The mighty Reds

God’s country was awash with glee this Saturday past, and will still be drying it’s laughing eyes this day that is Wednesday, after the incredible feats witnessed at Twickenham.

Some 20 years after last turning the enemy in their own backyard,  I can sit back, stare into the midle distance and proclaim “I was there!”.  Max Boyce was there no doubt, but his PR agent has moved him onto new catchphrases these days, I’ll take that one Mr B thanks all the same.

I compared my fitful joy to that of the bride AND the groom on their wedding day, no matter how many glasses of bubbly or toasts drunk, there was nothing to sway the sheer ecstasy of what is after all the best day of their respective lives.  In theory.  In practice this was the same for me also.  I drank heavily that first pint of Guinness at the Turk’s Head in St. Margaret’s, in one, and after 6 pints at the stadium.  This in part explains my chiselled physique, my adonis torso, the other being my exercise regime.

England have fallen to pieces, four injuries on the day, Strettle early on, Moody, Rees and Tindall.  Sheridan is out for next weekend.  What happened to their boys?  Our only serious injury was to Jonathan Thomas who was strong-armed by the unlikely Wilkinson, put him under, literally.

And they fell to bits in the second half of the second half – baffling, but welcoming, and we took advantage hell yeah!