It is an outstanding day in Antony, the sun is blaring down. A day I am enjoying from the comfort of the flat, and more specifically, my bed. This is the same Antony which seemed to be rocked by the sight of people in kilts. Cars weren’t exactly swerving off the road but I did receive several honks in the morning, people swerving round me on the street and a great deal of awkwardness on the bus. By the evening, this pleasant curiosity had been replaced by something more sinister. Local ‘youths’ thought it funny to shout, have a pop, act the hard man, “Qu’est-ce que tu regarde, toi?” all from the safety of the other side of the road, as another person leered from the door of a pub. But to dwell on these incidents would paint an inaccurate picture of a wonderful day.
Paris’ Left Bank regularly sees far weirder sights than an invasion of Scots, not to mention what is to be found in the Marais, so the reception in the centre of town was slightly different. We spent the morning walking around, taking in the atmosphere and greeting fellow people in tartan as if they were neighbours walking down the high street. We ended up at the Pompidou Centre and squinted at some modern art before lunch at a restaurant specialising in pig’s trotters. By the end of lunch, we were the only people within earshot so the iphone came out and begun blaring the Murrayfield Pipes and Drums, to get us in the mood.
The train up to the Stade de France was good fun, made even better by the news from home. The Stade rose up in front of us, mightily impressive. We were expecting poor seats, but I don’t think they exist. With not many Scots around us, our singing attracted a lot of attention, and I am currently taking up some space on some poor soul’s mobile phone. The crowd went eerily quiet at time and then would suddenly burst into La Marseillaise. The result was definitely secondary when it became clear that the French had a new found respect for the rugby we played.
Sunday was a different proposition. Bobigny were so poor it barely merits a match report. We were fairly clinical and did well to wrap up the bonus point so quickly but it was a match I never really got into. I felt like I should have been carving through this lot but it just wasn’t happening. There were numerous knock-ons from both sides and the lineout and scrum were messy. I got even more frustrated which only served to make things worse, kicking out on the full, little uncharacteristic things like that. Maybe I just wanted to perform in front of the family. I was taken off after 60 minutes, simply as part of our rotation policy when we are thrashing teams.
The most exciting part of the whole day was having a Scottish referee. I met him before the match and had a nice chat and it was the sole interesting about the match. When he would say “dernier pieds” to the French, he would say “last foot” to me, in an effort to keep us onside. However, it wasn’t all niceties in Scottish. I must admit that playing in France means I occasionally allow myself to slip into shouting frustrated unpleasantries in English, safe in the knowledge that no-one will understand me. I got caught out yesterday although we both found it quite funny.
Usual week this one, still not started my much awaited Sorbonne course yet though so it's just about keeping boredom at bay. Will just be making sure I’m in top nick for our tricky away match to Lyon on Sunday. We only just scraped past them in October when I wasn’t playing so we expect a big one.
No comments:
Post a Comment