Homlessness

So, here I am, in the rubble of my soon-to-be former house. The Tin Shed is going to be sold and I have a week to move my crap. I had relied on Wellington to boost my spirits by winning at the 'Brook, but Otago once again got their giant killer act on and stuffed them. I'm not sure WHAT Wellington were up to, or what the Otago boys had with their half-time oranges, but that second half was something very special. I don't think Wellington had the ball in Otago's half at all. Shameful display.
I was quite disturbed at just how good Ma'a Nonu looked compared to everyone else. How different a competition would the Air NZ cup have been if the All Blacks had been involved? Would there have been more than three men, a dog, a bunch of ex-Wellington College boys, Madam Backslash and I on the terraces?

The terraces are an interesting proposition. When packed with students they emit a life and energy that dwarfs anything short of the Wellington Sevens (which I will sadly not be going to next year.) When they're not full... You feel like more of a sports-yob just being there and cheering. I will be glad to journey north to my spiritual home of the Basin Reserve, where I always feel like a sports-yob just being there. And the ground staff know me by name.

But before then I will be homeless, both spiritually and physically, while I study for those pesky exams and watch the Black Caps beat Bangladesh. Onwards to the packing! (I don't really need three rugby balls, do I?)