The pain and humiliation I experienced on the rugby field on Saturday was tempered significantly 24 hours later with the arrival of a very old friend.
Ironically, my pal Colin and I first met on the rugby field more than 30 years ago; Colin was the star player on Christie Memorial Primary School's crack mini-rugby team, and I wasn't the star player on Macosquin Primary's somewhat less well-drilled gather up.
We lost that day, but my abiding memory of the game was of Colin snarling as the blood ran out of his nose. I wasn't me who hit him.
We met again not long afterwards at Coleraine Inst where, for the next seven years, we played rugby together and went on various tours including to Japan in 1989. (It's the 25th anniversary of that trip next year and I have a plan which I hope to share with you in the coming weeks. Some of you might even like to get involved).
Colin - who is one of those weird arty types - has been based in Scotland for many years with his equally arty but thankfully not so weird better half Evie. And, 18 months ago, they were joined by Milo who, I discovered on Sunday, is possibly the smiliest little boy in Britain.
And wasn't just me who was taken by him. No, Charlotte fell in love with him.
Actually, it's a bit more disturbing than that. Having played with Milo and got to know him over several hours, my daughter chose to make an announcement.
"I want Milo in my bed!"
Unsurprisingly, Milo was soon bundled into the car and driven back in the direction of Scotland at great haste.
But the mental damage inflicted on me is done. I decided long ago that, once she reaches her teens, Charlotte will be forbidden from leaving the house. Following this alarming episode, I now see no alternative but to introduce an immediate ban on male guests.
