The weekend of course is not over. I am sitting in a comfortable hotel room feeling mellow with Clare, it is not quite half past eleven on a Saturday morning. I am feeling insufferably smug.
A good deal of booze was consumed over many hours yesterday, much but not all was Guinness, but spread out over 12 hours was mellow in rather than disabling.
I made 2 good decisions. Those who have followed my social career over the decades will realise that this is pretty much a record, particularly in my late career in rugby touring.
First I decided to forswear bevvy during the Ulster Edinburgh match last evening at Ravenhill. The result and the quality of rugby played by Edinburgh, particularly in the last 10 minutes did make me question this decision, and I did have a couple of pints of lager ( not one of my best decisions) and a glass of wine after.
Second and even wiser I skipped the final pub and went back to the hotel for a final nightcap with Clare. Our final pub was Horatio Todd. First impressions were not favourable. 6 taps, all nearly a metre tall, OF LAGER. The beer snob in me recoiled in dismay. Who could possibly need six different lagers. (I confess that at 11 in the evening after 12 hours of steady swilling NEED is probably not the right word). That there was also loud music and dancing helped me in my road to enlightenment.
Breakfast this morning was a guilty pleasure. It was really good, which helped, but the appearance of friends in the full majesty of the after effects of Horatio Todds till 2am did induce insufferable feelings of smugness. (We are perhaps thinking along the lines of watercolours where paint is a little scarce and water plentiful).
We are here for a 50th birthday party for Stephen Stewart. Talented rugby player in his youth, enthusiastic and inspirational youth rugby coach more recently, unfailing defender of the on field and off field traditions of rugby on tour and at home. Also often a grumpy old sod but the kind of friend who looks for you if he thinks things are tough.
The poor man has had a miserable week waiting for his long suffering wife Karen to organise his surprise 50th party. After a week of shattered expectations he was eventually brought to the Crown in Belfast city centre.
The Crown is a wonderful old pub full of dark wood and Victorian coloured glass with local staff in proper black white uniforms. And it is ringed by private booths.
In one of those, just after 2pm yesterday were seated 9 close friends of the Stewart family. The surprise was complete. He didn't collapse in paroxysms of delight but for almost 15 minutes he was almost completely silent. In the 10 or so years I have known him this is the longest period of waking silence (he shares with me a tendency to snooze in the evening when beer has flowed generously) I have known.
Belfast is also a delight. Such friendly people and a real buzz of excitement and optimism.
Anyway here I am. Happy and as healthy as someone with my outlook can be. 2 more days in Belfast. There may be more to say...
Oh, and I haven't mentioned Elton.
Fathers traditionally dread the day that their daughter brings home some entirely unsuitable spotty youth and announces that he is the only man for them.
Nicci may have known her share of those spotty youths but the man who she has chosen is the one that paternal dreams are made of.
Hard worker, good company, thoughtful, domestic. For goodness sake the man loves (and brews) craft beer and fine old malts and is happy to round off a good meal with cheese and port.
What more could a father in law look for in a son?
2 grandchildren would be the only answer to that. I do have a favourite: the one who is hugging me at any moment.
Well, I promised to embarrass my family. My work here is done.
Hope you enjoy this weekend as much as I will, speak soon.
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