Yesterday’s news that Mills and Boon are linking up the Rugby Football Union to produce rugby-themed romances sparked this appeal from The Guardian for examples of possible ‘rugger romance’. The comments are very funny.
Gazing down at the Twickenham’s sward, which gleamed in the February sun, Jessica felt a frisson of pride. There was Seb, his white shirt shining and still unsullied by the mud that covered the jerseys of many of his England colleagues.
Jessica turned to her right, to an elderly gentleman with a silver flask from which he took occasional nips. She couldn’t help herself and blurted out, “That’s my Seb, number 14, did you see him run, he runs like the wind.”
“He’s having a nightmare,” her silver haired neighbour replied.
“He shows no courage under the high ball, his angle into the line is dreadful and he keeps drifting out of position. He’s given away two penalties for crossing and three at the breakdown – don’t they teach the rules of the game at Charteris anymore? Wales are 47 – 0 up and Shane Williams has put him on his arse every time he’s danced.
“I’m sorry to say miss that your Seb is no rugby player and damn close to being a traitor to England.”
Jessica felt the tears well up inside her as she stumbled towards the sanctuary of the Champagne bar.
Caroline watched in awe as Harry kicked the ball high in the air and his team-mates chased after it, marauding through mud and mayhem to catch it before it hit the ground. So that was an up and under… She’d been hoping for her own private demonstration, but now she wasn’t so sure…