I can clearly remember the day. I was 11 years old. It was a sunny afternoon. I was living in Croydon. My big brother was away at camp. It was the 1966 World Cup Final. We all know what happened. I was hiding behind the sofa in those last moments. Praying for the whistle. Thinking it was all over…and then it was. We won! I cried so many tears.
That started my passionate following of England in all sporting disciplines. But as most of you know, the real passion is rugby. I watched with my Father at home and on occasion he took me to Twickenham. Oh the joy!
Nothing gets me than to see England triumph.
So again, one of my most vivid memories was 2003.
I was in China. It was the kid’s birthday. We had a party but managed to ensure it ended (I kicked everyone out) in time to watch the best game of rugby ever played in the rich history of the sport.
Lord Jonny. What can I say? The icing of the cake was it was against the Aussies. That kick. That f****g beautiful moment in time where we all watched in slow motion, as if time was slowing down, that ball sailing through the posts and silencing a nation. God, thank you for such magic memories through sport, through English sport. I just hope that my kids will experience those emotions and that joy.