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For better or worse, these days we are a little more Twickers than Cricklewood

Tommy Conlon


thecouch@independent.ie

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'Twickenham still looks and sounds frightfully intimidating in the minutes before kick-off when the home supporters are in full voice.' Photo: Toby Melville/Reuters

'Twickenham still looks and sounds frightfully intimidating in the minutes before kick-off when the home supporters are in full voice.' Photo: Toby Melville/Reuters

REUTERS

'Twickenham still looks and sounds frightfully intimidating in the minutes before kick-off when the home supporters are in full voice.' Photo: Toby Melville/Reuters

There was a fella at home with notions. He was going to big rugby matches in Dublin. He was even talking about taking up the game, having been reared on the hairy bacon of Gaelic football.

Yes, he was moving up in the world, making his way into politer society, leaving the backwoods of rural Leitrim behind him for the Burlo in Dublin 4 of an international afternoon.

One night, after a local gah match played in the usual conditions of muck, obscurity and agrarian violence, he declared to his drinking mates he was looking forward to the upcoming Ireland v England game in London. In fact, he was going. And he wanted to know if we were going too. "Any of yiz heading to Twickers?" he asked. Except he hadn't quite managed to master the more refined kind of accent that would pass muster in the social circles to which he was gravitating. One word gave the game away: Twickers. It just didn't sound wholly convincing, coming from a fella who spent more time walking around in wellingtons than in Dubarry deck shoes.