I should have done this last week, but time ran away with me and it just didn’t happen. Which means last weekend was all my fault. If only I hadn’t been so lazy, England would be played one, won one right now. Instead they’ve spent the week licking their wounds and thinking what might have been.
Every year, on the Eve of the 6 Nations (and Autumn Internationals come to that) I undergo a pilgrimage to HQ (that’s Twickenham to you unbelievers), and the rugby store, to stock up on new stash for the kids. As you might have guessed from the opening paragraph this year the pilgrimage was delayed by a week.
I can’t quite explain the emotion that rises up in me every time I go near the stadium, except that I still get goosebumps at the sense of excitement and anticipation. It immediately unlocks memories from the past, from freezing in the stands during a particularly painful mauling by the Springboks, to the incredible feeling of the first time I ever ran out on to the hallowed turf (all be it to a slightly smaller crowd) – oh and the time I lost my wedding ring on that very same hallowed turf, but we’ll skim over that.
I know it’s silly, but it is a special place for me, and just being near it makes me smile.
My eighth happy day is dedicated to you HQ.