I’ve never been a particularly sporty person. In fact, I’m probably what you would call distinctly bad at sport. Worst hand-eye coordination in the school, I would be the most failing person even in simple throw-and-catch. Don’t get me started on actual sports. Myself and my equally unsporty friend would pair off so we didn’t have to cripple others with our pitiful serves and flailing attempts at hitting anything. A low point came when we played Quaser laser. Not a sport, right? Still defeated us. We came like a thousand points behind everyone else. But hey, everyone else had fun destroying us so great birthday obvs. Despite this aversion to all things sport, I decided to devote two of my weekends this month to sporting events. What’s the attraction if I don’t like sport? Fancy dress and alcohol mainly. But also the great festival atmosphere – sports teams are a crazy bunch in general and to be honest I just love joining in with the antics. That’s not to say we completely ignored the actual watching of sport involved in these events, we spectated many a rugby game and many a dodgeball match. But cheer as we may have done, I still have virtually no clue what the rules are. Here’s how it went… Our first sporting event was the Twickenham 7s. Having never attended before, I had heard a few stories but for the most part had no idea what to expect. We put on our ‘out of this world’ get-up involving galaxy leggings, far too much silver spray (old lady hair) and armbands, arriving around 1pm (only 4 hours after the games had started). I was still drunk from the night before so of course the only way was onwards and upwards with the beers. Ladsladslads. I have to say I was slightly disappointed with a few of the outfits we observed. As soon as we arrived we noticed many groups of lifeguards. I’m sorry, but how are lifeguards out of this world?! I know you might want to look like a sexy baywatch character but you don’t, you’re just a twat who didn’t understand the theme. Well done you. Rant over – besides the offending lifeguards the fancy dress effort was pretty strong, although loads of people had copied our leggings. Way to be original guys.
The fact that it was a beautifully sunny day definitely contributed to my enjoyment of the rugby, plus the fact that games are only 14 minutes – why can’t all sport be that short? My favourite part of the games was the tuneage everytime a try was scored, we cracked out many a dance move. Having missed the England game we took it upon ourselves to support a variety of nationalities, most of whom lost. Underdog what you saying. After we got bored of sitting in the stands (and considerably drunker) we ventured outside to discover a festival-like DJ stage which was definitely one of the high points, all the tunes. Speaking of high points, this day had many. It also had many low points. Mainly to do with travel. Trying to get that many people onto a train at Twickenham at the same time is just never going to work. The poor people who just wanted to get an innocent train to clapham would have had an explosion of space people forced on them. Luckily I wasn’t too aware of these struggles as I had reached my drunkest and was a slightly half asleep walking zombie. The one saving grace of this journey was our transformation into the song-starters. Oh yes that’s right. We got the entire train singing Whitney and R. Kelly. There’s not anyone who can’t join in when they hear ‘my minds telling me nooooo…’ After a cheeky KFC in clapham, travel disaster followed travel disaster – I directed my friends to a bus going in the wrong direction (standard joy behaviour) and by the time we realised, no ubers would come and get us so we had to trek it to another bus. Suffice it to say my friend was less than pleased with me and sat at the front of the bus ignoring me for the entire ride. Stubborn drunks that we are. You could say that once we arrived at clapham high street we had been defeated by the highs and lows of the day and should have gone home. We certainly felt like it. But instead we decided to check out the queue for infernos. We made the right choice, obviously. We had the best night three ridiculous dancers dressed like space mermaids can have. There was interpretive, there were routines, there were fistpumps out of respect for our bumbags, there were random props being found on the floor and presented to us, there was the cheesiest music in the land, and there was the fact that we were all perfect drunk. Always. We ended a beautiful day of beautiful rugby and fabulous outfits with a second takeaway. You can’t go to infernos without getting maccies, right?! So that was Twickenham. Bournemouth was a slightly different experience given that we attended a whole weekend of sport and camping amongst sporty sportspeople. You could say we were immersed into sports culture and that’s why we have this new found love for all kinds of sevens. I’m ashamed to say that we reused fancy dress outfits for this occasion. This was not out of laziness, but simply because our fancy dress efforts have been so great we wanted to experience them again. We slightly changed our space costumes to become ‘tight and bright’, and for ‘superheroes’ we chose our old