Orange Goblins, Ebola and Rugby.
And very glad I was that I did. It was a great gig. Orange Goblin were magnificent and the support bands were properly mental. I even got into the mosh pit and pushed some people around – fun was had by all.
By Friday I felt well enough to make it in to the gym and I even attempted a workout. Which, by the way, was dire. I mainly just stood in the middle of a squat rack, lent against a bar and sighed. But no matter, thought I, a weekend of more rest and I’ll be able to unleash hell on Monday. Alas, this was not to be the case.
On Saturday Zoe was out all day doing worthy charity stuff leaving me with the kids. This normally is fine, I enjoy having them to myself and doing Dad Style Death Defying Adventures. But I was knackered and on my knees with post-illness fatigue.The only way to cope with kids when shattered is to get out of the house and do something. So I decided to jump on the train and take them into Cardiff. A train journey, a spot of lunch in a restaurant, a visit to a toy shop for the kids, a visit to the Apple store for me and the train journey back home would kill most of the day and wouldn’t require much effort from me. Perfect.
I soon noticed a flaw in my non-too cunning plan. Barry Island is, not metaphorically speaking, the end of the line so the train was empty and only a few people were waiting to get on. I did notice that a few of the waiting passengers were wearing the red shirt of the Welsh Rugby side but in this proud little nation that isn’t unusual. At the next stop more people boarded the train some of them were also clad in red rugby shirts. Several stops down the line later and the carriage was stuffed to the gunnels with drunk, raucous and hyped up rugby fans. I had some how forgotten that today was the start of the six-nations rugby championship and we would get into Cardiff just before kick-off.
You have to be from Cardiff to understand the carnage that can be wrought on an International match day. It’s like the last days of Rome.Cardiff’s fantastic stadium is unique as it’s smack in the city centre and only about 300 meters from the train and bus station. Which means that every visiting maniac from the valleys and outlying areas of Cardiff descend upon the capital city like a Mongol horde. It was into this madness that the kids and I were spewed. A vast sprawling mass of seething drunkenness and barely restrained violence. The kids thought it was awesome. I thought we would be killed and eaten. Fortunately your average rugby fan is reasonably well behaved and we survived the gauntlet of chanting, baying, slavering loons to make it to the relative calm of the main shopping centre. Several burgers and toys later we made our escape back to Barry while the game was still on to avoid yet more chaos.
Sunday was the perfect lazy family day. We all lounged around reading books, eating roast dinners and watching TV. The dog got walked. The kids did their homework. Zoe did some knitting. I defended Earth against Intergalactic invaders on the ipad and looked forward to tomorrow’s workout.
Thanks for reading,