Saturday afternoon at the rugby with a couple of beers. My home life writ large across my vacation, a busman’s holiday. Yet my attendance at the Toll Stadium earlier for the Auckland Blues vs Sydney Waratahs pre-season friendly marked a seminal moment in my travelling life.

I’ve always wanted to watch rugby in New Zealand, one of the heartlands of one of my favourite sports. This mission has now been accomplished.

So what if it was only a friendly (an oxymoron if ever there was one considering the nature of this great sport)? I’ve now seen live rugby in New Zealand. One of the highlights of my last world trip was the Super 15 Semi-Final at Newlands (Cape Town, not Luton, sorry Keith….) between Cape Stormers and the Waratahs, and although today’s match was nowhere near as dramatic or significant as the one I saw in South Africa, it was a great experience nonetheless.

Part of said experience was the company. I inadvertently ended up leading a field trip of rugby virgins from the hostel to their first experience of the proper oval ball game. Two Canadian brothers, an American, an Austrian and a German made up the party, so I was grateful to a Kiwi also lodging there for his assistance in explaining the permutations of the break down and other such complications.

The game itself fizzled into life in the second half after a staid opening period. Inevitably the liberal use of substitutes, as is the norm with friendlies, helped the flow as the Waratahs took the game to the home team in the second half. Trailing 12-7 at the break, three early second half tries all instigated by the arrival of Israel Folau gave the Australian side the advantage with twenty minutes remaining. Both sides scored six tries apiece with Tah’s Tom Kingston running in a hatrick, though following some sustained late pressure it was Peter Saili’s second try that proved to be the difference. The Blues No 8 crashed over in stoppage time to wrap up this confidence booster for his team, 40-36.

So another one ticked off the To-Do List. Still plenty more to achieve not least brewing my own beer, making my own cheese, sleeping with harems of French women, headlining Wembley and watching football in Brazil to name but a few. Today was enjoyable, there is only one rugby team in blue for me though….. Be sure to have one for me at Goldington Road* later, eh chaps?

Come On You Blues indeed.

*Hello Ben, Mark, Nash, Matt M, Dan, Steve, Chris, Matt S, Marcus to name but a few. Sing your hearts out later and here’s to another great weekend’s Six Nations.
Swing low.

That’s the great thing about these Kiwis. Give ’em the very staple of British life and they’ll improve it out of all proportion and give it back to you with interest. Take rugby for example. From being a stodgy, civil war re-enactment of a part-time past time for hungover, wheezy fat boys as it lovably was (and sometimes lovably still is) back home, over here they made it the very lifeblood of the country, enlisted the strongest, fittest and bloody biggest athletes, instructed new parents to have their toddlers spinning lofted passes out of their cots in order to keep the production line alive and made it into eighty minutes worth of power packed pyrotechnics.
The All Blacks are one of the most iconic names in sport. They still lead the way.

Take music, we gave them The Beatles. They gave us Crowde… Yeah, ok, bad example.

But meat pies? Man alive. Even in the most died in the wool, chain-me-to-my-oven-and-force-me-under-great-duress-to-bake-effete-prawn-vol-au-vents-naked-for-the-rest-of-my-worthless-life-before-I-submit-to-your-evil-regime great bakeries of the UK will they dejectedly yield to New Zealand supremacy. The hand that fed them has been bitten again.

So while we had Steve Ojomoh, they had Zinzan Brooke. While we had, and indeed have, Oliver Adams, they had, and most certainly have, from the Jaffle Pie Company; Jesters. They appear to be another take on the acceptable face of food franchises, I’d imagine they’ve got bakeries in every town. If this is the case, I’m in for a treat over the next seven weeks.

In desperate need of some light relief following my visit to the life-shorteningly dull National Clock Museum in the Town Basin, I search frantically for the comfort that only a good meat pie can bring a man. In what is (sadly) to be the only use of this phrase in a while, Cameron Delivers!
Well, Cameron Street anyway. Slap bang in Fun-Gary’s (Couldn’t think of any more, so in a shout out to one of my childhood heroes, Hello Mr Wilmot!) CBD, Jesters Pie Shop is a noxious melange of purple and yellow like an LA Lakers changing room in dire need of a re-fit. Thankfully the staff are more appropriately attired. Forget the name, the business of pies is no laughing matter here.
As is proved by Jesters’ extensive menu. Pies of all fillings and sexualities align their expansive counter.

The Maharajah, The Stockman (Hello Uncle Tom!), Miss Muffet, Dr Pepper, William Tell, they’re all here. I go for the Southern Man, and the quintessential Kiwi treat; Steak & Cheese.

At first glance, with its bulging circular crust it looks a bit like Saturn, then on closer inspection of the pie top and its distinctive pentagon resembles an Adidas Tango after a pack of Alsatians have finished with it. But what a colour? a perfect gold Louis XIV would be happy to come back from the dead for. The faultless pastry looks short crust, but, is actually a variation of puff, again I think the long deceased Sun King would approve of this nod to la cuisine Francais. My first bite takes me into a deliciously tangy cheesy ozone hovering ominously above the meat. Thick chunks of steak in a rich, thick gravy complete a superb first pie since my return to New Zealand.

