As the Catalunya Grand Prix is to Barcelona, so is the Rugby 7s to London so off I must go.
I went to London specifically, only, otherwise under sufferance (ask Marie, she’ll tell you without any hesitation) for the London 7s. I know that London lights other people’s candles, but for me it is drab, over-priced and populated by shops where the assistants pass judgement upon you and I never come up well. Admittedly I have enjoyed time here in the past visiting friends (Mark Thompson) and touring sites relevant to my hero Lord Nelson (St Paul’s cathedral where he is buried, Greenwich where the coat he was wearing when he died is kept, Trafalgar Square where he is entrenched atop an enormous pole – you get the picture). I also found myself somehow behind security barriers set up in Trafalgar Square and directly beneath the balcony as Nelson Mandela spoke for one of the first times following his release from prison in 1995. The blissful ignorance of an Australian tourist opens many a door.
Before I wax lyrical about the 7s, which were F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S I shall devote time to the other highlights from London.
At the top of the list was catching up with a good friend of Celia’s whom I met in Melbourne many years ago and his gorgeous mother Ellen. At very short notice (yes, I can hear the knowing groans of disapproval) I organised to catch up with Brenden at the National Portrait Gallery after work on the night before I headed to the 7s. Having had a little bit of a challenging interaction with a security guard at the National Gallery en route (seriously not my fault – when I told him I was taking a photo of the balcony that Nelson Mandela spoke from he launched into quite an aggressive dialogue about him being a terrorist) I managed to completely miss Brenden and did a quick tour of the Portrait Gallery and its inner workings as I ran between floors trying to find our meeting spot. Eventually we connected and my newfound knowledge of the Portrait Gallery floor plan proved to be highly beneficial. 
Having planned a short drink and catch up, we rolled on into a hoot of a night. The three of us shared a very pleasant champagne, views on the moral demise of Australian politics and a bit of celebrity spotting (ok, I didn’t know him – he’s something to do with “art” and apparently doesn’t play Rugby). By the end of the bottle Brendan and Ellen had decided that the best way to stop me calling Celia at 3am (so that she could see us all) was to continue on to dinner and hope that either I forgot or that we were out late enough for her to wake up voluntarily. I was having a great time so happy to oblige.
Brenden made a quick phone call and we rolled out into the London rain for a short walk to the Directors’ Club. Luckily we had time to stop for selfies along the way with backdrops of rain, London cabs, big red buses and the derrières of various statues of nobility including Nelson. As we were ushered into the dining room of the Club, passing wonderful portraits of Nelson and Wellington en route, decorum was restored. I blame Ellen for any lapses who clearly needs to get out more  (and I am available).
Dinner was superb with a piano player setting the backdrop, lovely wines matched by our lovely Polish waitress and a spirited discussion about how the English are not going to cope post Brexit as the entire service industry will fall apart. I encountered less than 10 English staff in hotels or restaurants and foreigners are expected to do what are perceived as menial tasks. Plan for self-service if you aren’t coming for a while.
After dinner we explored a few of the rooms away from the dining room (no-one said we couldn’t). The artwork hanging in this building, one of many private clubs in London, would be the envy of most Australian galleries. Not your museum of course Kellie.
Other non-Rugby activities included a visit Aspley House where the first Duke of Wellington lived after defeating Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo and a traditionally dispiriting visit to the Oxford Street shops. Again Apsley House was brimming with significant artworks – the Duke confiscated from Napoleon’s brother a very significant collection of Spanish masterpieces that had been looted from the Spanish royals. After writing to the new Spanish King three times about returning it, he finally got a response – just keep it  (ok, maybe without the emoji). The paintings, beautiful building and well told history made this a great visit, although I must admit that I came away thinking that Napoleon was hard done by – how different would the outcome have been if the Prussians hadn’t turned up?
Oxford Street lived up (down?) to my entrenched expectations of it being pretentious and not the spot for a dishevelled aussie tourist. Having packed only enough cold weather gear to commute to and from Melbourne airport I was wearing leggings, a skivvy and boots that had trudged the streets in the rain for the previous couple of days. I was totally out-dressed by the shop assistants who, despite thinking a homeless woman had walked into their empire, didn’t hesitate to try to sell me $450 trousers that didn’t fit and at which they kept shoving mismatched jackets. I SAID I WANTED A SUIT. Eventually I gave up the fantasy that I would find something that I just had to have (and didn’t need a mortgage to buy) and headed out to Twickenham early.
