ALWAYS WASH YOUR HANDS after wintergreen

This is the answer for which you may not have been looking.

Just been strolling down memory lane, waving at familiar sites, and re-reading my own blogs. Do you know, and I say this in the spirit of genuine naivety, there is some quite good stuff in there. I am surprised as to how much I have forgotten – I found myself laughing out loud at some of it. Are you sure it was me?!

Well, anyway, I was looking at one of the old blogs in which there was a picture of an ex-welsh player. I asked if anyone could identify him. Well, I was inundated with a suggestion but never got round to posting up the answer.

But, before I put you out of your blissful unconcern, I am reminded of two things…

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.

Firstly a story about the father.

My Dad’s sight was not great (on account of a Japanese sniper’s bullet taking a large chunk of his head off in Burma 1944) but his capacity for drink was. I think the two facts were somehow related. But, after a post-work pint-whisky-pint-whisky-pint-pink-gin, pre-prandial bracer, the old man was tottering off the train at Heath Halt High. My brother, on the same train but in a different carriage, saw him get off and sidled up to him under the dark bridge below.

‘You looking for a fight, mate, I’ll give you one,’ growled my eldest brother. The old man, obviously not recognising his would-be assailant (as Andrew had expected), apparently drew himself up to his full height (a towering South Walian 5’7”) and haughtily enquired ‘Do you know I’m an ex-welsh rugby player?’ Andrew was laughing before he could even think of a response. When discussed later, the old boy said it was true – he was Welsh and he had played rugby. Can’t fault him. Well, not on that count, anyway.

And secondly.

I once shared a house with a fabulously, gently, eccentric bloke called Will; West Country Will he became known to avoid obvious confusion. He was a burly, gentle lad who came to Cardiff to study for some grown-up, post degree thingy like a PhD or Masters or Advanced Tufty Club Badge or something. I can’t remember. I do remember it was in Applied Hydro-Biology and involved the study of macrophytes and the like.

Oh, how I enjoyed proof reading his thesis.

Well, there are more stories about WCW than I can comfortably recount here in one sitting. But the pertinent one at this time is about the laugh I got from him when I did my impersonation of the then Welsh fly-half. He was blessed with bags of talent and an impish, slightly neurotic (well, actually, totally neurotic) quality to his movement and facial expression (this is the stand off I’m talking about, not Will, ok?). I happened to turn to WCW while watching said 10 play, pulling what I thought was a passable but ultimately only slightly amusing impression.

Well! I though CPR was going to be required – Will was laughing for all he was worth. I only have to hint at it even now, 14 years hence, to have him squeaking. Ah, lovely man West Country Willo. Lovely.

So, this fly half then. Yup, it is he in the blog ‘guess who?’ competition that I started blathering about what must seem like weeks ago to you now. The slightly sad, balding chap in the picture is Colin Stephens, coaching, at the time of the picture, with Sale.

Both feet used to leave the ground by some way when he punted. Unusual but, for him, quite effective. Rumour has it, he was so wracked with self-doubt that he had recourse to the services of a sports psychologist on a regular basis and always before big games. Poor sod.

Mind you. I always had to have at least two wees before even regular games. And the one time I forgot to wash my hands after the wintergreen and before the wee saw some startlingly fine sidesteps from me in the first ten minutes of the game. Cor blimey, that stuff smarts. I won’t go into details but it was likened to putting coarse mustard on a hot-dog. Phew.