Sniffing the Plastic

I’m heartened and encouraged by the news that the city club defeated the might of Leeds yesterday and by a handy enough margin too. I’m glad that Collazo is back to shore up the scrum and I confess to feeling relief that Monsieur Mercier is back in the colours. We need to play uncompromising ten man rugby as often as we can this term and eke out territory before unleashing our remarkable backs. Frankly, I’m not sure where Henry Paul is going to fit into Gloucester’s plans next season. Tindall (Tinds?) and Simpson-Daniel would be my first choice centres with the loyal servant Fanolua and the young bucks Allen and Adams waiting in the wings. I didn’t rate Paul’s attitude last season and consider him an expensive makeweight. I’m looking forward to the rugby a lot more now. I’ll be purchasing my season ticket for ‘The Shed’ (I somewhat dislike that term) on Thursday. It shall be a cash transaction and, as ever, I shall vigorously sniff the ticket’s plastic wallet within seconds of purchase, read Tom Walkinshaw’s accompanying letter and fall for its charm before examining the pin-on badge safe in the knowledge that I’ll never be seen dead wearing it in public. I shall then flick through the pages of my ticket and consider what disasters and triumphs those unprepossessing pages will bring over the next few months. Then I’ll go home for a nice cup of tea.

We have changed our mind about the chicken house. Today we ordered the coolest coop on the market, the Eglu, made by the uber-hip Omlet company that has helped make chicken-keeping the hottest hobby around. Our Eglu and two chickens arrive a week tomorrow and I am beside myself with excitement.