Ok, so I couldn’t play tennis yesterday as there was an inch of frozen ice covering the courts. Which, rather pissily, is still there this morning. As temperatures here have stayed at about -15 for a week. Ok, -1 for a couple of days, but that’s cold enough. Chicago the other day was -27. Though they were different minuses to the ones we know. They were Farenheits. And here’s a funny thing. I grew up in Fahrenheit. I lived my life in Farenheits until they changed it. So I only really think in Farenheits, when its hot. I know that 28c = 82f. And I know 82 is hot. Whereas 20c means nothing to me. I can’t ‘feel’ it. However, when it all goes minus, Farenheits just stop making any sense. Because zero celcius is +32 Fahrenheit. So 15F is…. is… I have absolutely no idea. Whereas -5C I can feel in my soul. Just reading it makes me shiver.

So yesterday, after my usual early martial arts class, which energises and wakens and fires every fucking synapse in my body, I was somewhat deflated by the lack of tennis. But I was saved. Because Lila was coming over to watch Spurs play in the early kick-off. She simply wouldn’t miss it. And this is how the first half panned out: Spurs attacked, and attacked and attacked, Newcastle defended and defended and defended. Those Geordies treated the half way line like an electric fence. They stayed back, they were resolute, they were solid, they were FUCKING DULL!!! And devoid of attacking promise, never mind threat, and were content to sit back with 9 at the back. Though to give them (some) credit; that is a very difficult and energy sapping way to play a game. The first half ended 0-0. The second half thus started 0-0 and looked like carrying on the same way forever. And then, with just 7 minutes to go, the absolute God that Son Heung Min has become scored the goal which, effectively, saved the entire planet. It saved us from a draw. It saved Manchester City from 2nd place in the league, it saved Liverpool from any early delusions of grandeur they may have and it saved me, Lila and her dad from total depression. And saved Fernando Llorente from disgrace. Because he may not be able to hit a barn door at 3 yards, but he can find a South Korean with a questionable handball just when we needed it.

Then, after a fabulous walk in the winter sunshine, with Lila’s buggy slipping round on the ice, there was the rugby. England playing in what has become the killing fields of Dublin. Where even the All Blacks couldn’t win. But win was what we did. And it was magical and it was magnificent and it was majestic. My my. Mako Vunipola may sound like the sushi special of the day in a Roman restaurant but he is in fact the best prop forward in the world. But every forward was outstanding. Every back was incredible. This was really the battle between Eddie Jones and Joe Schmidt. And Eddie won. Ably assisted by 20 total superstars.

Happy Sunday,

A xxxx