Matt Dawson is to retire - yippee!

It's the first time I've seen a rugby referee go off injured in the middle of a game. He didn't come back on at half time. He looked all right so I suspect it was a stress-related condition: the first half was rather trying for everyone.

I think some of the Llanelli Scarlets were also suffering with stress. It's the only thing that can explain their poor second half performance. Giving Wasps, led by Lawrence Dallaglio (ppppttthhh), the Powergen Anglo-Welsh Cup. The only good news of the afternoon was that Matt Dawson has announced his retirement (he actually announced it on Friday but I only just heard about it). Martin Johnson was so ugly you couldn't help liking him but Dallaglio and Dawson just added arrogance to bad looks.

But what has become of lovely Jonny Wilkinson? And how come Gary Lineker, a footballer, gets to go out to Augusta - at the licence-payers' expense - to present the Masters golf?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In church this morning we had an open meeting. This means there isn't a designated speaker but those people who, given the slightest opportunity, will say something, can all stand up and say their pieces. We are supposed to be a very free church, easy-going and relaxed, where the people who come are all part of 'us' and encouraged to share thoughts and ideas. But very few do. Not out the front anyway. Or anywhere else that I know of. I've come to dread open meetings because you know who will stand up and you can predict the lines along which they will speak.

That's very strange: I hadn't realised I felt like that until I wrote it. I am becoming (have become?) very cynical.

One of the girls who often speaks - and whom I like very much and enjoy what she has to say as a rule - this morning - I nearly wrote shared before I stopped myself using the word in such a 'Christian' way - said that God had told her to fast. 'Just as I was about to get milk out of the fridge to put on my cereal, a little voice told me to fast,' she said.

I'm afraid I would have gone temporarily deaf if God had told me to fast BEFORE I'd had my cereal. I love my bran flakes and milk too much. Perhaps that's why I think God doesn't speak to me: I'm too busy crunching my cereal to hear him.

Never mind, it's the Easter special next week. On Good Friday we're having an 'installation' (one of Chris's words), whatever that may be, in the main hall, which will be open all day for people to call in and meditate, pray, read, write, whatever.

Then on Sunday we're having the Christmas concert replayed with an Easter theme. Alun has roped me in to be a puppeteer - the puppets are singing the Hallelujah Chorus. I have been rehearsing with a naked hand and I find I have a problem. Just like Gavin Henson, I forget to close my mouth when I've finished. But, unlike Gavin, at least I am aware that this is a problem.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My dress is dyeing as I type.