Although I thought I would have an extra hour in bed yesterday because of the clocks reverting from the ironically titled British Summer Time (it's next weekend) my Sunday wasn't too bad as we commuted to one of the less attractive parts of England (the depressed ex-steel town of Corby, more famous for the trouser press which actually originates from Windsor) where my son showed the English how a (half)Welsh scrum half would run a rugby game. We came back to a quiet house because the female part of the family had disappeared to take advantage of the blue skies by going out walking (from the car to the park coffee shop and back) which meant that we could watch the replay of the Korean GP in peace. I watched Bladerunner (The Director's Cut) with my son in the evening, ostensibly to aid him with his Media Studies revision, but in reality because the girlies were watching the Dancing Factor or whatever. Sending everyone else to bed I watched Arsenal stuffing Man City on Match of the Day (no, not another reality dating programme) with a couple of nice glasses of Sainsbury's cheapest Rioja before retiring.
That is what Sunday's should be about. No forums, no backbiting, no problem!
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