Weekends were made for escaping....

I guess that the title of this entry says it all. I've escaped from Warwickshire, and am currently updating my blog whilst seated in my Great-Uncle's study in Wilkeston - on the outskirts of Edinburgh.

What am I doing here? Simple. It has to do with the small matter of a rugby international between those two "super powers" of world rugby - Scotland and Italy, in the Six Nations tournament at Murrayfield.

For more years than I care to admit to (ok - about 10!) my uncle has bought me tickets to a rugby international of my choice as a birthday / Christmas present. So, I took him up on his offer and took this particular game.

Ok - maybe it's not the game that most purists would have chosen, but I wanted to see my uncle on his home turf, and sit and shoot the breeze with him, as I'd not seen him since last year - at Dad's funeral.

But I'm not here on my own. I've brought my other half with me, as he's a rugby fanatic, but has never managed to make it to an international for one reason or another, and has for as long as I've known him, been on about getting tickets.

So, without his knowledge, I made the necessary arrangements, having made sure that he wasn't working this weekend by asking his manager, and explaining my motives. (I'll give the guy his due, he's a damned good actor, as he looked really surprised when my other half told him what I'd done!) And then all I had to do was choose the right moment to tell my other half...

I gave him the news of this particular trip on Thursday night, The look of surprise was something I'll treasure, and he looked at me as if he wasn't quite sure about me, as he knows that I'm quite capable of winding him up like clockwork.

I managed to dispel his fears by producing the flight confirmation for the flight to Edinburgh from Birmingham on the Friday night flight, and the return flight on Sunday night.

Ah well, suppose I'd better log off and bog off - there are things I want to do before I go to the rugby....

Back tomorrow - hangover permitting!

Karen.


Don't let the b'stards get you down.