It has been eighteen mostly rainy days since I've been back in England, and only the last four of which I have not been living out of my suitcases. I may detest unpacking even more than I do packing. While it has been taking me a while to get back into the swing of things here, I think I can confidently state that I am on my way.
This past weekend was lively, with friends and Luke's cousin coming to stay with us and the England v. France game from the 6 Nations Rugby tournament on. Quick Note: 6 Nations in a rugby tournament played between England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Italy, and France each year. England v. France is probably the biggest match of the tournament due to the intense rivalry between the two countries. I was very torn on who to pledge my allegiance to, England being my home now and France being a place I called home for a year and still love. In the end, I donned my recently purchased England Rugby shirt and decided to cheer for my favourite French rugby players, namely Sebastien Chabel, or as I like to call him Jesus on steroids.
Chabal, French Position Number Eight and All Around Legend
Seriously, look at the bloke! I think if he were running at me for a tackle I'd assume the fetal position, start sucking my thumb, and cry. He's an absolute beast with a top-notch beard and an all around quality rugby player. In the end, England triumphed over their froggy rivals with a victory of 17 to 9. They have so far won every match which could result in them winning by a grand slam. Next match for them is versus Scotland, which Luke and I will be in attendance for.
After the rugby and a few drinking games our group of five set out to explore the bar scene of Worcester. There is not a shortage of bars here, but certainly a shortage of common decency. I don't mean to insult my current city, but it seems to be full of people suffering from big fish, little pond syndrome. When we tried to ascertain the best bar to go to by questioning the locals we were told the name of a bar which escapes me now, but that we couldn't get in because 'only locals could'. We were actually turned away from somewhere for not being local. How they knew this I don't know, perhaps it was the absence of tracksuit bottoms and fake Burberry.
One of my favourite moments of the night, happened right after we were turned away from the bar for not being locals. Four police officers were standing on the corner watching the bar we had just been been denied entry to. I'm not sure how we got to speaking to these gentlemen but I think it might have stemmed from the bouncers trying to say that 'locals only' was not a form of discrimination. We chatted to them for probably 10 minutes, before it was quickly cut short by a street brawl which they had to attend to. Which was a shame as we were quite enjoying our little chat.
It was a decent night out, apart from a few hiccups which were brightened by a morning of countless cups of tea and bacon sandwiches or bacon butties as they are called here. After our guests left, Luke and I spent the rest of the day huddled in bed watching the first few episodes of what is fast becoming our new guilty pleasure Glee.
I must leave it here for now, as a houseful of guests has left the place in dire straits. Until next time.