Had a terrible weekend.  I was at home with mum and dad when my Welsh speaking niece arrived wearing, of all things, a Cymru rugby shirt.   Virtual blasphemy in my father's house.   Still, after the Italian triumph on Saturday, I managed to cope. I gather the Sons of Glyndwr are blaming the English referee (who's always welcome to a pint at my expense when he passes through Philadelphia).  The culture of victimhood continues to thrive on the far side of the Severn, it seems.