The third warming

Six Nations rugby is normally a balm of sorts - a grizzly riposte - to the longeurs of late winter when the returning sun seems to light more harshly the bleakness that keeps breaking through the promises of better things to come. But I was reminded of the World Cup this last year played in the summer with long evenings to boot (so to speak).

But I got out in the garden again for a good session of weeding, hoeing and generally toing and froing and turning and filling the compost bins, pruning and ripping out the impetuous and/or old growth.

A quick sprint over to John - deep in his slumbers - and back to watch France ' trying to play wide but without a platform to build on' against a valiant Italy and Scotland succumbing to England.