Tilly2Tone Says
every day i wake up i thank the lord im welsh

Tonight, at least in my world, is the final match for Wales in Pool A of the Rugby World Cup. It's against Australia. tilly2tone is Australian. I am not.

Wales is a member of the group of death. So called because it includes 3 top rugby nations where only 2 can progress to the quarter finals. Wales has beaten Uruguay, has dealt with the English, and has seen off Fiji. Australia remains. But nothing, not even my 1st born, has given me more delight than seeing England fail to qualify in their own world cup. Mostly at the forward thinking, backward passing hands of the Welsh. But that's not xenophobia.

It’s rugby. It’s passion. It's survival. It's a Welsh past time. It's encouraging for the six nations. It's bloody brilliant. It's one massive red dragon casting a shadow of consequences over Twickenham.

My first born, though delightful, entered the world in the shadow of Twickenham. So swings and roundabouts but definitely no chariots.

I was meant to be at this game. In fact I was conspiring to be at all of the Welsh games. Imagined and hoped for two years ago. Unbudgeted and unrealised two years later. Life, 14,000kms and personal finances, as usual, were inhibitors to my attendance.

Instead of being at Twickenham with 82,000 other rugby fans, I am sitting on my settee at home. Almost alone. Molly my cocker spaniel is asleep at my feet casually farting. Not surprising since she is well passed her life expectancy and has no consideration...being a dog.

bloody dog

The toddlers have remarkably been snoring for hours and show no signs of waking.

tilly2tone has long gone to bed knowing that my anxiety levels will hit the open stadium roof come kick off. Tomorrow morning I may be moody and inconsolable or, and this is my preference, happily tired. But approachable and chatty and comforted with another win.

But tonight I am anxious and eager to see the game played well and won comfortably without injury.

The players entering the field will fill me with a distanced pride. The anthem will well tears in my eyes. The kick off will catch me feigning calmness.

For the next 80 minutes I will be annoying and vulgar and impatient. Overflowing with muted expletives and exasperated sighs. Muted to mitigate the risk of waking the little cherubs fearful of a scenario where there are minutes to go and only a penalty kick the difference.

But for now the kettle has boiled. My tea has brewed. The biscuits opened. And the stadium lights have dimmed.

Good luck to the boys. Bring on y ddraig goch. The players us lads dreamt we could be when playing on top of freezing Welsh mountains in the comprehensives of Wales.

Enjoyo boyos, as we will all be watching, and cheering, and we will be proud. Wherever we are.

give it out Leek o x o {now go and listen to something lovely: stereophonics as long as we beat the english}