Once upon a time, there were four children named Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy, and they were all sent away to a big country house in Cornwall at the time of the Great Coronavirus Armageddon. The house was owned by an ancient Scottish professor of rugby (as opposed to an ancient professor of Scottish rugby, who would be even more morose) who had had some adventures in his youth that no-one remembered now.
While he wasn’t that excited about bloody kids running around the place, he welcomed them warmly with some half-cooked pieces of cheese and toast, and told them to explore the house and gardens, and to please keep the noise down, and stay out of the way of the occasional tours that took place in the house.
One day it was pissing it down outside, and they decided to play hide-and-seek inside the house.
Lucy ran around the empty rooms, looking for somewhere to hide. She kept hearing voices in the corridor, and so she went on to another part of the house she hadn’t been in before. She pushed open a cobwebby, creaky old door and found herself in a disused, dusty gym with deflated balls, chipped mouthguards and still-smelly unmentionables scattered about.
“This’ll be a super place to hide,” thought Lucy. “Obviously no-one’s been here for years.” But then she heard voices just outside the door again!
“Ah fuck, I’m going to have to hide in one of these lockers.”
She opened the rustiest-looking locker of all, and pushed her way inside. There were old Lions shirts from tours in olden years, and she pushed through them, trying to get to the back of the locker. The locker seemed to be enormous, and it was getting colder and colder.
Much to her surprise, she suddenly found herself in a snowy woodland. It was dark, but she could see a light ahead, so she walked towards it. It turned out to be a lamp-post.
By the light of the lamp, Lucy could see a strange figure with the torso of a man, the legs of a black cat, and horns on his head. “Hullo!” he said. “Are you a Daughter of Maeve?”
“Well aye, my mum’s name’s Maeve, so it is: how did you know?”
“My name is Mr Iknus. You look cold. Please come to my cave for tea.”
Lucy gratefully accepted his invitation (upon my word, what do they teach them in the schools these days?), and listened to Mr Iknus’ tales of the Land of Narnia, for that was where he said she was, while he prepared the tea and scrumptious toast and tea-cakes. He told her that Narnia had been a lovely land, overflowing with milk and honey and excellent, free-flowing rugby matches, until a White Witch had seized control, made it always winter, released a virus in order to impose a lock-down, and cancelled all the rugby, yea even unto the Lions tour.
“Imagine that: always winter and never rugby.”
Lucy shuddered with horror. It seemed all too real to her.
Mr Iknus suddenly sobbed into his hands.
“Whatever is the matter, dear Mr Iknus?” cried Lucy.
“Ah, Lucy, I am afraid I am a bad person. I have promised the White Witch – for money! – to betray any Daughters of Maeve to her. But I cannot betray such a charming young rugby fan. Hush! I will lead you back to Lamp Post and the Corn Wall.”
Mr Iknus was as good as his word, and they slipped silently and furtively (“The Witch has spies everywhere, you know”) back through the woods to the lamp-post. Lucy could see the locker, and pushed her way back through the Lions shirts into the gym.
“Gosh,” she thought, “I’ve been gone for hours. The others will be worried!”
***
“I’m back!” cried Lucy, after she leapt back through the locker, and went racing back to find the others.
“What do you mean, you’re back?” said Peter. “You’ve only been hiding for ten minutes.”
“But I’ve been away for hours and hours, and I found Narnia, and heard all about their Narnian Lions, and Mr Iknus, and….”
“Now, now, Lucy,” said Susan, “You mustn’t make up stories because you got bored.”
Lucy stamped her foot. “But it’s all true, I tell you! I’ll show you!”
“Nah, that’s all right, ta,” sneered Edmund.
Lucy burst into tears. “Well, sod the lot of you rotters; I’m going back to see Mr Iknus, who’s nicer than any of you”, she sobbed, before flouncing off.
Edmund looked shifty and quietly followed her.
Lucy made her way back to the locker, pushed her way through the Lions shirts, and found the lamp-post. There was no Mr Iknus to be seen, but she made her way towards his cave.
***
Edmund had watched Lucy go into the locker and not emerge again. After waiting a few minutes, he decided to investigate.
Much to his surprise, he suddenly found his footfalls crunching on snow, and found himself in Narnia.
“Gosh! I say, Lucy was telling the truth after all! There’s the lamp-post.”
Edmund didn’t see anybody, and started trudging through the snow, feeling a bit sulky that he hadn’t had a warm welcome like Lucy. Suddenly he heard a majestic swooshing sound and, thinking it was a clever long off-load, turned around to catch the ball. The noise turned out to be a magnificent springbok-drawn sleigh bearing an icy-looking woman and some minions.
“Halt!” cried the woman. “What have we here? A Son of George?”
Amazed by the woman’s intuition, yet intimidated, Edmund stammered that he was indeed a son of George. The woman looked at him fiercely, then suddenly changed her manner.
