And now I'm tucking into a big plate of spaghetti.
My mother is watching a rugby match in the next room. There's some angry chap on the soundtrack whom I wouldn't want to run into down the pub who keeps shouting- "Move, move!" They tried to get me playing rugger when I was a child. They wanted me to fling myself at other boys legs when they were running. What a nasty, rough game. Even nastier and rougher than football. I guess they thought it would be good training for charging across No-Man's-Land towards machine gun emplacements.
As soon as I finish the spaghetti I'm going to switch channels.