Wales

I spent yesterday in Cardiff, a gatecrasher at rather a remarkable party as the Welsh rugby team defeated Ireland to attain a richly deserved Grand Slam. The result was never in doubt. The atmosphere at the Millennium Stadium was unimaginable and I almost had to pinch myself to check I really was present in such a cacophonous, rousing hotbed. There were so many passionate people in one place, so few neutrals, so much emotion and will for the red shirts to prevail. I envied the Welsh passion; as an Englishman I can never imagine caring that much for a national team. The scenes before kick-off gradually raised the temperature from simply simmering to red hot. Max Boyce was incredible and I never, never thought I’d state that in public. He captured the principality’s dreams so well and had everyone around me singing their ruddy hearts out. Jenkins the prop scored right in front of our seats. The view was perfect. My neutral’s heart cried out for more of an Irish response at the end but the right team won. It was a wonderful day. I was there.