Is there ever an escape from sport? All year round, us girls have to endure endless man chatter about ‘tries’, ‘transfers’ and ‘Tevez’  and deal with newsfeeds littered with Manchester United jokes we will never understand. We are sick of listening to our boyfriends drone on about their fantasy football team as if it were their first born child and I for one will never be allowed to forget that time I shut down Football Manager without saving over 5 hours of game progress (silent treatment for the night!). I want to punch that Sky Sports News girl in the gob because I’m sick of her endless, boring, breaking news. And Michael Lester, I haven’t forgotten about you! My Sunday Teen Mom watching is officially ruined.

July brings just what we all need. The Olympic Games. Three weeks every sport imaginable competing for pieces of gold. Well done to Katie Taylor and all, but I’d really rather drool over The Fighter for a sixth time with some cocktails. As for watching people dash from one spot to the next… Sure, can’t I do that down in the park?

Despite all this, I am never one to turn down an opportunity to visit the pub. Maybe I’ll research some of the athletes on Wiki and come up with some witty one-liners to impress my male friends. I’m sure I could handle some angry fist waving at the telly and I might even outlandishly wager my dignity in an attempt to impress fellow sport-admirers. Shouting profanities at the referee is a sure thing and I’ll bring my phone so that I can tell everyone how ‘we were robbed’.

I could be really convincing.

But I think I’ll just paint my nails instead.