Saturday afternoons were made for...

I'm supposed to be at home right now dabbling in a spot of gardening while boyfriend paints my house. Regrettably, we are instead ensconced in his abode as he 'suddenly remembered' that his country were playing rugby this afternoon and there was no way he was missing it - it's another 'does Bill Gates know anything about of computers' type comparison here. Not having the relevant sports channel on my more humble (cheaper) cable connection we have postponed the DIY adventure until tomorrow (when it will no doubt be raining).

It matters not though as it has given me the perfect opportunity to leave him downstairs shouting at the television while I escape upstairs to write... and what better subject to ponder on than the man himself.

Boyfriend is not from these fair white-cliffed shores originally. He comes from a wilder, open landscape where you're in danger of being nibbled by a lion while out for an afternoon stroll. Perhaps it is this survivial of the fittest way of life that fires his unbounding and undented South African loyalties - no matter how many years have gone by since he last trod the bush. As the 'Mighty Bokke' take on the Maori magic of the All Blacks he is at present almost beside himself with frustration and excitment. He can't even remain in the chair for more than a few seconds. His beer goes untouched beside him, and he yells a commentary rich with expletives up the stairs. I'm surprised that they can't actually hear him in Blomfontein but am glad for the safety of the referee that they are many thousands of miles away.

At the moment the rest of my weekend is safe. South Africa are winning (but apparently, according to my very own commentator, they should be at least a further 12 points ahead). Any kind of loss does not go down too well. A dark cloud of gloom will settle above him and follow him around for at least a week like a lost and hungry puppy dog (the fierce, rabid kind). When this happens it's usually best to creep away in silence and blow a kiss from the safety of the car.

It really is most amusing to watch and gives me hours of pleasure. He's the same with cricket though the slower pace means he does at least get a chance to sit down and rant. And we don't even want to mention football - though here it is the 'Mighty Arsenal' (as I am ordered to call them) that he worships.

We have enjoyed many a discussion on sporting patriotism and I find the cultural differences between us a source of both entertainment and interest. South Africans never give up. Defeat is not in their vocabulary. They will keep going until the last man standing. Much as it pains me to admit it, he may have a point.

If you compare some of the lack-lustre performances of English sporting sides you have to wonder if much of the team are not motivated more by the bank balance than the pride of wearing their country's shirt. Perhaps after writing this praise of the determination of his sporting heroes he will forgive me for dragging him round the shops this morning (and a most fruitful shopping expedition it was - but that, dear readers, as they say is another story)!

Late edit: just noticed that this was my 100th post! Feeling rather chuffed with sticking ability to this blogging malarky!