Edinburgh turns red
Saturday was a sea of red in Edinburgh, as the Welsh fans descended on the city. Our work had - fortuitously - taken us there for the Six Nations game, and we had managed to get tickets.
As we got the bus into the centre of Edinburgh at 11am, there was a queue of about 100 outside the Haymarket Bar, being allowed in slowly by the bouncers. Through the window I could see another 50 souls already queuing at the bar, desperate to slake the thirst arising from the night before.
The Welsh had an amazing capacity to drink, and recover. Breakfast in the hotel - which we skipped - was very, very, busy, despite them all having been out on the town until very late the night before. Saturday explained why.
We went for a quiet lunch in a pizzeria in the Grassmarket. Which was anything but. Having a coffee in the "Last Drop" whilst waiting for the restaurant to open, we were surrounded by hundreds of rugby fans quaffing beer like it was going out of fashion. And that was just the women.
It was barely above freezing, and I was wearing two t-shirts, three pairs of socks and a warm hat, and I was shivering in the cold. The Welsh were wearing t-shirts. And that was just the women.
Even the restaurant was filled with fans "Table for Jones?" was the cry, and we returned to the hotel to put on more layers before braving the wind chill.
The game was not of the best, but we won, so who cares? Sue claims to be the lucky mascot, having been at the last three home games in the Six Nations, and everyone a winner. We were at the Australia game in November which we lost, and that was the only one to which we didn't (allegedly) take a little bottle of something to keep the chill out. In true Edinbro too-posh fashion we disdained the dram for a nice small bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, mainly due to the availability in the honesty bar at our hotel.
Need I describe Edinburgh that night? The Welsh in our hotel got back in the wee small hours still searching for more drink, but still made breakfast in the morning. They are the nicest, maddest crowd, ever, and we may go to Cardiff next year.
What impressed us more than anything was that the majority of women were going to the game too - either with the partners or as a hen group. Last year the English rugby crowd was clearly delineated: men to rugby, women to the shops. Sue described the women as "scary", which they were if all you saw was the beer and t-short, but actually they were just having a fantastic time.
As we got the bus into the centre of Edinburgh at 11am, there was a queue of about 100 outside the Haymarket Bar, being allowed in slowly by the bouncers. Through the window I could see another 50 souls already queuing at the bar, desperate to slake the thirst arising from the night before.
The Welsh had an amazing capacity to drink, and recover. Breakfast in the hotel - which we skipped - was very, very, busy, despite them all having been out on the town until very late the night before. Saturday explained why.
We went for a quiet lunch in a pizzeria in the Grassmarket. Which was anything but. Having a coffee in the "Last Drop" whilst waiting for the restaurant to open, we were surrounded by hundreds of rugby fans quaffing beer like it was going out of fashion. And that was just the women.
It was barely above freezing, and I was wearing two t-shirts, three pairs of socks and a warm hat, and I was shivering in the cold. The Welsh were wearing t-shirts. And that was just the women.
Even the restaurant was filled with fans "Table for Jones?" was the cry, and we returned to the hotel to put on more layers before braving the wind chill.
The game was not of the best, but we won, so who cares? Sue claims to be the lucky mascot, having been at the last three home games in the Six Nations, and everyone a winner. We were at the Australia game in November which we lost, and that was the only one to which we didn't (allegedly) take a little bottle of something to keep the chill out. In true Edinbro too-posh fashion we disdained the dram for a nice small bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, mainly due to the availability in the honesty bar at our hotel.
Need I describe Edinburgh that night? The Welsh in our hotel got back in the wee small hours still searching for more drink, but still made breakfast in the morning. They are the nicest, maddest crowd, ever, and we may go to Cardiff next year.
What impressed us more than anything was that the majority of women were going to the game too - either with the partners or as a hen group. Last year the English rugby crowd was clearly delineated: men to rugby, women to the shops. Sue described the women as "scary", which they were if all you saw was the beer and t-short, but actually they were just having a fantastic time.
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