To begin at the beginning
Last week I went home, when I Say home, I mean Wales, West Wales to be precise.
I thought a visit to the home of Dylan Thomas would inspire me to produce some wonderful poetic articles , sadly none of the great writers magic appears to have rubbed off.
In Laugharne, where a wi-fi signal is as rare as rocking horse droppings, I woke up to misty mornings, where the only sounds were the cry of the curlew and the swift, swooping over the foreshore, as the hills, shrouded in a thin layer of mist welcomed the morning sun
This was my World Cup training camp, fuelled by latte’s and chips, my cryotherapy regime consisted of chilling my Sauvignon blanc to a temperature well below freezing.
Healthy dietary intake proved almost impossible in my training camp by the “sloeblack ,slow black, crow black, fishing-boat bobbing sea”
As a result, the quest for salad items ironically proved to be the fitness boost my ageing body desperately required.
The adrenalin fuelled walks to the Spar shop, at the crack of dawn, in an attempt to get to the single lettuce, that daily appeared on the shelves, was a cardio vascular workout of immense proportions
Whilst in the land of my fathers , the quest for 2015 Rugby World Cup began.
Wales, or a team that wore Welsh shirts lost to Ireland, their performance was dismal and as a result the whole squad were forced to travel to North Wales by Arriva trains on the following Monday, a rather harsh punishment in my opinion
Forget Dohar and Switzerland, the mental strength needed for this ordeal cannot even be measured.
I can only imagine that every plastic coated piece of fruit cake and every cup of Nescafé Rocky Mountain granulated coffee was consumed, no protein shake can replicate the effect those products have on an athletes body
I think the squad arrived in North Wales on the Thursday but don’t quote me on that.
As Wales prepare for further warm up matches in Dublin and Cardiff, my training camp is over and I have returned to England in readiness for the tournament.
So as the Rugby World Cup beckons will Wales go gently out of Pool A or will they rage rage against the dying of qualification against England and Australia and reach the promised land of the quarter final stages.
It would be poetic justice, after 2011, if they did just that, and More.