I am not quite sure that the England Squad fully appreciate the damage they did when crashing out of Euro 2016. I'm not talking national pride here - more the Balance of Power in the home of my (Not So Very Little) Welsh
When Rooney and Co lined up before the match against Iceland to sing the National Anthem, all three boys suddenly decided to support England. This unprecedented act of solidarity was almost certainly,
according to their mother, my Darling Daughter in Law, to show support for their father, even though he was absent at the time having joined a friend in a pub. As you do on Big Match Days. Well, as some people do, not me to be fair. I'm happy to watch from
my armchair with Mr B providing his own inimitable match commentary throughout the game. (My own match commentaries are, likewise, unparalleled in the history of football punditry. What they lack in hard, footballing facts, they more than make up for in acute
observations of hairstyles, length of shorts worn and the fact that an astonishing number of players seem to be wearing odd football boots.)
So what happened? Dismal failure, that's what - though of course
you don't need me to tell you that as acres of newsprint have been taken up with the inevitable post mortem. Trees have died. So, presumably, have My Boy's efforts to persuade his lads that it's perfectly possible to support both Wales and England. Instead
he has to spin them that Old Line about true supporters never abandoning "their" footie team, no matter what. I doubt the Duracell Bunny was convinced.
Yesterday My Boy was at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff
with his eldest son to welcome home Gareth Bale (he of the top-knot) and the rest of the team. Such excitement - and the Manic Street Preachers too.
It seems to be the season for eliminations. All the home
teams are out of Euro 2016, the also-rans in the race to become Britain's new Prime Minister have had to bow out. People have been resigning right, left and centre.
Perhaps the worst hatchet job, however,
has been reserved for Mrs White. I mean, what has she ever done wrong? Except, perhaps, the occasional murder. Now she is no more, she has been dispatched, she has vanished, never to be seen on a Cluedo board again. Her crime, apparently, is to be (i) an old-fashioned
stereotype and (ii) boring. It is difficult to decide which is the worse. All her fellow characters have emerged unscathed from the Night of the (Kitchen) Knives despite the undoubted fact that Colonel Mustard is a military stereotype and Professor Plum is
just plain boring. I blame Miss Scarlett - and she should be careful what she wishes for, given that Mrs White's successor, Dr Orchid, is more than a tad exotic and will give the Scarlett One s run for her money when it comes to wielding a dagger, or a knife,
or even a candlestick.
Most of us, of course, will go on playing with our old Cluedo board game, Mrs White and all. We are hardly going to dash out to the shops to buy an up to date version simply because
Mrs White is a mere cook while her replacement is a doctor.
We will stay loyal - just as footie fans stay loyal to their teams, despite desperate disappointments along the way.
Let's hear it for Mrs White. In the Drawing Room. With a piece of lead pipe.