Right then, Wales versus Ireland. It always gets talked about, doesn’t it? Proper rivalry there. I remember one year, I thought, ‘I’ll make a big deal of this one.’ Decided to have a few people over to watch the match at my place. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
So, I started off by ringing around. Just a few mates, you know, nothing massive. Told them, pop over Saturday afternoon, kickoff’s at whatever time it was, I’ll get some food and beers in. Easy enough, I thought. First hurdle, Dave said he could only come for the second half. Bit annoying, but fine. Then Rhys, who’s Welsh, asked if he could bring his cousin. Suddenly my ‘few mates’ plan was getting bigger.
Next up was sorting the supplies. Went down the supermarket Friday night. Absolute chaos. Everyone else had the same idea, clearly. Grabbed loads of crisps, nuts, that sort of thing. Then I thought I’d be clever and get some proper beer in, not just the usual lager. Found some fancy local ales. And for food, I planned on doing some hot dogs, keep it simple. Bought the sausages, the buns, the onions.
Getting Ready on the Day
Saturday rolls around. Started cleaning the place up a bit, making space in the living room. Dragged the extra chairs in from the kitchen. Then I thought I’d better check the TV. Switched it on, signal seemed okay. Good. Went to sort the food. Put the beers in the fridge. Started chopping the onions for the hot dogs. Eyes watering like mad, classic.
About an hour before kickoff, I thought I’d get the sausages cooking slowly. Put them in the oven. Then I realised I’d forgotten to buy ketchup. Seriously? Had mustard, had brown sauce, but no ketchup. Typical. Had to leg it down the corner shop. Got back just as the first guest, Tom, arrived. Sweating a bit, cutting it fine.
The Match and the Mess
Anyway, people started trickling in. Rhys and his cousin turned up, draped in a Welsh flag. Then my Irish mate, Conor, arrived, full of confidence as always. The banter started straight away. Put the sausages in buns, onions on top. People seemed happy enough, grabbing beers.
The match itself? Well, it was tense. Loads of shouting at the TV, obviously. Every time Wales got near the try line, Rhys was up on his feet. Every time Ireland got a penalty, Conor was giving it large. The hot dogs went down well, although someone definitely spilled mustard on the rug. I’ll deal with that later, I thought. Dave turned up at halftime, just as I was bringing out a second batch of sausages. Perfect timing for him, wasn’t it?
It went back and forth, a proper nail-biter. I think Ireland won in the end, can’t quite remember the specific score now. Conor was unbearable, naturally. Rhys was gutted, went a bit quiet. Everyone else just enjoyed the drama.
After the final whistle, people hung around for a bit, finishing the beers, dissecting every moment of the game. Eventually, they all headed off. And I was left with the carnage. Empty bottles, crisp packets everywhere, the mustard stain, a pile of washing up. Took me ages to clear it all up.
Honestly, standing there in the quiet, surrounded by the mess, I did think, ‘Was that worth it?’ It’s a lot of effort, a lot of faff. Running around, cooking, cleaning. But, you know, seeing everyone there, the shouting, the laughing, even the arguments about the ref… it was good fun, wasn’t it? Despite the hassle and the mustard stain. Yeah, probably end up doing it all again next time.
