly sure it used to be on before Christmas. But today it's quarter finals day.

I remember once, long, long ago, sitting sdown to Grandstand in black and white and watching the day's events unfold. On one glorious day of sport came the Boat Race, the Grand National and the 6th round of the FA Cup. All four ties completed between 3pm and twenty to five. It was a gray and misty day, no doubt made greyer an mistier by the feeble black and white image. I was enthralled as the variou dramas played out before us. It was a perfect sporting day.

Today's fare is more watered down. The rugby matches take place one after the other for the benefit of us couch potatoes, and the FA Cup matches are spread out over two days so not a ball kicked will be missed by the obsessed. All the mystery though of something unfolding out of our view is lost. Everything is there for the tele viewer on demand. I remember waiting that day for endless hours for the flickering highlights on "Match of the Day" late at night. How much sweeter they seemed for the wait.

The happy news is that he Scumbags got mighty comeuppance. They dominated the game against Portsmouth, like a ramoaging army beating at the walls of a city. But by a combination of sheer good fortune, plucky defending, and dismal finishong, Pompey held them at bay before being awarded a late penalty themselves, which sunk the Red Scum. Needless to say defeat was not taken in good grace, the management whining and whingeing about the referee who actually had the balls to awarded a penalty against them at Old Trafford. Must have been about the third in history!

Later in the day Barnsley turn over Chelsea. Now let's go back to that day oin 19 sixty whenever. If I had been told then that I would be quite happy to see the Blues dumped out of the cup quarter finals by a second divison outfit, I'd have had you committed. Now Chelsea are just a bunch of mercenaries from four continents who care as much about the club as I now do, but who stuff their pockets full of four years of my hard earned cash every single week. Good for Barnsley, and if Cardiff can beat Middlesburgh tomorrow there will only be one "premiership" team in the semi finals.