nickbennett_blog

Category: Life

  • The Birth

    The Birth

    I’ve given myself a month to get over the initial shock of the birth. Even now though the horrors of it all still haunt my dreams! I feel guilty for writing this as I was only a mere witness to the episode, while Hannah will show physical scars for some time.

    It all started as I settled down for the Champions League encounter between Man U and Chelsea…typical! I downloaded a free contraction app to log the contractions. Bringing labour into the 21st century! Hannah would shout ‘now’ and I would start the app. A few dirty phone call impersonations later Hannah would say ‘stop‘. The contraction was logged and I could return to the game. However, these contractions were becoming closer and closer. Time to pack the bags. PSP? Check! Mars Bars? Check! my phone charger? Check..oh I almost forgot your overnight bag. This process was carried out in quite a calm manner. Another contraction was logged. My app tells me ‘This free app only allows 10 saved logs’ WHAT! Hannah and I have a little dispute and I inform her we haven’t got time to discuss my thriftiness. In the car and we were off. The match is still 0-0.

    Hannah’s biggest fear was being sent home, for me there was another half of football to be watched so every cloud and all that. From here on in things snowballed. There was no chance of being sent home. Hannah was 5cm dilated, halfway there already. Her opening gambit was ‘GIVE ME EVERYTHING’ as she waddled into the maternity ward. Her pains seemed to be mainly in the back and for me, it was mainly in my ears. Then for the worst hour of my life, worse than when we lost at home to Wrexham on the last day of one of our relegation seasons. They hooked up Joshua to a monitor to check his heart rate. As they laid Hannah on her back I could see the rate on the monitor dropping dramatically. The midwife pressed a big red button on the wall. From experience, I know that big red buttons are rarely pressed to inform everyone that everything is ‘hunky dory’. A swarm of doctors and midwives rushed into the room. The doctor broke her waters with what looked like a crochet needle. They raised Hannah’s bed and I could see his heart rate start to raise again. By this point, the colour had drained out of my face. ‘Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m ok’ Hannah kindly said. I didn’t have the heart to say it was Joshua that concerned me. I think the Dr gave one of the midwives’s a Gary Lineker ‘have a word with him’ look. She informed me that his chord could have been wrapped around his neck so when Hannah had a contraction in that position it was choking him. At this point, we decided to call in her Mum. Man U 2 Chelsea 0 grrrrr!

    The mother-in-law got there in quick time. We tagged team rubbing Hannah’s back and reassuring her. Apparently, the quicker you dilate the more painful it is. The average time is 1 cm per hour. Hannah did 5 in that time! The possibility of an emergency c-section meant they could only give Hannah gas and air for the pain. The pain must have been immense and I can concur that gas and air is useless. A few tokes on it caused me no decent side effects! When the Dr confirmed she was fully dilated he asked Hannah to push. She was happy to comply to hurry the process and in her words ‘get him out of me!’ Unfortunately, after several attempts, Joshua’s head wasn’t budging and his heart rate was up and down like the suspension on a prison’s nuptial caravan. It was decided the only option was a c-section and Hannah was told to stop pushing. Apparently, this was easier said than done. I can only imagine the urge must have been like the time I had some dodgy scampi and was stuck on the motorway.

    Finally, we were prepped and readied and led to the theatre. The anaesthetist turned her onto her side and applied the spinal. Hannah literally turned from the snarling girl from The Exorcist into her normal self. ‘Aaarrrgggghhhh…Who sang this song?’ I made a mental note of the positive effects of the spinal, I wonder if you can get one on prescription? After that everything else was fairly smooth sailing. I peeked over the curtain to see our little grey screaming boy. I caught a glimpse of Hannah’s c-section opening and quickly sat down again. I was given Joshua to hold and at that point Take That’s The Greatest Day came on the radio. Perfectly set up for tears-Ville yet nothing came. I put it purely down to the stress. The only emotion running through me was relief. The Dr informed us there was a clot behind the baby that prevented Joshua from being delivered naturally. They wheeled Hannah out to Push It by Salt and Pepper…grrrr!

