I had already been in Paris for 2 days on a shopping death march when 3pm Saturday came around – time to meet Paris Tah at an Irish Pub to watch Ireland play Italy. My holiday had started at last.
After watching a feeble Ireland dribble over the line against Italy, it was time to head north on the RER Ligne B to St Denis-Stade de France. Given that it's a brand new stadium, I was surprised how far it was from the train station (about 25mins walk). Worse still, there's no beer in the Stade, but Paris Tah’s local knowledge paid off here by having a couple of excellent baguette-dogs and beers on the way.
The game was exciting, with lots of tries, and the inevitable French win. The French scrum was too powerful and the French backs too athletic for the “courageous” (i.e. shithouse) Scots to have much chance. Having said that, they were effective in the back row and probably got the better of their superstar opposition, especially Hardonadonkey, who might have looked great on TV, but at the game was generally on the opposite wing catching his breath. The crowd favourites were Parra (who really is much better than Yachvili) and of course the Caveman.
The crowd was fantastic and friendly, which is just as well, given the complete abortion of traffic management from the French. Imagine 78,000 people all trying to get through the same couple of holes. It took about half an hour just to get onto the street. The queues for the train were so long that we stopped for a couple of beers at the station. When we got back into the queue, they were still half an hour long, and just as we were going to get on the train, all transport came to a halt due to a suicide up the track. So, we had to walk to the other train station half an hour away. The queue there was just as bad so had ANOTHER couple of beers at THAT station. Got back to Paris at 11 or 12 and after failing to get into the OzCafe (which bizarrely turns into a nightclub after dark), had one last nightcap at a little bar.
But all up, an excellent night out. Cheers Paris Tah, cheers Paris.
P.S. Rougerie had the cleanest jersey, PT, as he always does.