I went to see my first live professional rugby match recently. And I had a great time. 10 years ago that’s not a sentence I can imagine being able to put together. My younger self would despair.

I grew up in a family where there was a lot of playing, watching and talking about rugby. I absorbed most of the rules just through being in the same house as these rugby fans. Even the family pet dog’s name, Deano, was inspired by rugby. I’m sure I caught several rugby games on the TV with my family as a child.

With all this enthusiasm for the game at home, I was excited to try playing for myself when it was given as an option at school in PE. But it was only touch rugby  with no dramatic tackles. And then we moved away from the area, and that school, a month later before I could perfect my touch rugby skills.

I’d always wanted to like poetry more than I did. There are individual poems I've fallen in love with and kept, memorised, shared. But as a genre I've always been slightly wary around it. The rules are opaque to me in a way that prose isn't. So it was only by accident that I found myself in a small Camden bar, watching a poetry slam - it's not a place I would have chosen to go. Well, not before; I'm a convert.

I could tell you what made it so good, but poet and BBC Scottish National Slam Champion Sophia Walker has performed all over the world and is much better than I am at capturing the energy and beauty of performance poetry. So I interviewed her, and she also filmed one of her poems just for us, take a look...

Trapeze artist, exotic dancer, and grand prix racer, Bugatti Queen Hellé Nice was not one to shy from the spotlight.

Born Mariette Hélène Delangle in a small town near Chartres in December 1900, at the age of 16 Hellé Nice was lured to the bright lights of Paris where she became a celebrated dancer performing with Maurice Chevalier at the Casino de Paris. 

In 1927, Nice was invited to take part in the Actors’ Championship, a celebrity race that used prominent figures in the performing arts to promote grand prix-style racing. She leapt at the chance, and won the race. While her interest in racing was piqued, her competitive appetite was not satisfied, and Nice became determined to race at a higher level. 

This is it; the looming exam season has now arrived. Squeamish Sue would have revised but there’s been a death in the family and an impromptu garden funeral. That’s not why Squeamish Sue’s dressed in black though…

I have been suffering bouts of something called Arrhythmia, which is an intermittent irregular heartbeat. I went to my GP who said it needed capturing on an ECG before any definite diagnosis could be made; seemingly my articulate description of the symptoms was insufficient. So, each and every time this Arrhythmia made itself known, I just ‘popped’ in to the surgery for said ‘capture’. 

As you read this 4 of the Squeamish team are in Thailand. Squeamish Louise and Gareth are ensconced on the island of Samui visiting family and probably doing active things. Like hiking. Squeamish Kate and Squeamish Nicola could be anywhere, choosing to visit Koh Tao before heading north to Chiang Mai to wash elephants (Plan A was to ride them but it turns out that’s hideously cruel. This is cruelty-free plan B). Hanging out with elephants is about as active as it will get for their Thai adventure. Hopefully no disasters will strike either intrepid pair, nothing that can’t be spun into a charming anecdote anyway… 

According to the results of an online personality test I took a few weeks ago, I am 100 percent male and zero percent female.

My chromosomes would beg to differ.

But my apparently male characteristics – a penchant for obscenity, extreme competitiveness, and a collection of filthy jokes – might explain why I’ve yet to feel at a disadvantage for wearing heels in the paddock.

The accepted wisdom is that women don’t get equal treatment in Formula 1. We’re relegated to the roles of PR, grid girl, or girlfriend, and not accepted as journalists, drivers, or engineers.

It might be a little surprising, but nuns and the Vatican don’t appear to be seeing eye to eye on a couple of things lately. In 2009 the Vatican was reported to be conducting an investigation of American nuns because too many convents were taking the Sister Mary Clarence route, going out into the communities to help the vulnerable and needy. Turns out turning a blind eye to contraception when it comes to a family of 7 living below the poverty line is tantamount to Rad Fem as far as the Vatican is concerned. Yesterday the Vatican criticised Sister Margaret A. Farley, a member of the Sisters of Mercy and a professor emeritus of Christian ethics at Yale University for her book Just Love, a Framework for Christian Sexual Ethics.  

Yesterday was Josephine Baker’s birthday. She would have been 106. In my review of Bette & Joan  I mentioned how the actresses were portrayed as lamenting the rise of the identikit star. All blonde, all tanned, all slim and all on message. No more personalities. Personalities are difficult. The only personality trait our starlets seem to have now is ‘troubled’ which is a euphemism for drug addled and dead behind the eyes. I shan’t say Baker was never drunk or drug addled, I will say no one will allow us to see her like again. Too risky, too risqué. The Naughty Noughties can suck it, if you want risqué reference the 1920s. 

Mention Josephine Baker today though and most people will think banana dance. A joyful thought, I agree, however there is more than just a banana dance to Baker. 

It's impossible to escape the bunting and the Union Jack flags at the moment. Most of the Squeamish team are - intentionally or otherwise -out of the country for the jubilee weekend. But even with that and our other tips for avoiding the Jubilee it's become impossible to ignore the growing tide of dubious tie-ins. I'm not just talking about all of the shop windows festooned with flags, and all the talk of "a very British summer" (I'm not entirely sure what that is, but I suspect it involves getting smashed on Pimms in the rain while moaning). No, I'm talking about products that have... tenuous links to the jubilee, but have still decided to cash in. We've rounded up some of the worst offenders: