Another tour

I've been to the Doctors and Hospital for a barrage of tests and I get the results next week. Fingers crossed that it's nothing serious and I'm just a lazy twat. Still sleeping for stupidly long periods but that's about to come to an abrupt end. Off to London for the England v Wales Six Nations match in a few hours time.
I've been going to Twickenham since I was a kid and I've never seen Wales win there in all that time. The last trip two years ago I didn't bother going to the match and Wales won. Wont be going to the match this time so the omens are good.
There's a dozen of us making the trip which means as soon as we cross the the Severn bridge the average IQ of England will shoot up by 30%.
Apart from the Rugby we were supposed to be celebratng one of the boys 40th but his Wife is due with their first child anytime now and he's pulled out. Some would say he should have done that nine months ago! Personally I think he's a fucking lightweight. Dave is coming which is always value and there's a few boys who we used to play Rugby with making the trip as well so it should be a cracker.
There's nothing like a Rugby tour to get the adrenaline pumping. We normally have a bottle of Welsh Tequila which means it has to be drunk before you leave Wales. There's all the normal fines for being late, not having the proper attire (this weekends is Hawaiin shirt, red scarf and odd socks which just so happens to be my normal dress code) and of course the buzz circle.
Our game of choice is "Commander says" which is a little bit too difficult to explain here but you can take it as read that there will be a few pissed up idiots strolling through Richmond tomorrow afternoon.
My favourite England v Wales trip was when Wales were actually the home team playing at Wembley. I was working that game but met up with Dave and a few others straight after and we headed for the bright lights. About four in the morning we were in a bar in Kensington which was done out like a cave. By now there was only myself, Dave and big G left. The barman, called Mustapha, was chatting to us and Big G was working his charm on the barmaid who was Brazilian. Having lived there he spoke quite good Portuguese so they were getting on well. There was no one else there when this gang of skinheads walk in. Mustapha refuses to serve them and with that they start to kick off hurling a few choice racist comments his way. There was about eight of them and a hammering was on the cards but there was no way we were going to stand for that so the three of us got up and Big G got in the face of the ringleader. Before anything could happen this bouncer who none of us had seen before stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of the three of us. These skinheads all looked up at him and had second thoughts. This guy was huge, Black and looked fucking nasty. They turned and walked leaving us to breath a sense of relief. Mustapha was stunned that we had stood up for him and we ended up drinking there for free until eight in the morning.
The bouncer it transpired had sparred with Frank Bruno and was an established heavyweight in his own right although I don't remember his name. What I do remember is standing in front of him, poking him in his chest and calling him a big soft fucking bear. His laugh resonated off the walls so loudly I thought the place was going to collapse.
Finally, the Brazillian girl took us back to her place for breakfast and to meet her mates. Happy days.
Have a good weekend folks and catch you all next week hopefully.
Cymru am byth.