Can't believe I didn't say anything here about the amazing cricket match that England won on Sunday. I suppose I must still be in shock. It was the closest result in Ashes history - England beat Australia by two runs.
For those that don't understand cricket: imagine the most exciting sporting event you can, then imagine all the tension stretched over every minute of three and a half days, and intensified because of it.
It's one all, with three to play. Remember - the English side hasn't won a series against Australia since 1985.
It could happen this year.
But if it does, and if every game is as close as this week's, I'll melt.
What made the event mean so much more to me personally was that the game was at Edgbaston, in Birmingham, where I first went to see a game of cricket, aged 8, with my grandfather. It was Warwickshire v Leicestershire, and David Gower scored 30.
My grandfather taught me to play cricket, and for years he lived on the doorstep of the Edgbaston Cricket Ground, until he died a couple of years ago. Every ball I watched on TV reminded me of him, of how much he would have enjoyed the game, of the jokes he'd have made while watching - the jokes that were older than him, (yet I still tell them now) - and how he would have laughed when England won.