And so we trekked into Cardiff to support for what would turn out to the last time for this year’s RWC, our beloved battered and bruised Welsh warriors led by Sam Our Captain.
To misquote Will S’ “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our Welsh dead”
Once more we fought our way through countless Oirish scamps and beret-ed French shunny onion-men to the giant videodrome of the Fanzone
Beers were bought
And more beers were bought
Throats suitably cleared the hymns, arias and anthems were sung with a choir and conductor patently enjoying every moment in the spotlight
And then it was kick off time and the nail-biting, toe-curling drama of the match unfolded and Wales once more came up half a yard short but made us immensely proud of their efforts on our behalf nonetheless
And so we clattered out onto the streets and into the bars and partied like Wales had won.
We danced on stairs
We danced with matadors
We danced in the streets
As usual these days the Irish were out in strength so we danced with them
And so we trailed home to bed to lick our wounds, kick our hangovers and dream about the next time.
Oh And good luck to Ireland and Scotland today – give ’em hell boys – give ’em hell!
Eat see hear Cardiff 