Cardiff pubs are packed by 1pm. Kick off is at 5:30pm. People everywhere, its a great buzz in the crowds, everyone is happy.
We meet Pam and Glen at the Cottage.
A quick hop around the corner and we luckily manage to squeeze into the Old Arcade. "Hymns and Arias" again. And again, into the gents. Today I'm all decked out in Welsh colours. As is everyone else.
The talk is about the England v France game last week. "Glad that England team didn't come to play us!"
"Yeah, and why didn't that French team turn up in Paris instead of the machine that we played?" I add. Blending in ever so subtly - or not.
"Ohhhhhhhh. Boyo here wants to be a Welshman today"
"Well, my dad is from Barry," which I have to say, as always, as "Baarrrrry" so people don't say "what berry is that then?".
"Barry!?!?!? OK then, bring it on boyo! That's good enough for me!"
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