Hung, Drawn and Quartered.

A thousand words...

A week later and I’m still angry.

Not so much angry that we got beaten, but the manner in which we were. The pitiful, embarrassing way in which we had an apocalyptically abysmal game when we could least afford to. The fact that France weren’t even very good, and we were very, very bad.

I know it’s sport, and these things happen. I know if it was predictable and contests always went by form and rank then there’d be little point watching it. If England had played well but France had pulled out the ‘big’ game that people were expecting and played out of their skins then that would’ve been an easier pill to swallow, but that wasn’t the case, and if we’d played half as well (which wasn’t very well) as we did against Argentina, we probably would’ve won.

Ugh, it makes my blood boil typing about it. It’s probably a good thing I’ve had a week to calm down, and didn’t post what I almost did: an extremely angry (and drunken) open letter to the RFU ranting about how disgusted I was that so-called professionals should perform so desperately badly at such a crucial event, and insisting that they refund the cost of my ticket.

Yeah, I sound like a bitter, sore loser. I’m really not, I’m just disgusted.

And I almost feel too weary to write about it, so much has it been raging through my mind the past few days. I’m rather drained. So I’m not going point fingers at those who might be to blame, or mention drinking or dwarves or any of that, I just want to look forward to attending the two semi-finals with the relief of not being too bothered about who wins.

Although, obviously, I don’t want the French or the Aussies to win. And my Dad informs me that I’m at least a 64th Welsh, thanks to a great, great, great, great grandfather by the name of Evans. Which makes me about 1.56% Welsh.

Round it up to 2%.

Let’s hope they aren’t as embarrassing as the English were.

Smiley happy French people

Name Our Van!

Mark and the Van

IN ABOUT A WEEK, I will be joining my brother in lovely New Zealand. Completing The Almighty Trinity will be our trusty (hopefully!) campervan, who will be escorting us all around the country as we follow the World Cup.

It needs a name. 

What shall we call it? Or what shall we call us?

Something very English, something classic, something proud. What do you think??