“Poor lad, you look frozen. I am the Queen of Narnia. Please step into my carriage, and I will give you sustenance. Do you like Turkish Delight?”
As it happened, being a thoroughly repulsive character, Edmund did like Turkish Delight. He stepped into the sleigh, and was given a warm fur – yes, real fur – to wrap around himself, and as much Turkish Delight as he could swallow, as well as a lovely drink. The Ice-woman now seemed much more like a beautiful Queen-woman, the most delightful person he’d ever met, and he eagerly attempted to answer all her many questions.
After having covered the basics of Edmund being pro-Brexit and a Saracens fan, she asked him about his associations in the land of Corn Wall. She was particularly interested in the fact that there were four children bonded together, and that they were all rugby fans. She exhorted him to bring them all to visit her, and promised more Turkish Delight if he should oblige – because unfortunately she had run out of the stuff at the mo.
Greedy for more, and feeling all-powerful, Edmund stepped out of the sleigh and made his way to the lamp-post, where he encountered a radiant Lucy.
“Oh, Edmund, so you’ve found Narnia too! I’m so glad someone will believe me now.
“I’ve seen Mr Iknus, and he’s told me that the White Witch, who claims to be Queen, but really isn’t, hasn’t found him out so far. She really is a dreadful woman who hates rugby.”
Edmund said nothing, but followed Lucy back through the locker.
Ovally Balls 
Thomas Charabas, Maxime Mbanda and Zinhle Ndawonde are better people than me:
https://www.sarugbymag.co.za/rugby-trio-fighting-covid-19-on-the-frontline/
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Not an exhaustive list…
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Sorry, couldn’t resist.
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Fair comment.
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I see Trump has refined his braggadocio from 100K is acceptable collateral damage to “we’re gonna save 1 million American lives.” Now he’s the nation’s saviour, a few short weeks after dismissing it, and only a few days after declaring he’d re-open the country before Easter. The worst part is, with Joe Biden his likely opponent in November, he may well be a two term president.
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Situation normal. He’ll blather what currently suits him at the current time even if it entirely contradicts what he said 5 minutes ago. Somehow he gets away with it.
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Probably a good debating tactic when it comes to England centres.
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Or children. The novelty of this home schooling business is going to wear off quickly.
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nah!
always Tuilagi plus Slade
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Lock them up!
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We still talking about England centres?
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Greenwood and Tindall went pretty well together.
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Scottish Rugby High Heid Yins take wage deferral for 6 months, plus the Head Coaches (Toonie, Dave and Cockers) to take a 25% wage deferral.
https://www.scottishrugby.org/news/update-from-scottishrugby?fbclid=IwAR0i_9jXvt9F0mt6IAUNa6SZHkAHx3vHrDWc7L3D0RTuZP5VyKfq7oQ8pzA
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SBT – that was a wee while ago. Wonder what happened the last time those two teams played?
No doubt DeeBee will tell us…..
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Deebee’s far too polite and reserved to gloat.
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WE KICKED THEIR FARKING ARSES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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See?
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Oh. Shoulda read Chimpie’s post too. Cough.
In a hard-fought tussle, which swayed one way and then the other, the lads from South Africa, fresh off the boat, eventually edged the match by two scores to nil. The brave English lads gave it their all, but in the end, their southern foe were worthy winners. The match was played in a derring-do spirit, with reverie and camaraderie aplenty between both the sets of players and their boisterous supporters in the stands, A great advert for rugby football!
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Nahh, we let you win. Happy to beat the Kiwis. Not greedy, just a humble nation willing to share the love.
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Naturally, Timbo! Good English fair play and all that. We’re ever so grateful to be handed our 3rd World Cup on a platter like that. No Suzy, no having to rely on French forward passes not being picked up, or touchlines suddenly growing wider when an England foot approached. Just good old English generosity. Luv u guyz!
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Fuck you Deebs!!
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Go punch yourself Craigs!
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Football, eh?
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@tomp
The Beautiful Game
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that 20% is really going to sting.
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Heid yins here have ‘volunteered’ to take a 10% hit for the team. Furlough coming up for some people I suspect.
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Wonder if that’s 10% from just base salary or the various massive stock options and other goodies they get.
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Frankly some Furlough would be nice as long as I had a job to go back to.
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kids have rescued a poorly looking bee from the garden. Put it in a ventilated tub, not exactly sure what to do now.
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Bit of a harsh thing to do to a child
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Cage’s finest moment.
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Watched Mandy a while back. WTF was that?
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Watched Mandy a while back. WTF was that?
Barry Manilow’s finest moment?
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I have evidence:
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Chimpie, some new music for you: https://amazingtunes.com/paulgarry/biography
Haven’t listened to any but it sounds … great.
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A treat for youse coming up in ten minutes.
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