It was my birthday on March 10 and on March 9, Mr. Waffle took me to a nice restaurant for dinner. It was filled with tables of older women and we and 4 or 5 other couples were in an alcove away from the main restaurant. I asked our waiter who the women were (IFUW was my initial thought). “They are,” he announced proudly, “the mothers of the rugby players.” Scotland were to play Ireland the following day. We looked dubious, this seemed unlikely. Seeing our expressions he added, “Possibly also the grandmothers.” It was later explained that these were the wives or rugby officials. Clearly an older cohort. And that was all fine and dandy until they got our their guitars (I kid you not) and started belting out 70s numbers (“Torn Between Two Lovers, “Leaving on a Jet Plane”) as well as, of course, “Flower of Scotland” and the ever unappealing “Ireland’s Call”.
Alas, fair maiden.
