Vale of Lune RUFC

A week of low temperatures planted the seeds of doubt in the Alies fertile minds that the possibilities of the game at Wigton going ahead were slim, so it came as no real surprise that the Cumbrian run was put on hold.

With the frost having driven deep into the ground at The Lane all home fixtures were postponed as a no-go Saturday was confirmed, forcing the Alies to focus their attention on the Six Nations. Immediately plans were drawn up with military precision, the visas had been stamped, there was no need to ferret out tunnelling gear, but the timings were open to debate initially.

Gilly suggested the troops assemble at 15.30 hours, but Enty to whom numbers are a constant companion, quickly pointed out that the France, Italy game kicked off at “Chinese Dentist Time,” perhaps Gilly’s watch was still set to Standard Eastern Goa Time, and that 14.00 hours would be a more appropriate time to meet.

In addition an earlier start would provide an opportunity to settle on the size of the rounds because sometimes they can become a moveable feast, a round of four can quickly double leaving some individual with a hefty mess bill; as it happened two quickly became three, then five and six.

Hardly had the Major adjusted the seating to not only have a clear view of the wide screen but to ensure that a healthy cohort of players could also watch the unfolding games, than he was whisked away by the Solicitor for a high level, forty minute tactical meeting. But not before the Major had given an emotional rendition of the Italian national anthem that Fabio, Mario, Roberto, Silvio, would have been proud of.

His departure was rather fortunate for those at the round table and the young players behind it, because shortly after his arrival the Major informed all those within earshot, not Gilly because the new hearing aid was emitting a high pitched buzz which was affecting Enty’s concentration, that he had recently taken on board about half a kilo of lentils.

Methinks the Major is taking healthy eating a tad too far! He also said that for lunch he had only had a slice of bruschetta with a sliver of pork on top. His body has become a temple to gastronomy; eat your heart out Raymond Blanc! Therefore the arrival of Shagpile’s chuck wagon later in the afternoon was much appreciated by one and all, and for one little beaming cherub in particular.

Once the French had finished sorting out the Italians everyone settled down for the Calcutta Cup clash, especially the Consultant. He had planned to wear his kilt but had changed his mind at the last minute, perhaps next time.

Like the Major he rose to the occasion when the anthems were played, not only belting out passionately “The Flower of Scotland” but giving it all in the second verse which is more than Warby could manage. The Solicitor accused Warby of belonging to the Wigan clan after he was unable to remember all the words for the first verse.

Throughout the game the Solicitor was at his acerbic best in particular when Charlie Hodgson was anywhere near the ball. It was pure Al Read, a comedian who was well known to the Alies who grew up with BBC’s “The Light Programme” on the radio.

Throughout the first half the solicitor chuntered on about Charlie, very much in the style of Al Read’s monologue on football when he berates the players for their inability to score until eventually one of his targets of derision finds the net.
“What did I tell you?”
“What did I say?”
“He’s a good ‘un!”

Cue the solicitor when Charlie charged down Dan Parks’ kick thirty seconds into the second half for a dramatic try. He was out of his chair in a flash, waving his arms triumphantly while exhorting the virtues of Charlie to everyone within earshot, in particular those doubters and Scots; a bravura performance from the Solicitor.

Shagpile had brought along another selection from the smoker, plus a few extra dainties, the Rainbow Trout being a particular favourite, with the Candy Man providing the dessert in the form of slabs of Galaxy, much appreciated by Gilly, and all washed down with yet more celebratory “Black Sheep.”