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Ring, Ring: Rugby...

Ring, Ring: Rugby World Cup Calling

My cup floweth over—the Rugby World Cup that it is. In common with most of the male population of Australia, all normal male activity in the Ling household has been suspended in favor of option A) Husband watching games from the comfort of the sofa, remote clutched firmly in one hand for fear of the Drama Queens switching the action to Australia’s Top Model and option B) Husband watching live games down at a bar with a wide screen TV and a collection of motley mates. I am anticipating Sydney becoming very quiet over the next month or so as almost the entire Kiwi resident population and a fair proportion of Aussie males head over to New Zealand as the action becomes more intense. Husband has so far nobly resisted the temptation to jump on the what could be termed a scrum wagon on this one, though I did hear him enquiring of one of my Auckland based friends about the availability of beds in her house in the event of England requiring his support—at least I hope that’s why he was so interested in her bedding arrangements.

Although unlike Husband, I draw the line at sleeping with the tournament guide and timetable next to my bedside table, I have to admit a vested interest in the whole thing in that I come from parents who refuse to go on holiday in February as it interferes with the Scottish Rugby team’s fixtures. Being of a partisan nature I am very interested in how Scotland goes, particularly as they are in Group B along with England whose shirt Husband wears (in his dreams).  The inaugural match between Scotland and Romania definitely took a few years off my life as I peered through my fingers in horrified amazement as the scoreboard flickered in Romania’s favor. In fact such was the state of trauma induced by the whole thing I managed to lose one of the diamonds from my engagement ring, presumably during a hand wringing episode – perhaps when Romania triumphed to the extent that the senior Romanian coach planted an ecstatic kiss upon the head of his coaching partner, something that as the New Zealand commentator remarked, we really need to see more of in this competition. Fortunately I realized the diamond was missing quite quickly and was able to force a troupe of small girls off Skype and onto “Hunt the Diamond”.  Much though I hate to admit it, the missing gem is less of a Koh-I-Noor and more of a speck, so I didn’t have high hopes but one of the little darlings proved that girls are indeed a diamond’s best friend and rushed towards me bearing it in triumph.

 My next challenge is to try and remember where I stuffed the zip lock bag holding loose diamond and ring in the brief pause between intensive viewing—if I don’t find it, I may be forced despite my natural allegiance to get down on my knees and pray for an English victory, as I am pretty sure the euphoria of that moment will offer the perfect opportunity to break the news of missing jewelry to Husband without risking potential recrimination.

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