New Years Eve favourite. That’s right, I was Ron Weasley. Don’t even think about suggesting that Ron is not a superhero. Did you not see his chess game? So much sass. The weather was beautiful again (the sun has been loving all of the sevens this month) so we pretty much just loved life for the whole of the first day watching rugby men and drinking beer. One of the most entertaining parts of the rugby game (in my opinion) is watching their warm ups on the side beforehand. It’s like they try to emit as much manliness as possible to macho themselves up but in actual fact they are just doing yoga. I’m not complaining, in fact the yoga-rugby collaboration gave me a higher appreciation for the game. Being camped near a Scotland rugby team and having embraced Scottish rugby on our trip to Edinburgh, we ended up taking it upon ourselves to support them through the cup. We may have unwittingly become Scotland groupies. I promise we’re not stalkers we just love Scotland and rugby. And they did win the cup so our choice of stalkering was rightly made. Of course the sport watching was fabulous and the main reason for the festival, but after the games had finished was when the fun really started. The alcohols we sneaked past security came out and the campsite became a place of dancing, banterous conversations, rope skipping, cartwheels, selfie sticks, and colouring in. That’s right, a man came up to me with a drawing and some crayolas and asked me to help him colour it in. Not gonna lie, my colouring was on point and we made ourselves a great giraffe picture (which I was allowed to keep as a token, thank you strange man). Once we were suitably liquored up we ventured off to discover the tents where our dance moves would be most appreciated (after some mash and the best ride of our lives, obvs). Turns out many. The music was so great that we found ourselves hopping between the 80s tent and German tent in equal measures. The 80s brought us great opportunities for wand dancing, getting low, congaing, and being all round ridiculous. The German tent brought us dancing on tables which let’s face it can’t often be beaten. If that wasn’t great enough we had the music man, the superman song, the Macarena, and at the end of the night especially for us ‘I will always love you’ to which we performed the best interpretive dance you could ever have seen. You wish you were there.
We trialled the other hipster tents but other than a brief moshing session to Sandstorm surrounded by mental people we returned to our faves. When you’ve got all the cheesy music on offer why would you ever leave. I’ll admit the whole experience may have made us a bit too excited and crazy and one of us may have become a bit of a naughty girl. You know who you are. All the guys and all the arms. Even a few cuddles. And a rather scary experience of being lifted up and over the railings of the stage.. Smart decisions are always made in the 80s tent. If I have one complaint it’s that the music stopped at 1am. Like seriously what is this, we just found our grooves. No one seemed willing to let the night end so a chant of ‘Yaya Kolo Toure’ was started and went on for half an hour. We loved it. Didn’t you know we’re football louts now too.
Eating all the foods is a standard part of any festival, but this time we really excelled in our food traditions. Burgers, chips and then hog roasts were all had in an ashamedly short time period. We were so committed to our food moment that we decided to take our foods into the tent to allow ourselves the freedom of ugly eating. Always a necessity to full enjoyment of foods. One of us took it upon herself to become wingman for the night, and apparently the way to wingman is to parade around saying to everyone ‘I. Am. A wingman. Guys. I’m a wingman. HELLO I’VE SET IT UP I’VE WINGMANNED YOU COME ON NOW’. If nothing else at least she wingmanned herself. All the cuddles. If there is one thing to be said of spending an entire weekend surrounded by rugby lads, it’s that they like to get naked a lot. We saw far too many willies and sights that should not be repeated ever. Let’s just say there was a lot of pissing, some group stage performances, and some initiation activities involving licking. I’m not sure if they were traditions or just lads being lads, and actually I’m not sure which would be more worrying. One rugby team near us who had recently been getting naked and making twats of themselves sent someone over to pick me up and carry me into the middle of their circle. I’ll be honest, I was scared for my life. However I ended up having a beautiful moment whereby the whole team got on their knees and serenaded me. And then drew a scar on my head. Seriously such a lack of appreciation for Ron. HARRY HAS A SCAR NOT RON OKAY. Reminiscing on the best of our sports related fun makes me feel that we need to seek out another sevens activity soon. We may be the least coordinated and clumsiest people ever but this shouldn’t mean sporting events are off limits for us. So what if we end up making fools of ourselves in various ways (when do we not), we get to unashamedly act like lads for the day or the weekend and always end up the drunkest. No regrets.
…. who knows. Vlog to come, be ready.