    Joshua enters the world
    7lb 13oz 00:30 13th April 2011

    A few days later a tour of expectant Mums and Dads came to Hannah’s bed in the post-maternity ward. The tour guide stupidly asked ‘would you do it again?’ Hannah and I both gave the same short sharp response of ‘NO!’. The smiles on the mum’s faces had suddenly turned south. The tour guide gave us a look and quickly led everyone away.

    We’re now all at home trying to get a routine going. Joshua is adorable and predictably the cutest baby ever. He was born 7lb 13oz and is now an incredible 10lb 15oz. He’s already growing too quickly! We look forward to every little development. The latest is a gurgle that sounds like the early signs of speech and smiles that aren’t purely wind-based. In the words of Bob Dylan, The times are a changing!

  • Obsession

    Our bundle of joy is going to be a boy! For me this is awesome for many reasons but mainly because it means I have someone to…

    1. Play football with
    2. Have a beer with
    3. Buy violent toys for
    4. Take to Roots Hall
    5. Play practical jokes against the Mrs with

    There is a certain degree of pride in producing an heir to the Bennett empire. An empire which currently consists of a few guitars and a Ford Fiesta. I can envisage a trip in Brenda (the name for the Ford Encore) saying ‘One day Son, all this will be yours!’. Another benefit of not having a daughter is the awkward interrogation of the potential boyfriends and subsequent financing of the Wedding. Instead, I’ll be giving the boy advice on how to win over the Dads and then make the appropriate dash for it. I was thinking though, the only downside to having a boy is the pressure we may inadvertently put on him. As a boy, you automatically think of the possibilities of a Nobel prize winner, an author or a musician. This got me thinking about my own short fallings as a human. And you know what? I couldn’t find a single thing (just kidding).

    My main problem, which I don’t think is that uncommon is wanting what the Jones have. I often look at the successful people in life and I wonder how they’re any different to me. Apart from the obvious gulf in talent, these people have one thing that makes them particularly different from me. Obsession. A real single-mindedness to accomplish what they need to. Bill Gates’s obsession with getting computers into every home, Warren Buffett’s obsession with mastering the markets and Lionel Messi’s obsession to become the world’s second greatest football player (me obviously being number 1, a career blighted with injury). The self-control to spend every living moment of your life dedicated to achieving your goal. Simply amazing and commendable.

    I’ve met a few people in life that seem to have this obsession. Their complete ‘I don’t give a fuck what you think’ attitude is for me the most impressive trait. When I start to look at what these people have, I have to remind myself that it’s because when I’m playing FIFA they’re working hard. A lot of people expect success just to fall in their lap. Why should it? You’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve it! Maybe this is down to the sense of entitlement we have in this country. Why the dribbling heathens turn up on X Factor expecting to become the next Rick Astley. Why Dave and Tracy expect the state to move them to a nicer house after Tracy popped out baby number 8. Just because you aspire to be as useless as Jade Goody doesn’t mean you’ll reap the same rewards. The only REAL thing I feel entitled to in life is fairness. Even that seems like too much at times. If I say my P’s and Q’s so should you, you ignorant peasant. I pay my fair share into the system so when I need something back shouldn’t I have the same entitlement as everyone else?

    I think you cannot force obsession. If you don’t want something badly enough you’ll never get to the levels of obsessions you need to accomplish it. So for Junior, I’ll love him and guide him as best as I can. I’ll be proud of him regardless of which life path he decides to take. Having never had an obsession before I can’t wait for him to be my first!

  • Fatherhood

    Sleepless nights, tantrums, and strange coloured pooh. These are just some of the side effects of being told you’re going to be a father. The fundamental fact of things is that we men, by our very nature, aren’t built for this. We are built like a B52 squadron. Deliver the package and get the hell outta there. Women, on the other hand, have a natural instinct to have kids by the time they hit puberty. A lot of girls in my school needed no further encouragement.

