What's the name of the game...?

Why, six nations rugby of course.
Today- Scotland versus Wales.
As you already know, I'm the one with Scottish roots.
What you may not know, is that The Writer is of Welsh origin.

It all started amicably.
It always does. We settled down with beer, our favourite rugger shirts, dug out from the back of the wardrobe, and a 'do not disturb sign' blu-tacked to the front door.

But it didn't take long for it all to go wrong.
Sy is torn between the telly and the computer, leaping to his feet every so often to punch the air and punch a few letters on the keyboard in one fluid movement.
I, on the other hand, have not moved.
That's a lie- i moved to collect the laptop from the kitchen, and am typing this as i peer half-heartedly across the top of the laptop at the telly, because once again, i have lost the will to live, and can't bear to watch the match in full screen.

We are losing.
Of course.
There may be a miracle....but i'm not hopeful.
There are 15 minutes left to play. If by some chance Scotland win, i will get very drunk.
And as you know, i don't get drunk very often as i get into all sorts of trouble.
But If Wales win (again), then i might have to leave the house for a little while.

Sy tells me that Wales wear red 'So the blood doesn't show'.
The point is, whose blood is he talking about..?

I know whose it will be in this house.

Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx