Pnawnd da Cymru

We took a trip to the land that the World Cup forgot today.

You will not find the cross of St George fluttering from cars the western side of the Severn estuary, where life goes on as normal and sporting brains are tuned into the visit to New Zealand by the Wales rugby team.

It's a situation your average Welshman is well used to. The national football side last qualified for the finals of a major tournament as long ago as 1958. The captain was Dave Bowen - a genial chap whom I got to know when he was secretary of Northampton Town and I was a young sports reporter back in the 1980s.

Anyway, we didn't have a very successful expedition today. We tried to find a well-known tourist attraction (that shall remain nameless because it's probably the easiest place in the world to find!), but got hopelessly lost twice - and we eventually gave up trying.

So we just spent the rest of the afternoon loading up our car with a mountain of our son's belongings. He is preparing to move out of his hall of residence as he graduates from the University of Cardiff.

Then it was back to the land of the fluttering flags - still flying despite England's distinctly underwhelming start to their World Cup campaign.