    Society has drilled into us what a stable family looks like. We’ve all seen The Waltons. Although, how many sodding kids do you need. I know it was set in the 30s before the ‘ribbed for her pleasure’ prophylactics but I’m sure the Dad could of put a sock on it? Any hoot, back to my point. The image of this family life is a portrayal and it isn’t natural, so for us men, it takes a lot for us to fight off the urge to get the hell out of dodge. It’s pathetic and don’t you think we know this. We’d never envisioned it to be like this. We had it all planned. The platinum albums, the World Cup winner’s medal, and the Nobel prizes. By accepting fatherhood, it’s like you’re accepting defeat the dream is OFFICIALLY over.

    So 3 months or so back Hannah tells me the news! Still a shock at the best of times let alone on day one of a ‘month off the booze’. For some reason, my logic assumed it would take a lot longer. Hannah had been on the pill since she was 17 so to conceive within 3 months was a shock. It all seemed surreal until our first scan. It left me breathless. There was our little dude/dudette. It hit me for 6. Time to man up Len! We cleared the spare room (nursery) which involved boxing up my songbooks, guitars, and football memorabilia. No bitterness just a slight sadness that I hadn’t seen through these hobbies to their fullness. I hope that one day I’ll open up these boxes and have someone to share these past times with. So a new chapter in this saga I call life. As one door closes another opens and all that jazz. I get the butterfly feeling of excitement when I think about what’s behind door number 1.

  • Religion – The Answer

    With the Pope’s visit this week I thought it was about time to get religious. Normally this conversation takes place after about 7 pints. So writing this with a sober head is refreshing and hopefully quite coherent. When asked what religious persuasion I am, I say the most ‘sitting on the fence’ answer there is. ‘I’m agnostic’. In other words, I’m saying I’m a man of science but I don’t want to write off completely the prospect of an afterlife. One of my favourite comedy lines of recent years is from the BBC3 sitcom ‘Hyperdrive’ where one of the agnostic characters is reunited with a former love. It went along the lines of …

    Agnostic: ‘Since you left I’ve given up my religion’

    Former Lover: ‘You should never give up your belief that there may, or may not, be a God’

    I’m a fairly cynical person, who believes, that the origin of religion was a primitive form of law. It plays on a fear of the unknown that we all share ‘what happens when you die?’. We’ve made such huge advancements in science that we now believe we have all the answers. This is surely getting ahead of ourselves? There’s still so much to be discovered. I’m not making my bed until I’m absolutely convinced. And even then there will be some small room for the thought of a magical land called heaven.

    Frankie Boyle: ‘Nothing matters. We’re essentially all highly evolved monkeys clinging to a rock that’s falling through space and the rock itself is dying.’

    What’s worrying me at the moment is this current wave of anti-religious feeling. I think the press (again) has to take some responsibility for it. The recent Pope aide story was made out to suggest that Cardinal Walter Kasper thought our atheist nature made us a 3rd world nation. That’s not entirely accurate. He stated that flying into Heathrow (shit hole) sometimes gave you the impression of flying into a 3rd world country. Also that there is a worrying wave of atheism. I couldn’t agree more. I’m not anti-atheism but with any wave of media frenzy, there may be consequences. We’re currently lucky enough to live in a multi-cultural and TOLERANT society. The more stories bashing religion the more this tolerance is under threat.

    I’ve just realised the title of this post has ‘Answer’ in it. Unfortunately, as I’m a mere mortal I have no answers for you..sorry. I think no matter what beliefs you have, you have to follow your OWN moral compass. Too often people hide behind things to defend their own actions. It’s the old Nazi argument of ‘I was just following orders’. The Catholic priests could argue perhaps that the 10 commandments doesn’t specifically mention anything about whether you can or can’t abuse kids. I think the most important thing is CONSIDERATION. Put yourself in the other person’s shoes but remember that they aren’t you so accept their differences. Stick by that and everything else will be cream cheese.

