If I wanted to watch a selection of chunky legs, I’d watch football or be drawn to the lobster counter in Sainsbury’s. Conversion, try, scrum. I’m learning the terms and how it all fits in to make a game. I won’t pretend I’d ever be able to explain it for you. But I do have a genuine interest.
It is exciting, drink throwing, breath gasping roughty toughtyness and I love it. Not in a pub rammed with sweaty beered up chaps, nor sat with a gaggle of girls making comments like, ‘Oooh, he should have tied his hair up’ or, ‘Gosh, what a nasty chap he is, running into him like that’….but I have been in both situations before. No one is going to test me on the rules or my knowledge. No one will check I know why a line out occurs before I turn on the TV, so this is not a point to impress action. I watch it because I enjoy it.
Which is more than can be said for Valentine’s day. One of my friends has been invited to supper with her married friends (as a sympathy vote) or to a party ‘against obnoxious commercial days’. What a choice! Bitter I am not. Just resentful of the fact that we need to reserve a day to tell people we love them – what about the rest of the year? And the pressure this causes is horrendous. Teddy bear or roses or something more personal? A pamper day or vouchers or football tickets? A soppy card, a poetic card, a funny card, no card? Dinner, lunch, a show, champagne? Surprise or planned? The list goes on. What a minefield.
Valentine’s Day is hugely more complicated and requires much more effort than watching a game of rugger. There is no Jonny Wilkinson (or Charlie Hodgson) involved (not in my life anyway) to help score at least a few points and spark up the ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ tone, whatever that might be comparable to. There is no half time break to check your mobile, make a cuppa, call back your mate and change positions on the sofa. There are just smug people quietly stressing that they haven’t quite hit the nail on the head with their loved one.
Pressure or pressure? Approval for ‘correct’ displays of love for one person or approval from every English rugger supporter in the land? This shouldn’t be a comparison and yet I fear it is of sorts. As for what I shall be doing Valentine’s evening, I shall keep that a secret but one thing is for sure, I’d rather be stressing over whether I can convert a try or not….wouldn’t you?
