Times change

Time was I used to follow rugby.

My dad and I used to ride 50 miles or so on drizzly wet Saturdays on his 250cc Honda to Murrayfield to watch all of Scotland's internationals in the seventies.

My mates and I used to rampage down Rose Street behaving appallingly before and after big games in the eighties.

I even managed to sleep with an ex England international (honest we both collapsed exhausted in a climbing bothie) in the nineties.

But watching The Frank Skinner show tonight, which included an interview with two of England's winning team in Australia, I was overcome with emotion as I realised that this is a large part of my life which I have left behind.