  • Citizenship Review

    Why is everything in life so black and white. Governments through history have either adopted a treat, everyone, the same policy or a more extreme right-wing policy. Neither of these really makes any sense to me. It’s a simple fact of life that everyone is different.

    The thing that has sparked this particular rant off is that we are currently living in an environment where punishing everyone for the sins of the few seems to be how we now legislate for things in this country. A great example is alcohol. I enjoy a good old knees up but according to the law because some people enjoy tearing up the high street on a weekend I’m not entitled to cheap alcohol. That’s hardly fair, is it?

    OK, I need a term for the people that ruin it for everyone else. I’m going to call them the ‘idiots’. Previous examples of right-wing political groups have always persecuted the wrong people. Why go for the Jewish or specific African tribes when there are the ‘idiots’ amongst us. Idiots exist in every walk of life. They can be any age, any colour, any religion, and any class. People should only ever be judged by their actions.

    I’m proposing a new citizenship system that is actually ‘fair‘ and not the David Cameron definition of ‘fair’. You’ll have to excuse the lack of political lingo as this proposal won’t be hiding behind any blue sky management spiel but will be in plain and simple English. Are you ready for this? It’s good!

    When you are born in this country everyone is given a card. If you come here from abroad and pass our citizenship criteria then you also receive a card. The card in practice will be a little more complicated than this but for simplicity, we’ll say that when you receive it the card has a ‘green’ status. So to start with it’s a level playing field for everyone. Now, as long as I’ve been a good boy when I scan my card at the checkout for booze it sees it’s ‘green’ and lets me have the discount. Now, for the medium idiot (a bit of a wally) who maybe has an ASBO and a history of violence would have an ‘amber’ status. Unfortunately for him, due to his previous misdemeanours would pay a higher levy on his alcohol. You can probably work out what comes next. The big idiot (Mayor of Idiotsville) who has spent time in prison for repeated offenses. He would have a ‘red’ status on his citizenship card which would prohibit him from buying booze completely. This example is specific to booze, I like booze, but it could be used for other luxury items.

    I understand that people can change so this will be a two-way system. The Mayor of Idiotsville can get in the ‘green’ again by being a good citizen. Cameron is currently promoting a scheme to keep the local services running on a voluntary basis. This would be a perfect way to gain points and become a good citizen again.

    I would also give more powers to the Police by allowing them to punish citizens by having the authority to set ‘amber’ or ‘red’ statuses. This is where we would need to expand upon the traffic light system, to a more granular point system. Perhaps something like this.

    Green – 100 – 75 points
    Amber – 75 – 50 points
    Red – 50 – 0 points

    The High Courts would have the authority to give 0-100 point reductions. The Police would be able to give up to 10-point fines on the spot. These on-the-spot fines would need to be authorised by two Officers.

    There are a few holes in the proposal. A physical card-based system will always have problems, just look at the Labour identity card farce. So maybe some kind of thumbprint scan? Getting it passed the loony left big brother-fearing brigade would also hold this up.  I don’t think I’m suggesting anything too crazy though. I’m just sick to the teeth of the generic one rule for everyone approach. The majority of people aren’t complete imbeciles, so please please please give us the credit we deserve. I know a bag of nuts ‘contains nuts’, I know I shouldn’t drink bleach, and that you shouldn’t allow children to play with paper shredders.

    That’s it. Vote for me for PM. By the way, I do not and have not ever read the Daily Mail.

  • Youth and Beauty

    The States has given us KFC and the Playboy channel, but like everything, there needs to be complete equilibrium. So to weigh down the negative side of the see-saw they’ve also given us a ridiculous litigation culture. Also, Uncle Sam has inspired us to have our own Little Miss beauty pageants! In case you’re not familiar with this concept, it’s where mentally unstable Mothers (the ones that put silly coats on dogs) dress their young daughters up like high-class escorts and parade them in front of everyone.