Roll on next Friday. If you’ll forgive the tedious space metaphor one more time, today’s effort was out of this world.

I have not got the hang of this. I set off to yesterday’s hastily rearranged match in Fun-Gary (Hello Mr Flower, well done on your new Elstow CC role.) determined not to be caught out by the weather.

A fresh wind had blown away the stickiness of the last few days, one or two drops of rain hung around like Jason Gallian, the skies looked like some kind of grey ripple ice cream. Contemplating another afternoon on the knoll, I packed my bag with two waterproofs and a book for the inevitable delays while I put in my walking shoes and fleece. I was prepared. Then this happened.

Bother! Sun cream, how on earth did I forget that?

England won by 46 runs and I witnessed something I hope I see a lot more of in the coming months. A hatrick wicket maiden over by an Englishman. Congratulations Stuart Broad.

Venturing down to the ground today along with some inquisitive Swedes, Swiss and Somersetians (along with ECC’s new recruit- though he doesn’t know it yet- Chelmsford Charlie) and a French girl from the hostel, that particular feat will take some explaining. Anyone got one of those tea towels handy?
As well as some sun cream…..

Appendix 1: It has happened before. Again, when setting off for cricket it was overcast with a chill breeze. Several hours later this happened.

Seriously. Slip, slop, slap.

(By the way, hello to The Goosh-Big Red- and Phil, thanks for the photo. Great days.)

Against the backdrop of the gathering Northern gloom the Cobham Oval’s scoreboard stoically offered a beacon of hope. “Cricket, Where Anything Can Happen!”

How very true. Sadly today in the Northern District’s capital, Whangarei (Pronounced Fun-Gary, apparently. Hello Mr McCafferty!) this happened…..

Cue a well-worn playlist of rain related songs from the venue’s PA system. At the start of the tenth over, with the New Zealand XI 69-1, play was abandoned for the day. The match has been hastily re-arranged for tomorrow with a further fixture scheduled for Wednesday.

England and their supporters, of which there quite a few here in Whangarei, will hope this isn’t portentous for the rest of their time here.

Today’s proposed trip to The Adelaide Oval has been postponed because Adelaide, just for today, appears to have done a Weather Exchange with Manchester. Which must be good new for ex-England footballers as there will be no need to defrost their cars this morning. So Mancunians, get out and drink in the exported South Australian suuuuuuuunshiiiiiiinnne!

The Adelaide Oval can lay claim to being one of Test Cricket’s most picturesque grounds. However, due to the expected crowds of Englishmen coming over for The Ashes later this year, it’s currently having a bit if a facelift. Let’s hope it’s a bit better than Warnie’s….

As a result of the building work, one of the ground’s major attractions, The Bradman Collection has been put away in storage until the refurbishment is over. Luckily, The South Australian State Library has some iconic Bradman memorabilia on show. Sir Donald Bradman, as you’ll all know, was born in New South Wales but settled in Adelaide later in life, which this state is rightly proud of.

Pictured below are the bats he used to make the then highest scores in Test cricket (334 v England, 1930) and First Class Cricket (452 NSW v Queensland, 1930), the highest score at the SCG (340 NSW v Victoria, 1929) plus the bat used to score his first Test century (1929 versus us again…) and his hundredth Test century (v India, 1947).

Eighty years from now, the question must be asked. Will they have something similar on display in honour of Mitchell Johnson?

This Saturday sees the start of the RBS Six Nations for 2013. Despite starting my adventures in the land of the white cloud part of my mind will be firmly on matters further North every weekend for the next seven weeks.

The Six Nations seven weeks is one of my favourite times of year. The nights begin to draw out, it warms up a little and when it doesn’t the warmth from the pub or your house does the trick as you contemplate the Arctic conditions on the pitch while the guys go all out for 80 minutes for Northern Hemisphere rugby bragging rights.
Nothing gets me out of my seat like watching an England game; shouting at the television for the big lads to stop doing stupid things at the ruck, for Ashton to stop pouncing about, pleading with the Southern Hemisphere officials to give us the benefit of the doubt sometimes.
Please?
The pounding of the table at the missed tackles, the very reluctant praise of anything good the French do, the quick to console with any of the Celtic brothers (despite the fact that some patronising English bloke in their face is the last thing they need at that time); yes, the Six Nations is a very special time on Planet Sport.

Then, from somewhere in the Twittersphere this beautiful, beautiful creation turns up.

Finally, a televisual rugby drinking game to rival Stella With Stelling.

So just when I can’t work myself up anymore about how much I’m going to miss it this year, there’ll be thoughts of my lads (Hello fellas!) whacking fingers of drinks down their necks in a distant pub somewhere every time Brian Moore needlessly gets, let’s say, “deossification” into a damning soliloquy of how poorly the scrums are being reffed. He knows about this new game…. Trust me, he will do this.

