After watching Wales narrowly lose to France in this morning's Rugby World Cup semi final, everything felt a bit flat. Undoubtedly, we deserved to win and would have done, had it not been for the harsh decision to send Sam Warburton off early in the first half, thereby reducing the Welsh team to 14 players. I watched the match like an eight year old watches Dr Who: from behind the sofa - too afraid to look at the screen directly.
Cardiff had been so full of hope and anticipation in the lead up to the match. Every other person seemed to be wearing red. There was such an optimistic belief that Wales would make it to the Rugby World Cup final; such a wonderful atmosphere throughout the city. And during the game, it was like Christmas morning; there wasn't a car on the streets.
Afterwards, as everyone tried to reconcile their former belief that we would succeed with the now undeniable knowledge that we had not made it, those red shirts worn by every other person seemed to lose some of their vibrancy. In the centre of Cardiff the fans still spilled out of the bars onto the streets singing the national anthem interspersed with Delilah but all in a minor key.
I went for a quiet swim and later met a friend in town. It all felt a little flat and disappointing. Such a shame, as Wales had played some brilliant rugby both today and throughout the tournament. Play us out Tom...