    Like little girls aren’t scary enough! With the fake tan and too much rouge, they look even more terrifying. What’s more terrifying is that these Mothers exist and that there aren’t just a few of them there seems to be enough of them to warrant an entire pageant! I did a little research into what possible reasons could justify these contests.

    1. It’s a chance for our daughter to gain confidence
    2. It’s a chance for Mother and Daughter to become closer
    3. Sometimes agents attend these events looking for the next child stars

    What a load of Bollocks! There are a million and one things out there that parents can do with their kids. What lessons can these kids possibly be learning from these contests? Psychology 101 tells us that what happens to a person in their childhood affects them in later years. So how will the losers of these contests be affected? I’m not beautiful enough 🙁 I’m a loser 🙁 I’m going to chop up anyone prettier than me with this blunt axe 🙂

    Even the winner will be under the impression that beauty alone makes you a success in life. OK, maybe not a complete falsehood but I imagine in 40 years’ time when the looks have faded the high streets will be awash with drunk middle age women screaming ‘I won little miss Southend in 2010 you know!’ to anyone who’ll listen. Well, it might happen.

    What’s already started to happen is mothers putting their daughters under the knife to achieve ‘Perfection’. How the hell did that conversation go?

    Mother: ‘You are the most beautiful thing in the world to us!’

    Child: ‘Thanks Mum’

    Mother: ‘Although, your ears do stick out a little too far’

    Child: ‘…Mum?’

    Mother: ‘Your lips could be a little plumper’

    Child: ‘……MUM!’ (As the psychotic Mother drags her 8-year-old to the surgeon)

    The idea of this really turns my stomach. Kids are meant to be kids. Let them grow up before forcing this shit on them. Unfortunately, we do live in a very shallow world but why let them suffer this fact now? Let them live in their imaginations where everything is perfect for a while before letting reality destroy their dreams. Parents should praise and encourage their children on what they are good at. Even if they aren’t particularly good at it, if they enjoy it, it should be encouraged (within reason, no angry emails about little Tommy who enjoys dissecting cats). Anything that requires some kind of thought and movement, being beautiful is not a hobby (it’s hard work). And besides your child should be the most beautiful thing in the world to you, even if he/she looks like a slapped arse.

  • Celeb-Pity

    Sitting in the dentist’s waiting room I have a choice of Essex Homes or a glossy celebrity magazine to browse through to kill time. In hindsight, I should have opted at looking at maisonettes in Ockenden. Flicking through the pages of  ‘Empty Monthly’ really brought home the point. What a shallow world we live in! I became depressed. Of the 4 magazines I flicked through, there was not a single article of any worthiness. Not a single sentence worth reading. Not a single word over 3 syllables.

    The focus of these magazines seems to be on the latest 15-minute celebrities. Big Brother is the theme of the more recent magazines. I kept asking myself ‘Why do they focus on THESE celebrities? Of all of the people in the World who have any distinguishable talent, the editor has chosen to do a piece on Pixie Chantel Smith, the lesbian, skinhead, Tourettes, nymph rocker from Skegness who has just been kicked out of the BB house’. Is it because Pixie has an in-depth philosophical outlook on life and our existential existence?

    Then I had an epiphany. No…..it’s because their fame is in the grasp of everyone! You don’t need any concern-able talent to become part of THIS celeb club. In fact, talent would probably hold you back. Maureen from Driving School became a celebrity because she couldn’t drive. Jade Goody became famous as a ditsy blond who was slightly racist. These are hardly attributes that should be desirable, they are however easily attainable. So we have no talent and we’ve changed our name to Starbustron3000….what next?

    Well, the remaining padding on these magazines is filled with pictures of gorgeous models to show us how we should look. There are even tips on how to achieve these glamorous looks. In case we were still in doubt about our credentials for becoming a celebrity the remaining sections are dedicated to making proper celebrities looking rough. ‘Anna Hathaway looks terrible here what a crap celebrity’…erm but isn’t she an actor with some discernible talent? Now we’re thinking ‘Wow they look like crap in the morning just like me! Ergo I can also be a celebrity!’

