According to an old film I seem to remember, love means never having to say you're sorry.

And, very probably, so does refereeing. Never again will I criticise referees. You know why?

I refereed some rugby at the weekend, and the whole exercise is nigh-on bloody impossible.

My inventive, younger brother, Alan, organised a corporate touch rugby day on Friday.

The Anniesland car park was littered with R-reg, top of the range, cars.

Graham Watson and Dave Shearer from Touche Ross, Douglas Cairney from Royal Bank Development Capital and a host of other mega-earners from Arthur Anderson, Dickson Minto and KPMG spilled, like children let loose in a playground, into mixed touch rugby teams.

Now, it all sounded simple. Me and a certain Richard Gere lookalike with skinny legs, called Sean Lineen, who was nursing a monumental hangover, were referees.

Eight teams were split into two groups. Competitive? Ya beauty. It was like a feeding frenzy.

''John!'' came the shouts. ''That was forward!'' Or it was a penalty, or it wasn't a touch, or the defence wasn't back five yards or the scrum half wasn't allowed to run.

I wondered if these lads and lasses were used to hoodwinking the taxman in the same way they were trying to gull me. I felt inadequate.

Was that nice, long-legged blond from Dickson Minto actually in receipt of a forward pass?

Was I right to let her run on so that I could run behind her? I needed to enjoy the day too, you know.

Refereeing should be fairly easy. The rules of rugby, at least on paper, are straightforward. But, I tell you what, trying to get it right, even in a fun game of bounce touch rugby, is almost impossible.

I found that unless I was directly in line with a pass it was hard to tell whether or not it was forward. Hard? It would be easier to find Hitler in Argentina.

A touch in touch rugby should be easy to spot. You have to touch someone with two hands, between hips and waist. Which is all very well until you realise that folk duck, dive, squirm and wriggle, and telling if someone was ever touched is a stonker.

''Touch!'' the defenders would shout. ''Rubbish!'' the attacker would say. My negotiating skills were immediately brought to the fore.

''And do you really think you touched him/her?'' I would ask someone who is earning 10 times my money.

I would ask with sincerity, as if to say: ''You wouldn't lie to your esteemed opponent now, would you?''

Yes, admitted the millionaire, and the tycoon in the other side would grudgingly accept the apology.

In touch rugby you get five touches with which to use the ball, and if you don't make ground the other team gets the ball. I'd lose count all the time.

I was only safe in that the top people had lost count too. A wee warning there for some of you when you get your next fee notes.

I even got the times of some of the games wrong. ''How come you've managed to get through more games than Sean?'' asked my brother.

I hadn't a clue and my brain had gone. Just as I hadn't a clue about refereeing. No, never again will I malign referees. Mind you, Lineen was one hell of a lot worse.