It's Rugby World Cup time. Finally.

My beloved homeland stumbled out of the blocks with a laboured win over rugby-minnows Namibia and all optimism - sky high after a fine Six nations - has disappeared as quickly as yoghurt eaten by a man with a really bad case of the runs.

Would be fine if we didn't have to play our arch nemesis of recent years Les Phaps and The masters of the Garyowen-and-grind Argentina. It's like looking down a very dark tunnel and the only chink of light that flickers merely reveals a possible quarter final against Les noirs.

We shall see what happens and we shall not go gently into that good night. But we do really need to make sure auld hairy head (see below) doesn't cripple anyone in green. Ouch.