I'm off on my travels again next week

(Deafening chorus of "We don't care, Vort")

But just pausing to note the fine games of rugby at the weekend, fine efforts from England an France who I would have placed money on being steamrollered before the match. Sadly a friend of mine was in a pub where the Kimi supporters, drinking since the Aussie match earlier that day, started trashing the place after losing.

So much then, for the "sport of gentlemen" moniker . . . back to the "instant arsehole - just add alcohol" label so beloved of football the world over.

Sorry to see Hamilton lose his chance to sew up the Formula 1 championship . . . McLaren so busy snooping around Ferarri that they forgot to pay attention to the tires. Still, did he blame the pit crew? No. Did he start whining about Alonso? No. I think his next race will be his finest moment.

Personally, I got to try out my new epee blade. I think it's love. It's fast, light, accurate and strong . . . plus my usual in-fighting tactic of froissement and angulation resulted in the blade (which usually either misses or slaps flat with my other epees) embedding itself point-first in my opponent's throat.

Touche!