Wemberley

I'm off to Wembley in a few minutes. Its the third time in 2 years. I want everything to be perfect. It won't be. My stomach feels weird - nit my own. I'd love to think that its pre-match nerves but the symptoms are too similar you youngest son who came home from school ill on thursday. He's not nervous about the game - and I'm not sure that the butterflies are contagious in that way.

(Pause to feed whinging cat - he's not nervous either)

I decided not to go on the coach from cardiff with friend who took children and fathers. I opted for the drinking choice, the cheap hotel, the national express. Not sure my stomach agrees. I have to hide my blue shiny shirt until I meet the protection of the crowd - living as I do in enemy territory. The bus will be a shiny blue sea.

Fretting about being late because of traffic, about being too hot, being too cold, drinking too much and being ill, not drinking enough and being left out, losing my stuff, missing the bus. Oh - before i forget - there's the small matter of a game. Not much I can do about that.