Let’s face it, I am not a man’s man. I will freely admit it. I would consider 3 pints of beer a major drinks binge, I have never stepped foot in a dogs track and I you won’t catch me playing a game of rugby on the XBox, let alone in a muddy field.

I prefer cushions over cigars and Haribo to horses (is that a good analogy?). I do like football and I’m getting married in a few months, so I suppose that qualifies me for Man Points.

I used up the majority of my small collection of Man Points on Friday evening. While most male residents of the country were sat at home, in pubs and clubs watching the England National Football Team take on the immovable force of Lithuania, I was in the theatre watching a musical.

The musical I was enjoying (yes, ENJOYING), was Joseph. When I was invited to watch it some months ago, I was always expecting good things, but I never expected it to be as entertaining as it was. It was such a well done production and the songs were superb – so much so, that after the production, while walking back to the car, we turned around, returned to the theatre and bought the CD. I’m still yet to play it, but when I do, my neighbours will no doubt have to endure the likes of “Joseph and his Multi-coloured Dreamcoat” on repeat throughout the day and night.

Saturday, I restored some masculine pride by visiting Twerton Park to watch Bath City. The referee was atrocious (for a change), so I shouted at him. Lots. It made me feel big and like a man.

On Sunday, any Man Points I racked up by verbally abusing a football official the day before, were soon diminished, when I spent far too long trying to fix the vacuum cleaner and clean the entire house.

I’m back off to football tonight. I’m going to eat a blue rare steak before I leave and also punch a kitten. I’ll feel as butch as Hulk Hogan.