Every year we go to a rugby dinner and it’s comfortingly familiar. The menu (fruit juice or soup, roast chicken or roast beef, gateau with cream or ice cream), the itinery (grace, meal, stand up bingo, speaker, raffle, disco, bed), the disco itself (with a DJ who looks like he’s on day release and plays Swing Low Sweet Chariot, despite the fact that it’s a rugby league do and we don’t really care). And also the date – it’s always in February. Except this year when it falls on day 29 of Janathon.
This year, instead of heading straight to the bar, I was thrown out of the car near Bloomfield Road and ran 3 miles down the prom to our hotel. Think of it as the three piers challenge. The only difficulty was the lack of pedestrian access in front of the tower which resulted in a mini diversion into the town centre down the side of Primark. It’s fair to say that I felt slightly out of place on a Saturday morning.
Normally I struggle to function the day after this do, but I refuse to have a fail on day 30. This could prove interesting.
|Ferrero rochers burned|