Monday
I’m happy that the Red Roses won, of course, but sad that the women’s Rugby World Cup is over. Not because I have finally found my (spectator) sport – my patriotic and competitive instincts remain unstirred regardless of which sex is playing and with what shaped balls – but because, as an older sister, I am always here for first-borns asserting their God-given right to mess with the rest (the intruders, the interlopers, the destroyers of peace and maternal patience, call them what you will).
