Les Bleus v y Ddraig Goch

This coming Super Saturday is going to be a momentous one: Wales could achieve a Grand Slam.

If you're not a rugby fan here's a quick guide.

Six Nations competition - held annually, between Wales, Scotland, Ireland, England, France and Italy.

Grand Slam  - a team wins all five of its matches. 

Super Saturday - last day of competition when three matches are played (usually one is on the Sunday).

You can with the Six Nations competition and not do the Grand Slam; in fact, that's more often the case.

Okay, so you got all that?

Right, so on Saturday Wales takes on France. Before the tournament started the main hope for Wales was that we wouldn't come last. Italy usually - inevitably - has that honour. But suddenly we find the team here with four wins to their credit. To achieve the Grand Slam all they have to do is beat France.

Ha ha ha ha. France who went into the tournament as hot favourites. Wales who, though improving and definitely not lacking perseverance, has stumbled its way through.

And to make it worse the game is the final one of the day and isn't on until 8.00 pm! For goodness sake, I'm already thinking about bed by then. Now instead all my adrenaline will be pumping and I can give up hope of sleeping.

Interestingly - or possibly not - while doing my filing sort-out yesterday I found a piece I'd written for a sports website. (I know what you're thinking: what kind of halfway decent sports website uses material by this woman? Well, it was quite respected at the time and what's more, an article I wrote was picked up and put on the actual All Blacks' website too. Highlight of my career that.)

I was getting distracted, sorry. So, yes, I found this piece written after a previous critical Wales France game. It probably helps if you know something about rugby before trying to read it, although it is quite light-hearted. I just hope Saturday's game has a better result.

France v Wales 2003

Call me gullible, call me deluded, call me unforgettable even, but I actually believed that Wales could beat France. Not only could they, but they would take on the world champions and play them at their own game. Unfortunately it appears that no-one told the Welsh team that game was rugby.

So it turned out that the France Wales game was the Six Nations season in précis, albeit in a different order. A few minutes of hope and exhilaration; many more of disbelief and depression.

I upset the dog with my scream of delight when Gareth Thomas went over for the first try (by the way, why does he pat his head like a confused pensioner who’s lost his hat in the wind?) and when Martyn Williams nearly scored, I nearly wet myself. 

But then that true Frenchman, Dimitri Yachvili, took over and that was that. Perhaps it was the French air that did it, affected Welsh brains, made them think they could only go backwards.

Martyn Williams did try. He’d obviously been taking lessons from Rob Howley. If you can’t get the ball, point out the cheating to the ref. ‘Oh, ref, look, that big boy’s got the ball and he won’t let go of it. ‘S’not fair. Make him give it to me, ref.’

But now the World Cup looms and some face it with trepidation, but not me, and not Steve Hansen, if he takes these wise words of advice..

Credit for the first piece of wisdom must go to Jonathan Davies. After all, it was he who uttered the words, ‘Wales need to keep the ball.’ I’d take it one step further. Wales need to keep the ball — preferably stuffed up Mefin Davies’s jumper. 

‘Ou est le ball?’

‘Je ne sais pas, butt. C’est un mystery.’ 

While this French exchange is going on, Mefin can stroll casually, whistling ‘Delilah’, to the line and score. Easy. Of course, they’d have to vary the ball carriers and maybe bring in some pot-bellied players to act as decoys, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

My next suggestion is even more valuable as it will provide the players with a source of potential income when they retire. Are you listening, Mr Hansen?

Bring in a better line-out dancing teacher. One who knows a kick-ball from a heel-jack and doesn’t insist on a rolling vine when they should be monterey turning. A bit more of a jumping ex-jack from Charvis wouldn’t go amiss either. 

Then, in later life, instead of battling it out amongst themselves for the small number of after-dinner speaking bookings, they could take gainful employment from teaching line-dancing to old ladies in community halls up and down the country. 

But that’s looking too far ahead. Back to the weekend, and England finally, after numerous failed attempts, winning the Grand Slam. Makes the whole season worthwhile, doesn’t it?