After much begging and pleading I finally gave in and bought some tickets to the rugby. Who am I to stand in the way of true love ;-)
So off we headed to Durban on Saturday, trying desperately to ignore the ominous build-up of clouds in the distance. After a really nice little interlude at Bangkok Wok in Florida Road we made our way to the stadium. We took a little wander before finding our seats and were accosted by a reporter fellow, who wanted a photo of Paula and I resplendent in our Sharks shirts. Now anyone who knows me even slightly will know that I *hate* (make that HATE) having my photo taken, absolutely hate it, to be avoided at all costs! But I knew that if I refused Paula would be gutted, so I gritted my teeth and dutifully
grimaced smiled for the camera.
After that harrowing experience we began making our way to our seats. When Grant pointed his finger in the general direction of our row my initial thought was: you have got to be kidding, but no, he wasn't. They were waaaaay up there. I could have had a full-on conversation with God himself -they were that close to Heaven! So I dragged my sorry yet colossal ass up innumerable stairs, clutching the hand-rail all the while (fear of heights - check!) and vowing that I would never put myself through this trauma again, ever. Eventually, just when I thought I might expire from over-exertion and lack of oxygen in the elevated atmosphere up there, we were seated. It took me a while to prise my eyelids open and unclench my teeth and then, having found my binoculars, I could just about make out the players warming up a couple of kilometres below us. It was quite fun trying to make out who was who.
And then the game began and the heavens opened, literally. The rain came pelting down and for just a moment I was quite glad that our seats were in the upper stratosphere - we were under cover, while the masses down below us, in seats where you could actually see the game were getting thoroughly drenched.
So there we sat, watching the Sharks completely lose the plot in a game that they should by all accounts have won. To add to the joy, we had a rabid referee-hater in the seat next to us, who spent the entire game hurling abuse at the rather dishy ref (I know he is dishy from watching him on TV btw, on Saturday all I could see was a smudge of green where I knew him to be) and we had a birthday party of heaven help us 10 year old boys directly behind us. I discovered that 10 year old boys are, without a doubt, the most revolting species on the planet (I know I'm generalising and I unreservedly apologise to any readers who have 10 year old boys who are not know-it-all, mouthy little wretches)
Leaving the stadium was a total and utter nightmare. Knee-deep mud, crowds of wet supporters, toilets that left a lot to be desired, torrential rain, unbelievable traffic jams ...... So a great time was not had by all. It was not fun. The atmosphere was not amazing. I did not enjoy myself. But do you know what? I would do it again in a heart beat. And do you want to know why? Because of this:
Edited to add: I have NO idea why Blogger is making some of the writing bigger than the rest. Weird!! And no doubt now that I have added this, all the writing will be the same size and I will look like an idiot.....