Have I mentioned how much I’m enjoying this year’s Super Rugby season?
As mentioned elsewhere, it was the turn of the New South Wales Waratahs to visit our shores. Our Kings have had a good record against Australian teams this year, in fact all 15 of our log points have come against Aussie opposition. (Wins against the Perth based Western Force and Melbourne Rebels and of course that last gasp draw against The ACT Brumbies)
Hopes were high, well mine were, for all of 30 seconds that is, for that is just how long it took for this Aussie outfit to score their first try!
After that? Believe it or not it got worse, they ran in try after try and for all of the first half consistently had more points on the board than minutes passed! Men against boys I kept thinking, it was really really difficult to watch. As a life long Eastern Province supporter (a team who’ve never won any top flight competition) I’m sort of used to losing, this wasn’t just ‘losing’ this was ‘annihilation!’
It wasn’t all doom and gloom, our new darling of E.P.rugby Sergeal Petersen got us out of our seats with a brilliant try just before half time, but I’m afraid that was all my Kings had to offer.
I prefer my Peking duck crispy – as do many residents of Hong Kong, I’m sure. Does this one have a death-wish, I wonder?
As my cherished reader will recall, I once had the
affrontery misfortune honour of lunching in the company of One’s sister Margaret at the Ritz, cos my then-employers in the ’70s sponsored one of ‘her’ charities. And a very nice lunch it was too. Except that she hardly touched it, but nipped out at every conceivable opportunity. So I was not surprised this morning to read that: “Princess Margaret prefers meals to be as simple as possible and not to last too long. Three or four courses (including cheese or fruit) for lunch, and five for dinner are quite sufficient….,” according an honourable flunky. I presume her sallies to the powder room were to satisfy the craving for nicotine, although she might possibly have been meeting her young stud, Welsh Roddy, who was occupying much of her time in between meals. Did he lurk in the loos, I wonder?
PS Roddy’s dad, Sir Harry, was an Olympic show-jumper
And raise a glass for William Shakespeare too, despite the misery he has inflicted on school-children for centuries. For today is our National Day. The Harry I refer to is of course Mr Rednapp, the architect of Spurs’ excellent season and now the undertaker for QPR. Because that’s what being English is all about. Highs and lows. Effortless superiority, born of experience unequalled among other tribes of man. They come and go, but like old Father Thames, the English go on for ever. Cheers!
It’s an annual phenomenon: the scrubberfest at Aintree, exhibiting some of the social and sartorial fashions of modern Merseyside; ironically known as Ladies’ Day. And who should gainsay them, one asks? A brave man indeed. It’s only to be feared that the PC brigade will insist on a Gentlemen’s Day – when no doubt the even less becoming Merseyside Male would take centre stage.
No I’m not teed off, just a bit putt off maybe. The competition links are need of a some attention, maybe ‘ead’ittin’, although that’s the wrong game.
The latest photo comp and pome comp are both due for adjudication after 31st March, if any cherished creators can drive themselves to compete.
Can anything be dune about it, please? Thank you and see you at the nineteenth.
Yesterday’s ODI was devoted to breast cancer awareness and boy did they do a good job.
Lonwabo Tsotsobe is congratulated by teammates after the dismissal of Pakistan’s Nasir Jamshed
Yes, it’s a special Easter this year, with a new man at the Italian Head Office n’ all. Such stuff that poets’ dreams are made on indeed!
But let’s not confine our flights of fancy to an Argentinian supernaturalist or those nibbled chocolate animals – however much we feel for them.