    How depressing is this! I mean seriously, are we really meant to look up to these people? Be envious of these beings that would do anything to be the center of attention? I’m proposing a new magazine. It can still have glossy model pics, makeup, and fashion tips. However, all irrelevant talentless celebrity pieces will be replaced with actual celebrities giving interviews on how they became a great musician, author, artist….zoologist, etc… Anything with some level of merit. Come on ladies set your sights a little higher!

  • DePRESSing

    I’ve always known that the press in this country are a bunch of scandalous cads. I’ve some personal experience as one of these creatures (from the ‘Screws of the World’) slim-ed his way into our school after hearing a sixth former had got one of the teachers pregnant. By the way, back then this was a big story! There was no code of conduct or etiquette that you may expect from a man representing such a fine national institution. His tie was halfway down his undone shirt as he appeared from the back of the school where we were playing football. He asked us whether we knew anything before he was shepherded away by one of the teachers. There is one thing that has only become more apparent in recent years though, how bloody hypocritical they are!

    Front Page – “Pubs ban England Shirts – Outrage”
    Back Page – “What’s your game, Fabio? – Capello signs up for online game”

    Front Page – “Triesman fix claims”
    Back Page – “Remember the war England”

    Front Page – “Terry Scandal”
    Back Page – “Do it for Sir Bobby”

    You get the picture. These papers claim to be ‘behind our boys’ but I’ve never heard such nonsense. If I’m fully behind something I don’t try my utmost to undermine it at every possible opportunity. I’m fed up with hearing the defense ‘Oh, that’s our press they’ve always been like that’. We can stop it now by just not buying their papers. No one is cleaner than clean in the world, so I don’t expect the England football team to be any different. The Daily Mail set up Lord Triesdman by getting his personal assistant involved in the sting. Nice one! Don’t want to host the World Cup then. So come on Fleet street, stop playing silly buggers at least for a couple of months!

  • Who’s to blame?

    Sometimes shit happens! When are we going to get out of this blame game culture? ‘Oh no another rant’ I hear you say. I need to get this one off my chest though so listen and listen well. The straw that broke this particular camel’s back was the news this week that there has been an inquiry into the emergency services for their action during the 7/7 bombings. The gist of the hearing is that some of the victims were still alive directly after the atrocities, but later died due to the time taken by the emergency services to get to them.

    This is a rather sensitive issue so I’m going to state very clearly that my heart goes out to the victim’s families and no one should have to endure the pain they’ve gone through. You can sense a very heavy-hearted ‘but’ coming here …but why do we feel we need to make the emergency service accountable? Isn’t the blame for this one purely put at the door of the terrorists, or expanding on this further, the groups behind funding and training the terrorists. Apparently not. My more cynical side tells me that it’s because a litigation case against Al Qaeda may be difficult to get off the ground. Whereas the emergency services probably will be where the compensation’s at.

    I’m not saying these families aren’t entitled to a full inquiry and compensation but I believe there’s a national incident fund set up for these extreme circumstances. People seem to think that there is a magic pot of money for all of these successful claim hearings. There isn’t ok just so everyone is now clear. The money for these compensation claims has to come from somewhere and the holes may be plugged by cutting costs in yes, you’ve guessed it the emergency services. Vicious circle time.

    My last point is I’m all for full reviews of these incidents, how else do we learn and improve things. But we need to understand what an outstanding job the emergency services did that day. We could throw money at it so that for the next terrorist attack we’d have the most well-oiled machine. Sounds like a huge expenditure for a rare eventuality to me. Besides, what money is left after Dave from Cheltenham sued the local NHS for £10,000 for slipping on a wet floor at his local A&E?

  • Love is egg shaped…or is it?

