Stuck in the middle with you.

Following the mysterious appearance (and even more mysterious disappearance) of Satan at Musgrave Park he had been in regular contact and it now transpired that he was planning to visit the Black North on the very day we were holding the “Meet the Player’s” evening.

“Why don’t we meet up before hand for a bite to eat?” I found myself saying in an email! “Then you could meet the fans and the players in one fell swoop.”

“That would be grand,” came the reply.

And now the day of destiny was at hand. The traffic had been chaotic all day and yet again I was running late. Story of my life. The mobile rang.

“Hi, how are you?” It was him!

“Stuck in traffic,” I replied.

“I have been invited to meet the Lady Hooker at 6pm - can I push back our meeting to 7pm?” enquired the man from Satan TV.

“Why don’t we invite her for dinner as well,” I found myself saying. “I’ll give her a call.”

And so it came to pass that the great and the not so good of the URSC found themselves supping together with mysterious company in Madison’s Hotel. The meal was superb, although The Devil on Horseback had been removed from the menu.

“Demons to the left of me, Hookers to the right! Here I am, stuck in the middle with you!”, I whispered to the General as he bought another round of drinks. He just grinned in his own inimitable style, and I thought he was perhaps leaning towards the right…. or was it to the left?

Soon enough it was time to “Meet the Players”. The clock struck eight……the venue resembled Ravenhill of old, except the dog had obviously stayed at home as well. Fortunately the three fans who were present were of a suitable girth to make the room look well occupied. “Thank goodness for the FRU”, I thought, glancing at the General – (I am sure the story of him playing at fly half is just another one of those Raving Hill Rumours.)

The format of the evening resembled an unrehearsed episode of the Spanish Inquisition. The great inquisitor from the land down under paced the floor while securing confession after confession from his charges. We heard about Paul Marshall’s “Me Tarzan, You Jane” routine and why you should never trust Mark Bartholumeusz with an umbrella. Lady Hooker looked on incredulously. Soon the meeting would be opened to the floor. Lady Hooker motioned to whisper in my ear. “She is the one my mother warned me about”, I thought. “Thank you for a lovely evening”, was all she said, and with that she slipped out into the night, leaving only a trace of expensive perfume.

Climbed the stairs at 11pm to settle up the tab with mine Hostess, Jane. Not Paul’s Jane, another delightful Jane. Very pleased to announce that the room was provided free and the supper charged at cost price. Drove home. Put out the milk bottles and returned the cat to the fridge. Brushed my teeth. Turned out the light. Dreamt we beat Toulouse again!. If only there were more days like these.