An oh so alluring aroma of sweaty kit pervades the hallway, the remote appears jammed on sport and strange refreshments of coconut water and beetroot juice are breeding in the fridge. My husband is home. It must be the Six Nations. Brace yourself.
One thing you can be sure of when the great tournament comes to town: everyone develops a penchant for punditry. From the die-hard rugby addict to the girl – or guy – who simply enjoys a dose of men in tight shorts (no shame – you know who you are!) – every fan becomes a sports critic. And to work in a TV station is to be at the epi-centre of armchair analysis. I have often experienced the awkward colleague avoiding interaction with me on team selection day. When Wales are ‘in camp’, the office is an extraordinary place for me to be. Home, on the other hand, offers the novelty of the ordinary.