On Tuesday night a friend said to me, 'I've got PMT already.'
'Tell me about it!'
The Six Nations rugby tournament starts on Saturday and throughout Wales thousands are suffering pre-match tension.
Of course, each team wants to win their first game but Wales take on England, the old enemy, at Twickenham, England's home ground. Oh my, oh my, oh my. It's the game that means more than any other. Victory and the rest of the tournament can be faced with equanimity; defeat - defeat is unthinkable.
Each of the last 3 years I've joined a fantasy rugby league. (You choose your players then depending on how the team does, you get points. You're allowed a maximum of 4 players from any one country and you're allowed to make substitutions in between games.)
I have a very scientific way of choosing my players:
a) do I recognise the name?
b) is he good-looking?
Add to that the fact that I have been known to choose players who aren't even playing and it explains why, in a league of several thousands, I usually end up in 2,745th position, give or take a few hundred.
But this time I'm really trying hard. I checked the matches out and decided which I thought would be the winning teams this weekend - Wales, Ireland and France - and have chosen the majority of my players from these teams. But that only gives me 12 players and I need 15.
My head tells me to put in some English players - Wales' record at Twickers isn't good - but my heart says that is disloyal, that by acknowledging the very possibility of an English win, I'm allowing it to happen.
Husband has entered 3 teams and has drawn up a very complicated system of odds and options, giving him a good chance of doing well in the league. He doesn't allow sentiment or national pride to get in the way.
But I'm Welsh; it matters to me.
P.S. Ladies, I'm going to look for some photos now ...