This place is like a commune but without the rules or the pretentious nonsense. That is why a dozen or so rugby lads from England, Ireland, Wales and France have individually found their way here and ended up hanging around all week, happy to temporarily become pseudo surfer/hippie types. A lot of us are a bit done in from the constant travelling around, boozing and rugby matches and so, the Raglan commune has been the perfect place for us all to unwind, detox (well, perhaps every other day) and recharge our batteries. Many of us (the Irish and English amongst us) feel very half-hearted about going all the way back to Auckland again, this time for the semi-final between Wales and France. Three or four of us – myself included - would happily sell our tickets if we thought we could get back the silly amount of cash we all spent on the tickets when we bought them several months ago, thinking our teams would reach the semi-final. Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to the match but I would just never wish to spend what I have on a match that doesn’t involve England; particularly one with France playing in it. I’m very confident of Wales beating France, so I will hopefully witness an historic victory, which will send Wales into the final against the All Blacks.
Friday is lots of time spent in a hammock, sunbathing and reading. Spring seems to finally be here, although the weather in NZ has the habit of changing every 30 seconds, so you are no sooner remarking about how hot the sun is today before receiving a soaking seconds later.
Friday night isn’t up to much. Some of the Maori women at the local club are as rough as a British council estate. Otherwise, it is the usual eight-blokes-to-one-woman 2011 rugby world cup ratio that we have all gotten (even started using American grammar) so used to these past six weeks. It is fair to say I am really tiring of the constant Sausage Fest nights out in New Zealand. I cringe when I think of Queenstown with half a dozen mediocre-at-best British and Irish girls and a bar packed with hundreds of blokes ‘largeing it’ remarking upon ‘how fit’ said awful specimens were. I think I could even stomach a night out in Leicester at the moment. Yeah, it really has gotten that bad.