It’s Six Nations season here in the rugby-loving corner of Europe, and that means all sorts of all-day boozing; kilt-, shamrock-, daffodil-wearing (delete as applicable); and neighbor-baiting. I went to Twickenham to watch the rugby. It was England vs. Ireland. England won (not the right result), but I consoled myself by drinking a Nebuchadnezzar of Bollinger all on my own, getting the drunk train back to London, and then finding myself in a tussle with a bouncer at a cheesy nightclub, all of which is entirely traditional fare after watching the egg chasing.
Photos: Courtesy of Patrick Grant