Wasn’t the Six Nations fantastic?

Weeks of wall-to-wall rugby, and not just one but two matches some days.

Two!

His dream. My nightmare.

Although it’s not been all bad.

“What do you want for dinner?” I asked during the first game as he sat, eyes forward, remote control clutched tightly in his hand.

“Oh, whatever,” he replied not looking up. “A sandwich, or look,” he said, taking out his wallet and waving his debit card in my direction. “Get a take away.”

Not needing to be told twice I vanished into the kitchen, turned off the cooker, and picked up the phone.

Not content with supporting every local takeaway, more matches also meant we used up all those unusual things that had been languishing covered in white frost at the back of the freezer.

“Did you enjoy that?” I asked taking away the plate holding the remnants of a quinoa burger accompanied by Christmas cranberry stuffing.

“Lovely,” he said, shifting his neck to one side, dismissing me impatiently as the referee called foul much to the disapproval of the crowd and my armchair pundit.

With a now empty freezer, it was then time to clear out the wardrobe and put those too tight, post-lockdown clothes out of their misery.

“Do you want these?” I asked standing in front of the screen and holding up a pair of burgundy cords.

He looked up briefly, frowning, as he shook his head.

By the time I got to the jumper his mother brought him, I think for his confirmation, he was sighing deeply. “I don’t care what you do with them,” he said as the crowd cheered with approval.

Inwardly cheering too, I folded everything and put it into the charity shop donation bag before he could change his mind.

I couldn’t wait for the next match, time to sort out the utility room, in which there was no room and nothing of any utility.

By the time the pitch had cleared, so too had the half-used tins of out of date paint, a box full of things to be mended (actually labelled “things to be mended”) and his special “paint stirring” stick, redundant now we no longer had any paint.

I’m not sure which one of us was more excited about the last match and as he settled into his chair and I handed him a mug of tea, he smiled as he looked up briefly.

“Are you looking forward to the final?”

I smiled too, thinking of the crowded dusty shed and hoping he wouldn’t notice the large skip that was about to appear in the driveway.

“Looking forward to it? I can’t wait!”

Editor of The Muskerry News and Kenmare News, Kate can be also heard regularly on RTÉ Radio One getting “A Word in Edgeways”.