Okay chaps, this is it – the taxi arrives in a bit over three hours and I’m finally unhitching myself from the laptop, at which I’ve been working my cojones off for the past month or so. It’s finally stopped raining in Italy, I hear, so I reckon it’s now safe to decamp there with Mrs WJ and the Dubeens, which we’ll be doing later on today.
I am a truly sad person in many respects, one of which is due to the fact that the bloody laptop will, I know, somehow find its way to the beach with us and so, like last year, I’ll be keeping one beer-stained eye trained on events back here while we’re away. Once I get back, of course, it’s straight into the maelstrom of the Connacht final and, depending on how that goes, the next match will either be a qualifier the weekend after or an All-Ireland quarter-final two weeks after the Salthill decider. Either way, we’re rapidly approaching shit-or-bust time in the championship. Which is why I definitely need two weeks in the sun to prepare for myself for all that lies ahead. Arrivederci!