After Jo went out this morning, Susannah, Noah and I played hide-and-seek; followed by drawing at (and, in Noah's case, on) the dining-room table (don't tell his mother...); and a stroll to the park to feed the geese on the duck-pond, visit the swings (Susannah insisting that she wanted to go on the "big girls' swings, not the baby ones" - and find the new dragon sculpture; then on to the shops for a couple of newspapers and a packet of Rich Tea biscuits (come on - before you make any derogatory comments along the lines of, "typical dad's shopping," in my defence I am a dad!); and back home for melted cheese on toast for lunch. And we just managed to miss the rain.
After lunch, we watched the opening match of the 2005 Six Nations' Championship (alright kids, now it's daddy's turn) in an attempt to continue my children's rites-of-passage into the perennially painful existence of being a Scotland rugby fan, which is their birth-right (and responsibility) through their father's side. Which almost back-fired. For seventy-four minutes, Scotland (who lost to all five other nations in 2004) led France (who beat all five other nations in 2004), in Paris. Only after a Scottish try was controversially disallowed by the line-judge did France finally draw level, and go on to score again just 90 seconds from full time, to win 16-9. But it will be the French team who are licking their wounds tonight.
Then Jo got home, and decided she'd like to watch England play Wales. And Wales won, 11-9, in Cardiff. Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! (My grandpa was Welsh.) Today has been so close to perfect.