And we were singing..............................!

Sunday 2nd October

The day of destiny dawned. Unfortunately there was no one there to greet it after the nerves-induced excesses of the night before. A bladder break at 0800 confirmed that collectively we were in the land of the living dead, so I returned to bed for half an hour's doze. Re-awakening at 1100 to the sound of gentle murmuring and the smell of strong coffee, I emerged to face the world and a BBF (Big Boys' Breakfast). Being sensible and mature adults we decided to be circumspect in our approach to the demon drink, and thus we only opened the beer at midday. We dossed around until about 2 p.m., reading the papers and generally talking bull**** about the game. What is the matter with me? This is New Zealand - where bullshit, bollocks and many other derogatory terms pervade the media in all its forms.

Aaron produced a master stroke at 3 pm when he cooked a huge and delicious macaroni cheese (named after the man who developed radio). Over the next 8 hours of abuse this was to prove a lifesaver. Into the ute with Julie and Georgia, we headed for the Fan Zone and the H Bar, The Unofficial Welsh Embassy of yore. The place was rocking,although personally your correspondent was disappointed that there was no communal Zomba dancing this time. (I don't think the Fijians have got the rhythm for it, their culture rather involves prancing around cooking pots filled with missionaries). At the UWE we met up with Finbar, a Taff that John had met a fortnight before in San Francisco when watching the Samoa game. Finbar was accompanied by Andy Powell's Dad (more of him later) and a woman he seemed to be trying to give the elbow. After light social drinking (you're lying - Ed) we lurked off to the stadium and amazingly rejected a detour to the Speights Bar.

On the way in we saw a couple of girls having a picnic on a rug - totally out of context for NZ, all rather Twickers-like, but none the less charming. Ever gallant, your correspondent wandered over to compliment them and to cadge some chippies.



Old Fart:  "Gissa chip love."
Young Lady: "Sad old tosser. Perhaps that'll get rid of him"

 Into the Stadium and collection of supplies for the first half - eight cans of Heiniken should get us through, I can always send out the boy. It was good that our seats were under cover as, by now, rain was threatening. Having apologised in advance to the families behind us  (two Mums, a boy and girl from Auckland getting their fix of RWC live), we were entertained by a Fijian dance group performing in the club style.

Club style - geddit?

Then on to the match in which Wales were ruthlessly magnificent. Wales didn't give the Islanders a look in and dominated in every phase. George North was world class and deservedly got the MoM award. This was, technically one of Wales' best performances for some years; let's just hope they can repeat or improve on it next weekend in Wellington against the Irish. (A bit difficult to type that as my liver has started trembling at the prospect).

And so to post-match entertainment. We rolled up with half of Wales at the Fraser Tech Rugby Clubrooms. Technically this is a members only establishment but after 183 boyos had used the "I'm with the member behind" routine the door staff gave up. The beer was reasonable and they had laid on a cabaret type singer who got things rocking with some Van Morrison. Andy Powell's Dad was there again. I'm still not sure who he was (certainly NOT AP'sD!) but he maintained that, despite being an ugly bastard, this line worked well with the laydees.

Me and AP'sD

Then - sensation! The rumour went round that The Sloop John B Lad was in the house. The throb of anticipation was tangible and finally, to tumultuous applause, he appeared on stage. This was the lad who appeared on a table in New Plymouth, and he is fast becoming a cult hero and inspiration for us in this far -flung part of the (former) empire.

If you are of a sensitive nature, or have any sense of rhythm or pitch DO NOT follow this link. The bemused- looking kiwis in the foreground had come in for a quiet gargle and to watch the NRL (rugby league) final on the big screen. Poor bastards! Well done to the club singer for providing an impromptu guitar backing and to John for getting the thing on YouTube. If Wales get to the final, we expect our boy to perform at half time with Hayley Westenra and Dame Kiri te Knackerwhatsit as backing, with acoustic accompaniment by Crowded House. You heard it first here folks!

After much more singing and self-congratulation we decided that further stomach lining was required so John and I headed for the FanZone via the kebab shop. Who should we meet in the Kebaberie but Craig Joubert, the South African referee who had just run the line and has generally been one of the most accomplished referees of the tournament. We chatted away and, when finally packed kebabage was obtained, sat down to eat said provisions ensemble.

Me and Craig: we're like THAT we are!

With great forethought I reckoned that Craig might be blowing us against The Micks so my opening gambit was to offer to pay  his billtong bill (do biltongs have bills, or is that ducks?) for the coming year. Being an upright young man, Craig declined this offer, so I pulled my master stroke. If Wales don't beat Ireland with his help I'm going to publish this photo on the Internettywebbything and denounce him to the IRB for picking up old men in kebab shops - simples! Seriously he was a great guy and must have a good chance of getting the final if South Africa get knocked out by Australia.

Onwards then to the fanzone and into the H bar for some Old Knob Rot or whatever it was called and thence to the bar opposite where we met Jamie Roberts (big, intelligent and charming) and Andy Powell (big, extremely ugly and garrulous). Here we have the first photographic record of AP meeting his father;-

LtoR: Moi, Andy Powell, AP'sD (for it is he!)

There are a number of things you might notice about this photo;-

1. It is out of focus: by this time John's iPhone was as pissed as we were.
2. Andy Powell has a conk which resembles mine.
3. There IS a resemblance between AP'sD and AP. (Both need to visit a barber for a start)
4. Andy Powell is a mythical creature having white horns growing from each ear.
5. If you look carefully, AP has a little white antenna emerging above his left ear which confirms the suspicion that he is, in fact, a mutant telly-tubby with homicidal tendencies.

It was great to see Andy and Jamie out and about with the fans. I think there were other players about too, but by this time the chilling realisation that we had to be up to get JSB to Hamiltron Airport by 0800 was filtering through so we made our excuses and caught a cab home.

A great, great day. Mission accomplished, Wales in the Quarter Finals and we've got tickets. Bring on the Irish!


Monday  3rd October

John safely caught his plane, I safely drove home and managed a beef and oyster (allegedly) pie in Pete's Pies. Next thing is to settle back in, flush out the liver and await the arrival of Lyndon and his mates who are staying up the road. More about them later no doubt.