Well, enjoy I say. Here’s to an England win, though I fear France will nick it this year. Have several for me and have a cracking Six Nations.

Picture and concept courtesy of @WelshDalaiLama . Great work sir, thank you. If you’re on Twitter, go and have a look.

Here, have a killing
In fact, giant teams here, have two
The FA Cup means a lot to me
But it means probably nothing to you

“Be strong, serve Town only,
know that if you do, beautiful heaven awaits”
That’s the poem I wrote for the first time
I saw a man with ten clubs to his name at the Kenny gates

Mr Rendell, that’s his name
No one ever knew his name cause he’s a journey man
Never thought twice about him,
Until he took his moment of fame with both hands

Now that I know him, those You Tube replays
I’d love to be in his goal scoring shoes
Getting there at the near post
And leaving the Norwich fans confused

Go ahead, Mr Rendell
Go ahead, Mr Rendell

Mr Rendell has freedom
A freedom of the Canaries penalty box
Free to be without the worries of a man marker
For Mr Rendell’s a fox

His only worries are injury
And an occasional harassment by away fans
Bench warmer they call him, but I just saw him
Send Town fans crazy in the stands

Dons, are they really civilized, yes or no?
Who are we to judge?
When thousands of Bedfordshire men could be entranced
By the prospect of a fifth round grudge

Mr Rendell has given us this greatest of days
A wondrous day of which we talk
Has our Cup dream gone too far?
To a wonderland with him we’ll walk

Mr Rendell a giant killing hero
But not to all
I see you score in joyous, bursting pride
Realize that all in all you stand tall

Go ahead, Mr Rendell
Mr Rendell, yeah
Mr Rendell, yeah
Mr Rendell, go ahead

Mr Rendell
Lord, Mr Rendell

With profound acknowledgements and respect to Arrested Development and, indeed, Scott Rendell.

They’ll be dancing in the streets of Bedfordshire tonight….

A day that begins with “Did I fall asleep on the toilet last night?” probably won’t end well. Burns Night? Crash & Burns Night more like.

So, Australia Day. And more of the same.

Why, oh why, oh why, oh why, oh why, oh why, oh why, oh why oh why, oh why, oh why, oh why, oh why, oh why, oh why can’t we have something like this in England?

Why?

I’m off to the races, then a BBQ, then the pub then on to the fireworks. Brilliant.

Again, why can’t we do something like this in Blighty?

Pictured above, James Squire and Roger Sale shortly before the pubs opened.

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some would eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.

The Selkirk Grace; Robert Burns

What’s the world coming to when you can’t find haggis in Perth on Burns Night?

It being that time of the week, it seemed only fair to substitute haggis for pie. And Chunky Angus Steak at that. No neeps either, although I did find some tatties.

You’ll by now not be surprised to hear that there was no clootie dumpling either. However, I did manage to find some chocolate biscuits instead.

Err, Tim-Tam O’Shanters. Does that count?

And the wee dram? Tonight’s visit to the Lucky Shag on Perth’s waterfront should see to that….

A very Happy Burns Night to all of DWC’s Scottish readers. Your very good health.

The Doctor is there to welcome us. The resuscitating sea breeze from the Indian Ocean that breathes life back into the sun battered residents of Greater Perth. ‘When in Rome’ is the theme behind our excursion to The Little Creatures Brewery, home to Western Australia’s, nay, all of Australia’s greatest beer.
I hadn’t expected to be so easily smitten. In playing the part of an unofficial ambassador for the great English pint and copping all the obligatory abuse from Caaaaald One swigging non-believers that, in these parts rightly goes with the territory, I expected to beat them.

Not join them.

But in Little Creatures Pale Ale, Australia has a genuinely good beer. A beer I’d be happy to go home and admit defeat over.

Our trip to Freo, home of the aforementioned Fremantle Doctor, meant a look in at the brewery. Not the tour, couldn’t possibly afford that in saving for the forthcoming weekend spectacular, but a quick lunch time sup overlooking the harbour.

It’s a fair bet there aren’t many more pleasant settings in which to enjoy a freshly brewed beer than in the backyard of the Fremantle brewery. Brand spanking new yachts and speed boats bump up and down on the waves like would-be glamour models straining brazenly for attention while an ancient vessel, an old Dutch girl of four hundred odd years old, blocks the views of the more functional harbour industries. Waiting staff flit in and out of the packed al fresco dining area while, against the fierce midday sun,The Doctor continues doing the rounds. The signature Little Creatures cherubs adorn wall space and half barrels featuring their image hang in the air like Mick Harford.

Borrowing from the US rather than the UK take on a pale ale style, the citrus flavours shoot up through the taste buds before being placated by the malty after taste that lingers as long as the Fred Wesley trumpet solo in the background. The chilled temperature helps rather than hinders the flavour.

It could be that it’s been that long since I’ve had a really good pint, or as I suspect, Little Creatures Pale Ale deserves to be in that category.

Now then. Anyone know if Cranfield Budgens stocks it?