I clearly have too much time on my hands and sport on the brain, and this is most definitely a bad combination. The sport bit seems somewhat unavoidable now - for a start the cricket's got off to a reassuringly ambling start at Lord's and my race is looming, and I came home from almost two weeks marooned half way across the globe only to receive a reproachful ticking off from my Wii Fit, which chided "Even if you're busy you should still take time to exercise." BUSY?! You don't know the half of it. You're a MACHINE! Yes, my Wii Fit is like a jealous partner, immediately suspicious should I spend time with any other exercise aid. My Wii Fit doesn't take the time to find out that actually I was ragging it up a tower in Boston. Having reprimanded me thus, Wii Fit, having told me in that unlikely helium-sucking voice to "Step on me" (which I always find a bit disconcerting), congratulated me on losing weight, then, when I scored 4 stars on a muscle workout, commented (somewhat proudly, as though it was somehow responsible for any sporting prowess on my part) "You're no stranger to exercise." Fickle machine. Didn't take back its wounding comments about my fitness commitment did it, though, hmm? Noooo.

Ahem.

So yes. My holiday came at possibly quite an opportune moment as my obsession with my new gadget, and my determination to get one over on it whenever possible, was in danger of spiralling out of control. "Unbalanced?" My partner caught me shouting at the screen after my fake little cartoon ski-jumper missed his take off and flew headlong down the slope in a giant snowball. "I'll show you unbalanced!"

"Do you think you might be taking this too seriously?" F ventured, gently prising the Wii remote out of my hand, which was fine, because I wasn't using it, I was too busy heading imaginary footballs at a fantasy goal while deftly dodging giant severed panda heads (no, I don't know either) and shouting "Get in! Oi, Taylor, where's my trial?"

So I had some unfinished business with my Wii Fit and its vilely nice fake personal trainer when I finally got home, and in case you're interested I've now beaten my high score on the hula hoop, step plus (yes PLUS - none of this half-arsed step for me), football, ski slalom, pretty much every muscle workout and yoga pose, not to mention the aforementioned ski jump, and my husband is starting to forget what I look like. Then Wii Fit - yes, the Wii Fit that told me it hadn't seen much of me lately - told me to take a break. So I skulked off to the gym and rowed 5K instead. SEE, WII FIT??? I CAN LIVE WITHOUT YOU!! BUT CAN YOU LIVE WITHOUT ME? HMM?

I also came home to the slighly improbable news that, in my brief absence, my football team had leapt inexplicably two places up the Division 2 table (remember that's Division FOUR to people who can count) to an unremarkable 14th as opposed to a dismal 16th. (Oh, don't worry, we've dropped back to 15th since and there's not a lot in it.) Overcome with excitement, my creative side jostled to get a word in edgeways, and the upshot is the first 3 verses of a 12-verse poem, which possibly shows I was reading too much Tony Harrison on the plane. Yes, as I said, too much time on my hand. You'll be pleased to know I just joined a choir...

Saturday. Another faceless town
Of pound shops and graffiti. Yet again
Supporters in their hundreds have come down
To brave the air of menace, and the rain.

Claret and amber-clad they left at dawn
With Ginsters to sustain them on their way
Longing for victory over rivals sworn,
Clinging to memories of glory days.

Four defeats in a row now, and one draw
Yet something tells them this time they will win it
If they can only maybe try to score,
Avoiding own goals in the ninetieth minute.