Winning and losing in the HC is meaningless at this point.
Hurrah for Connaught, Ulster and the other Irish qualifiers.
Meaningless dribble if one is thinking 6N.
Before I continue with my worship of English rugby, just have a look at flyhalf.
If Flood were injured and Hodgson bailed, Owen Farrell could take over the reins or what about Stephen Myler or Billy Twelvetrees.
That is just a outhalf. Check it out; Danny Cipriani is as far away as Andy Goode…ninth, tenth in the pecking order.
So what if Tom Woods is injured…..Chris Robshaw no problem.
It’s endless.
The Harlequins may be an illusion in terms of form right now, and Gloucester the habitual bridesmaid but who cares? When it comes to picking players England have the luxury of picking every position right now blind and still have a magnificent team.
It’s crazy but I am not changing my mind until Martin Johnson sings.
__________
Talk about a dream. My time at the Claus trailer was as vivid as a silent film. Better than The Artist.
All want to know about the wild sex.
Give me a few moments to recollect.
It may seem like yesterday but it’s not.
There was floating clothing and windswept lady’s hair. There were ballerinas galore and beautiful female dwarves, perfect in every respect.
And there was no tossing.
I’ll need another day to insure that I am not lying to myself. The glorious night with the Claus family really happened.
Expressing the affair in black and white doesn’t seem to do it.
Perhaps it was the rugby? Drugs? Beer? Voltaren for pain?
Please come back to me.
