“Leave that jar of Nutella alone, it’s got my name on it !”
The context in which Deb issued this injunction to me probably requires some explanation.
It was Friday evening.
Wales had just…well…come second in the latest installment of their eternal battle with the English through the medium of Rugby.
There was no alcohol left in the house.
And only one source of chocolate.
From the safety of the Cupboard under the stairs, to which I had retreated at kick-off – the Welsh do take their Rugby quite seriously – I wondered about my better half’s change of name.
Shorn of it’s chocolate hazelnut spread connotations, you might think that Nutella was quite an nice name for a girl.
It certainly seems appropriate if the “Girl” in question is slightly unhinged by a combination of wine and wounded national pride.
I was going to write something here about how Rugby players all look like the Terminator and use this as a way of introducting the topic at hand. However, I realise that this would simply be too contrived…even for me.
Instead, I’ll jump straight in…