A new season kicks off

There was snow on the ground in North West London this morning. Despite that, the sun was shining and the sky was as blue as the day that England won the (football) world cup in 1966. Wearing a scarf for the first time in a long time and holding my jacket with missing buttons tightly closed against the cold, I bellowed out great clouds of steam as I walked from the tube station to work.

We are deep into the Autumn, in fact winter is almost upon us and my mind turned to the important things. Sod the credit crunch, its less than a fortnight until Wales start their pre-Christmas internationals.

Although born and raised in England I have solid, plastic-(half)Welsh credentials and was also the subject of a devious brain-washing scheme on the part of my Welsh father. Gareth Owen Edwards didn't help either - this was the 1970's. And before I knew it I was a large-leek-carrying, daffodil-waving, Max-Boyce-album-playing Taff. Just in time for 20 years, make that 25 years, of downturn in the national team's playing fortunes. I have lost count of the many times in the 80's and 90's and beyond that I've sat on the train back from Twickenham in my Welsh shirt being harangued by a bunch of E type and inebriated hooray Englishmen thinking that it would have been so much easier if I had not carried the Taff gene.

Well times have changed slightly. I was there (!) at the 2005 Grand Slam win against Ireland in Cardiff and I was there (!!) again for the 2008 Slam against France. And both were won playing wonderful rugby. We may not be the biggest team but both seasons we played aggressive, skilful, surprising rugby with great hwyel and there was obvious cameraderie amongst the boys. It was wonderful. In 2005 I looked round at the crowd at final whistle and there were 70,000 blokes crying. Still singing, of course (Calon Lan) but very openly crying. It had been 26 years since the last Slam and it meant so much. Pouring out of the ground, pinching myself we'd won, I came across a sight to be seen. Tens of thousands already outside the ground and partying having watched the match on over-subscribed big screens. I would estimate that everybody over the age of 12 was drunk that night in Cardiff. People were up trees singing old songs. I stepped over a couple who were going at it hammer and tongs. Pubs ran out of beer as I stood in them. I kissed the mayor of Cardiff. Never before have I seen such an out pouring of madness. Happy, teary, joyous madness. The skies were blue that day, too.

2008 was restrained by comparison. It rained (they closed the roof) and the street party was restrained in comparison. Or at least the bit that I saw. I was with my 11 year old son this time. He's only quarter Welsh, but equally brainwashed - and Shane Williams doesn't help. And he's still Welsh qualified.

So what's going to happen this year. And a Lions tour at the end of it. How will the boys go? And how many will go to South Africa with the Lions in June?

Next weekend we travel to Cardiff once more to see Wales v South Africa. champions of the North against champions of the South and current World Champions. Fantastic. Tickets arrived this morning. Journey is already planned. The son is coming with me to this one. My dander is already rising.

And we'll start off the campaign with the essentials. A pint in The Old Arcade for me and Faggots, Chips & Peas (see the picture!) from the Market for us both which we will eat in the alley by the pub whilst I have my pint. Wiping the gravy from our lips when full we'll turn to the Milennium Stadium, sun in our eyes and seek out our seats in hope. Fingers crossed that Shane gets the ball and that the boys play with full majesty and guile to defeat the Boks! I can't wait. Winter is here.