It is a fact, little known or otherwise, that I enjoy a good game of rugby. Not playing it because I, well, don’t want to die… but to watch. Lovely. Especially since they have stopped looking like this
quite so much and have started looking like this…
It is a well known medical fact (unfortunately am having trouble finding a link to verify this… oh dear) that gazing at male prettiness takes pain away. And because I was stupid earlier today (I took my Mum to lunch and bit down on a lovely crunchy chip on the wrong side of my mouth - little twinge) and then a little bit more stupid later on (I bought a Byron Bay Cookie Company cookie… and did the same thing - bigger twinge)…
This evening my brother accidentally hit me in the face with a cushion (It was a whole giggling play fight thing) and there was a little shockwave thing (ooo, he looked guilty about that but there was no real ‘addition’ to the pain, but then my stupidity returned a half an hour after that when my brother offered me a glass of wine to make up for smacking me in the face… I accepted and stupidly forgot I had taken a number of painkillers today… The wine seemed to counteract all the good work the painkillers had done. Let’s just say I needed to take pain away.
Luckily for me The Six Nations have been on all day on and I have been watching in bits… and then watching a bit more… Lovely.
Wales did a sterling job in kicking some Italian butt, and then Ireland (that’s Republic of) danced a happy jig around Scotland… But the big one for me the England v France match… was all about pre-match pain because well, England have recently been playing, much like our football team, shite.
Today though was a shock. We won.
Sorry. Shall I say that again?
We won. Lovely. So I shall sleep the sleep of lovely dreaming of rugby sized thighs and wake tomorrow with no pain… ready to read… and comment… and be… zzzzzzzzzz…
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