THE Prince of Darkness apparently bit off more than he could chew the other night. In a busy boozer, and well oiled with the required amount of vodka, he mysteriously materialised behind a young blonde and threw his arms around her, hoping his cloak of invisibility would hide his actions from the other partygoers.
Well, ok, there is a bit of spin put on this. What actually happened was that the Prince believed his intended victim was none other than The Solicitor, girlfriend of none other than Danny Boy (the Poipes, the Poipes). Knowing her fairly well he thought it quite within his remit to give her a friendly cutch (as the Welsh are prone to say).
But said cutch went rather wrong when the lady in questioned turned around and... wasn't The Solicitor at all. Now, I imagine the Prince made his rather incoherent excuses and left but this week the error of his ways was rammed home to him.
Danny Boy, never one to miss out on a tale - particularly one that he can vastly exagerate - confidently bowled over to him and informed him: "You know that girl you cuddled the other night? She only happens to be the wife of one of the tallest, toughest international rugby players in Cardiff."
Don't be surprised if the Prince remains in his mausoleum a bit more these days.
And that's it... I am off to Boston next week to see the Red Sox and have a (hopefully) relaxing break with Wren. I imagine we may have to do some sightseeing and shopping as well, but if that's the price I have to pay for a visit to Fenway (not once, but twice! much to Wren's carefully disguised anguish) then so be it.
Hopefully I can find an internet cafe from which to update you with tales of culinary delights in the States.