The roar of the Twickenham crowd is normally an unappetising mix of braying and guffawing. However, something different happened this weekend. Not only did the England rugby team turn in what must have been their best performance in over half a decade but the Twickenham crowd actually sounded exuberant! It was a truly wonderful thing to experience - albeit via an Australian telecast!
Normally a trip to HQ begins with a stuffy cramped crawl from Waterloo, surrounded by more Barbour jackets and punchable accents than is good for ones soul. After having spilled out of Twickenham station, the options are try and get a decent pint in any one of the ridiculously packed pubs, pay through the nose from one of the numerous little stands positioned in various, already rather wealthy, back gardens or battle your way past fifty chaps in ill fitting hooped jerseys with letters on their back and after their name.
Once inside the rather impressive ground, the ritual of passing the flask begins (unless you'd rocked up in the car park some 15 hours before for 'a bit of brekkie', then you would be more than familiar with the rather sickly mix of Port & Brandy). The game normally goes by in a blur of trips to the toilet, bar and the general sense that it was all rather nice but wouldn't be even better if England played properly & won.
And lo, it came to pass that England did manage to shrug off their more pragmatic shackles and ripped Australia to tiny pieces. They were magnificent. I only wished I could have been there to see the whole thing unfold and for the post match celebrations of course. I would have even joined in a quick chorus of 'Swing Low', before cramming myself back onto the late night train to town.
However, I was stuck here. In Sydney, Australia with only the rather pleasing prospect of teasing all my Aussie friends and/or colleagues mercilessly - well, at least until the Ashes begin...
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