The truths they don't want you to read....
It was a boys weekend away at the rugby, and I'm just back having watched a very satisfying (and somewhat surprising) draw.
It was great to be back in Edinburgh for leisure, rather than a rushed visit for work, although the city had a slightly less chaotic feel, perhaps due to the peripheral chaos caused by the tram works keeping the hordes from descending on Princes Street. Or maybe I was just in there too early on Sunday morning to see the drunken masses roused from their pits.
Anyway, us boys had a fantastic time in our excellent seats, and we celebrated in a fine licensed establishment in Corstorphine. My travelling companions with a diet Pepsi and me with a diet Belhaven (or two) to wash down our large and sumptuous meal.
Why the lack of drunken debauchery and tales of the Grassmarket, and go-gos in the Blue Blazer, and pints in the Diggers, and everything else I wouldn't get up to?
My companions were our two boys on their first ever visit to Murrayfield, and were they (briefly) stunned into silence by the size if the crowd and sheer spectacle. Youngest took lots of photos of the animals at the zoo and the animals on the pitch despite his broken arm. No David Bailey, but he certainly had fun.
It looks like a diary date for next year, for all five of us.....
Very many thanks to my good lady wife for organising a wonderful birthday surprise.
Need I say more....
Loved the extensive objective coverage on the BBC
(sic)...
Substance abuse in the Western Isles is not as prevalent as in the rest of the UK, and certainly does not have the same level of sophistication, and
je ne sais quoi of the mainland.
So it proved last night.
We walked into a newly refurbished bar in the town centre and saw the rolled-up fivers. An immediate give away.
And then the white powder* on the bar counter, in full view of the bar staff. Shock, horror!
And the crushed limes. Limes?
As we entered, some members of the visiting rugby club were drinking tequila (or it could have been vodka or gin, or possible even water, but I very much doubt the latter), snorting the salt
[for it was nothing more than salt that was the white powder on the counter and not any other substance, licit or illicit**] and squeezing the lime into their eyes. Or possibly snorting the limes and putting the salt into their eyes. Or any permutations based on the above, as long as the alcohol went into the mouth.
We watched in awe as their capacity for drinks was tested to the limit. Glancing at the multiple TV screens showing a Laurel & Hardy film only exacerbated the sense of surrealness which was only broken by the Captain organising the teams into a pub crawl for later - "Right, in case you get lost, it is the Crown, the Clachan, MacNeils and then the (deleted) Whalers" - which is of course absolutely no use to a the visitors who hadn't the faintest idea where they were. Or what day it was. We mentally ticked off the list, finished our drinks and moved to an establishment not on the list.
With no Sunday ferries, they are probably starting the Sunday pub crawl as I write, and I would recommend that those of a sensitive disposition avoid the ferry tomorrow morning.
* 18/2 See clarification in case anyone misses the supposed humour
** They may be big nutters, but they don't let any other substances impede with the serious business of drinking. Had it been anything else, then the bar staff would certainly have ejected the individuals.I have not been threatened by the boys from the Stornoway RFC. They are lovely lads, and drink nothing more than black tea in china cups, especially when their wives aren't looking. And I may need access to 6 Nations tickets at some point.
It's not labelling on bottles of plonk that the Government requires to take action on, but warnings when the BBC or ITV are about to broadcast the same 'Sun shines out of Jonny Wilkinson's arse' story from the same location with the same journalist making the same vacuous statements. It appears to be on constant replay every 15 minutes, interrupted only by news headlines from Paris about the Rugby.
It's enough to drive you to drink.
Or at least for us to go out for dinner to avoid the gratuitous rubbish being spouted by the media.
As I don't have Sky, I can't go for the option of taking the pictures from another station and not have to listen to the sycophants.
May the best team win, and they better or
we'll never hear the end of it.
One of the adverse effects of having to go to Glasgow on Thursday was that I had to give away my tickets for the rugby today, as I wasn't sure I could get back in time for my flight and, for various reasons, I couldn't stay away until Sunday.
As you know it is not permitted to resell the rugby tickets, so I had to sell the hotel bed and flight and throw in the tickets as a bonus. Now knowing that I could have made it, I'm jealous of my "guest" who is presumably now having a liquid lunch with his friends from the Stornoway rugby club in some hostelry in Rose Street.
I am going to sit down an watch the game - it's not quite the same, but it's the best I'm going to get, and hope that Scotland can surprise us all.
Next year we are going to get to Dublin, somehow, for the game!
Depressed. Deeply.
Ireland were excellent - they were everything we were not - and we meet them in two weeks time. Were it not for the fun loving fans that would be an even more depressing thought.
I'm just back from Edinburgh, where my wife took me to the Scotland v England rugby match at Murrayfield. This was a belated birthday present, and we didn't get tickets until just a few weeks ago. (Thanks to Graham for giving us a wonderful day!)
The streets were heaving; the ground was packed to the gunnels; and afterwards the Grassmarket was awash with English tears. But we enjoyed it!!!
We finally got a weekend away toghether, so Sue and I headed to the rugby. We had excellent seats high above the south stand and we watched the Scottish team destroy the French defense.
Afterwards we felt obligated to have a few drinks with the rest of the rugby fans, and had a long walk along Rose Street.
