Right now I'm spoilt for choice about what to write about. There's the new year and all it promises, Saracen's director of rugby Brenan Venter and his "English referees are pants" outburst, the RFU's reaction to Mr Venter's strop, the right and wrongs of Mr Venter's strop or, of course, the weather.
Given that Venter's tirade has been done to death in various media, the weather wins because - as it stands - I last refereed a game of rugby on December 12th.
On the 19th, I hauled by backside south on a 75-mile trip to Devon, only to get there and find the pitch unplayable due to frost, and so I hauled it back to Somerset again.
Then came Christmas and following that a trip to Leeds to watch the Guinness Premiership basement battle against Bath (which the blue, black and whites thankfully won) in sub-zero conditions.
And then there's this weekend - not a chance of any sporting action anywhere, let alone donning my boots and whistle to referee any rugby.
Players' frustrations and not being able to play is equally matched by officials', who look forward to Saturday afternoons as much as anyone else. At this rate, even the weekend of the 16th looks doubtful - just how long will this sporting drought last?
The downside to this predicament is training as there's no chance of a twice-weekly run on the streets and pavements near me (unless of course you want to break your ankle/leg/wrist, etc) and so it means the gym.
The tedium of the treadmill is too much I'm afraid. OK, the weights and resistance stuff in the gym is fine by me - bring it on - but the treadmill? Ooh no, sorry.
I am hoping (maybe too optimistically) that the sports pitches near me at least give enough on top to allow a run around or two, that I can happily cope with.
I am therefore hoping that while the snow is fun for a bit, the damn stuff soon disappears before I really am forced to endure a mind-numbing spurt on the treadmill.
Happy training!
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