All fall down...

For the last eight years or so, I have been dropping hints to the husband as to how much I would like to go to an NFL match.  For those of you who are rapidly thinking of various variations of NFL (Not Flipping Likely, Not For Ladies etc) this is the American version of rugby, and involves helmets, padding and tighty whitey trousers which leave little to the imagination.  It's a bit like Swan Lake on steroids without the orchestra and I can't even begin to tell you how excited I was when he presented me with two tickets for my Christmas present.  

So it was off to Wembley we headed on Sunday.  We had various offspring lined up for dog walking duties, and had originally planned to leave home at 11.00.  However, the husband, sensing an opportunity, suggested a quick breakfast at a local cafe before we left for the match.

Now.  A quick breakfast for me usually involves a slice of toast and a cup of tea, but not the husband.  His 'quick breakfast' is a three course event, starting with a fresh orange juice and finished off with a slice of toast and a cup of tea. Between these two courses sits a large plate of all that is bad for you.  I had to keep him company on the full fry-up front, and really enjoyed it with very little guilt, and the two of us waddled out looking like a couple of Weebles.  We both agreed that as far as food was concerned, there would be no more for the rest of the day...

The match itself was rather staid.  However, the view more than compensated. The husband resorted to plying me with jelly babies to keep my eyes off the derrieres which failed miserably.  How thoughtful of the organisers to put large screens up with close ups of the ahem, ahem, action...

My team lost.  I say 'my team' like I have some idea of who to support, but my choice was purely based on the fact that purple suits me better than turquoise.  But I loved the whole 'American-ness' of it, and the atmosphere was wonderful.

On the way out of the stadium, the husband's eyes lit up as we walked past the food stalls.

'Fancy a German sausage?' he asked with a straight face.  I declined, saying that I was now officially more of a hotdog fan than a frankfurter.

Would I go again?  Probably not.  



Especially as I have a pair of those trousers on order for the husband...



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