    I have a list of sporting venues and events I wish to see. On that list is Twickenham the home of English rugby. Some of my die-hard football fanatics had given their input on my decision to go. “Is it so you can stick your private part in a pint of Tetleys”, “It’s the strangest game with lots of handbells”, “The ref keeps pointing in the wrong bloody direction” etc. I’ve always quite enjoyed watching the six nations and Johnny Wilkinson’s drop goal to win the 2003 world cup is up there with my top sporting moments. My experience with the people that played rugby at university had been one of bemusement. Often seen vomiting into buckets or wearing very strange headgear. The cynical side of me did expect the crowd to be made up of wobbly mole’d Etonians that enjoyed nothing more than a linked arm sing-song of Jerusalem. I wasn’t disappointed.

    First a warning to anyone traveling to Twickenham by train. DON’T. It’s a mission and a half. The journey from Twickenham station to the ground is a good 15 minutes walk. This part of the journey was made worse by the pouring rain. As you meander through the residential area you are welcomed by homeowners selling hot dogs, doughnuts, and hog roast. A really nice touch.

    The Mrs and I arrived at the ground with an hour and a half to spare. It was OK though, as there are plenty of food, merchandise, and alcohol vendors around the perimeter of the ground. I spotted a merchandise stall selling the Lion’s red tour jersey for a discounted price, so I joined the very ad hoc queueing system. What made it worse was the number of school kids (presumably from Rugby clubs around the country) pushing in and causing carnage. It wasn’t just the kids though, adults also with the manners of a Mexican pimp were pushing in left right, and center. I remember thinking “Gentleman’s game eh?”. Eventually, I got the opportunity to shout “Large Red Lions Jersey Please” to the spotty youth behind the counter. The transaction was made and I was on my way. Better check the size…XL. RAGE!!!

    I go back and push into the front waving the shirt. Eventually, I get the guy that sold it to me’s attention. “You sold me the wrong size”. The spotty oick went to get his supervisor. “You need to go to the club shop to get it changed” the supervisor shouts. Bloody Brilliant. The stress levels have erupted. Cursing ensues as I make my way around the other side of the ground to find the shop. We get to the shop and the queue is even bigger than the previous one. I tell the guy guarding the exit door my dilemma, but he wasn’t interested and told me I’d need to join the queue. “We’re leaving!” is my reaction.

    The Mrs said, “No we’re not and grabs the jersey”. Forcing her way to the front of the initial merchandise stool she demands either a refund or the correct size. Nothing quite like a woman’s scorn to get the job done. Needless to say, we ended up with the correct size, but the tensions were still running high. We’ll laugh about this one day…mmmm. We decided to take our seats and enjoy the rest of the day.

    Twickenham itself is a lovely stadium and I’ve never heard such a stirring rendition of God save the queen. The game itself was very very poor. People around the ground were more interested in whether the numerous paper airplanes could make it onto the field of play. The only highlight of the first half was the precision kicking of Johnny Wilkinson. The second half was a lot livelier than the first, with several great plays causing me to stand from my seat for the first time. Eventually, England managed to break through the resilient Argy defense to score the only try of the game. In the final moments of the game Argentina was pushing for the try as England managed to hold on.

    Johnny Wilkinson miss
    Johnny Wilkinson miss

    If we thought getting to the ground was a pain we had a treat waiting for us on the journey back. The overground service didn’t run at the same regularity as the underground services you normally find situated near these venues. It took well over an hour to get from the ground to the train station. This isn’t a massive gripe as I’d expected this, the Mrs however was not impressed. Eventually, we get our train home, stop at the local curry house, grab a bottle of wine, and then we are home.

    Overall I’m glad I can say I’ve been and experienced it. I won’t be in any hurry to go back though. The atmosphere just isn’t the same at Rugby as it is at Football. Everyone always states that Rugby is such a happy friendly atmosphere, so much so that you can drink in the stadium. This is true because the game in front of them isn’t of the same intensity as that you experience with Football. I’ve been to some absolutely terrible Football games but the atmosphere has surpassed this 76,000 spectator spectacle. The behaviour of the people at rugby is also just as bad as football. The group of lads sitting next to the Mrs was having a farting competition…quite sophisticated high-brow stuff.