So the season has kicked off in earnest, whatever that means, and this week we made the trip down to the sports ground to play Connaught, sometimes Connaught is spelt Connacht, probably for convenience, but I do enjoy a trip out west.
Connacht play out of Galway in the middle of a race track for dogs. It was so funny - one time me and Dave, up to divilment as usual, ran around the track pretending to be greyhounds. It was so funny that I'd say I laughed for a good 48 seconds afterwards.
The match was pencilled in for 19.35pm, which is an unusual time really. Personally, I would prefer to start the game at 19.30pm and get it over with nice and early, as it stands I will be at least five minutes late getting to bed, making allowances of course for extra time and high jinks post match.
A man named Peter drives the bus and, when he is not driving us lunatics around, he does the bingo run of a Tuesday night.
Before we leave, I normally check with Matt if we need to bring a packed lunch so I can give myself some time to get to Tesco to pick up a few bits, like a half pound of ham, cheese and a loaf of bread. Normally, Matt tells us everything is laid on, which is a good money saver, but you cant be too careful. 'Fail to prepare your lunch, prepare to be hungry' is what me and Dave always say.
On the trip over, I normally ask Matt if we can stop in Ballinasloe to pick up a few bits, but Matt normally says no and to concentrate on the game. I also check that Peter has a full tank of diesel and check the service history of the bus because we don't want to break down en route and miss the game.
We usually take the motorway, which knocks 52 minutes off the journey, but I have to say, I do miss the old route as it was scenic and I used to love getting stuck in traffic in Ballinasloe and Oranmore. It can be so much fun waiting for traffic lights to go from green to red.
We stayed over, but I always hope we get back home as I have to feed the cat and get the ironing done for Monday. If we do return the same night, I normally crawl into bed well past 11. Sometimes the life of a rugby player is plain crazy!