tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412227443920505627.post4541909756665246239..comments2023-04-17T11:55:41.873+01:00Comments on Early Modern Gillian: My Weekend (3)Gillianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01736964617838267475noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412227443920505627.post-76722274884809923342009-03-30T12:20:00.000+01:002009-03-30T12:20:00.000+01:001948 is exactly right. Which meant, pleasingly, th...1948 is exactly right. Which meant, pleasingly, that some (by now very elderly) members of the last grand-slam-winning team lived to see the day. <BR/><BR/>When I was at school, I regarded rugby as loathsome. The school team regarded rugby as a religion and themselves as gods. This was all the more irritating since they were not a good team. When, the year after I left, they survived into the second round of the Schools' cup, life must have been unbearable. <BR/><BR/>But nowadays I see all these things through the gently nostalgic, rose-tinted lenses of the ageing ex-pat.Gillianhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01736964617838267475noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3412227443920505627.post-27452371181200807892009-03-27T12:43:00.000+00:002009-03-27T12:43:00.000+00:00Rugby is still something of a mystery to me. Like...Rugby is still something of a mystery to me. Like cricket... I think I'll stick to football! But apparently it was a grand achievement, not having happened since about 1948 or so my father-in-law told me.Oliver Masonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15470911924018335990noreply@blogger.com