Rue de la Soif!

It’s been quite a 24 hours so I thought I would get it all down before my head hits the pillow. Last night was the Crabos team dinner. After a shortened training session where everyone struggled to concentrate due to our impending soirée and non-challenge of Bourg-en-Bresse on Sunday, we headed off for the first part of the evening.

The restaurant was very small, designed for not more than 2 large parties, the sort of place with old posters advertising 1930s boxing fights, full of character and so on... I managed to sly my way through the first course, a buffet of various patés, magret de canard and similar French type ‘things’. I tried them, told myself ‘I told you so’ and reassured myself that I still had the eating age of a 4 year old. Though I did enjoy the boeuf bourguignon. We were continually asked by the waiter to make less noise as our singing raised the roof. Many of the songs were the same as sung on the legendary train journey back from Lyon so I knew all the tunes and the words are steadily accumulating...

From dinner we headed into St Germain des Pres, to what is known as La Rue de la Soif (the street of thirst). This is the bar district where everyone, simply everyone apparently, heads for a night out. It was absolutely buzzing when we arrived at after 2. I was dragged and pushed into one bar right through the queue (again, I was simply too British) and it soon became apparent how we all just walked straight in when we continued to bypass all queues at the bar and I saw the Racing flag on the wall. The owner is a former player and we were well treated all night. For us in Edinburgh, a night out will go on as late as 3 normally, often far earlier. Seemingly the bars don’t close until 5 in Paris. And by 4, things were still very lively indeed, except the majority of our team who were flagging. The coaches and our back room team were still going strong and we had to drag them away. We all crammed in a minibus and got driven round to the south of the city.

My outside-centre and full-back, the two most outrageously creative players we have and who come as a pair, having been friends since they were petit, came and crashed chez moi. I woke up the next morning to find mariokart in full swing. So I got some fried eggs going.

This afternoon I headed into Paris to watch the rugby. The Auld Alliance was packed with Frenchman so I delighted in cheering wildly for the Italians. Everything I had heard this week was arrogance from the French, doesn’t matter who they pick they’ll still win by 50 points. We Scots may think the English are often an arrogant bunch but the French are often just as partial to the same attitudes. I then moved on to the Pure Malt for the second game, passing through the heart of the Marais on my way. Aside from those frequenting Scottish pubs, people in the Marais seem to be either Goths, Jews or homosexuals (or American tourists, many of whom look like they violently disapprove of all of the above!)

Bourg-en-Bresse tomorrow at 3 O’ clock, a very inconvenient time for a Scottish rugby fan. We put 69 points past them and therefore the preparation has been typically French. The coaches are refreshingly blunt about it all, no awful clichés which every player under the sun yawns his head off at. They just tell the truth about the differences between the teams. We should thrash them, we should score at least four tries, and it’s just our attitude that affects whether it’s an enjoyable game to play in or not. Really, we just want to put more points past them than Clermont did. For now, a long deep sleep is in order.