Ahhhhhhh. These are my people. I was instantly at home. Having spent the previous two nights sleeping in a cupboard (I had to put the suitcase under the desk, not unpack and walk sideways next to my single bed) I had two double beds to choose from, a plethora of sports channels and a sports bar on the ground floor. I nipped to the gym for a run on the treadmill before a quick “recovery session” in the bath temperature spa then headed to the bar for dinner. As often seems to be case on this trip, just as I thought I couldn’t get happier than having a Guinness, burger, chips and Rugby on the large screen television the barman picked up the remote and put another Rugby match (Top 14s quarterfinal with one of my favourite Australian players on the field) onto the second large screen. Sometimes life just comes together.
Saturday I choofed off to the 7s nice and early to see a couple of matches before the first for the Australians. The atmosphere built up during the day with lots of colour, noise and every one of the sixteen competing countries represented somewhere in the crowd. As the day progressed, so did the degree of inebriation of a reasonable proportion of the crowd so there was dancing, cheering and enthusiastic renditions of Swing Low Sweet Chariot etc. The Australian boys did really well, beating Spain and Samoa convincingly and going down in the last 30 seconds to England who took full advantage of one of the Australian’s being down injured so they only had six players to beat. Not that I think that was unsportsmanlike at all, but my effort to be gracious in defeat should be applauded (note Tom and Wendy). Our young friend Tom Kingston played really well and scored two of the Australian’s five tries against Spain and looked so exhausted by the end of the England match that I felt guilty and promptly went back to the hotel gym for a 5km run on the treadmill.
Results for the boys were mixed on Sunday, with losses against the ever surprising USA and very narrowly against South Africa, but a really strong win over New Zealand. The results didn’t always reflect the flow of play and special mention has to go to Chucky Stannard, the scintillating veteran of the Australian squad, who took a hard knock from one of the South Africans (nothing unusual there) and as he peeled himself up off the ground was handed back his tooth by one of his team-mates. Not one to give up easily, he handed it to someone on the sidelines and carried on playing. (Insert deep sigh here). Chucky, we love you and don’t want you to retire . (I can't work out why the video rotates - just tilt your head) It was such a great experience to watch an Australian team play away from home in such a diverse international competition. I had my Australian flag and yellow beanie and enlisted people around me to cheer for Tom and to help hold up the flag at appropriate moments. All good rah rah fun. The culture around Rugby is pervasively built here – there were massive signs testifying to inclusiveness, leadership and family involvement. We are so superficial with our efforts by comparison in Australia for which my beloved Rebels are suffering.
7s over for the Australians I headed back to central London ahead of the English crowds who were about to see their team lose the Final to Canada – not part of their plan. Some security guards suggested that I take a shuttle bus and alternative train to what I’d planned so I duly trotted off down the road as directed. Just as the bus was about to leave, it dawned on me that this would probably be my only (and first ever) ride on a double decker bus so I asked the very obliging driver to hold on for a minute so that I could get a photo. I’d had a bit of chat to the guys organising the buses as I was boarding who now very obligingly took the photo, but not until they had made the poor driver shift the bus first so that they could get a better shot. It was gorgeous watching them huddle around the phone waving directions at the driver whom I think was quite relieved when I got off the bus.
With expectations of another cupboard I arrived at my new hotel in central London, conveniently located near the Eurostar for a quick exit on Tuesday. I felt like I’d arrived in the wrong hotel. The room was spacious, beautifully fitted out, the staff were gorgeous and the hotel bar was somewhere that I wished I could spend a lot more time. I settled onto a bar stool overlooking the street with a glass champagne, smoked duck and goats cheese (recommended by the waitress when I ordered something else) and reflected yet again on just how well this trip was going.
My last two days were mostly work related, attending a Gartner Summit on IT procurement that we soooo need to have in Australia. If there is such as thing as an IT procurement rock star, I met him. When I wasn’t allowed to attend a number of sessions due to my new found status as “vendor” Gartner let me pose a couple of questions and set up an extra one on one meeting with one of their analysts. Gilbert van der Heidens turned out to be a guru in outcomes based contracting (yes, I can hear my geeky self) and I managed to attend two of his presentations as well as getting some great direct advice. The best moment was when he burst my bubble in telling me that no vendors get this and they can’t do it  then went on to say that this why they and the clients will continue to need people like me interpreting between them . I really did get a great deal out of the two days and I am very glad that I made the effort to get there.
After day one of the summit, I was heading back to my hotel en route to have dinner with Katrin, the German girl that I met in Mallorca, when it dawned on me that I was a few hundred metres from some classic London sites and I could squeeze in a few more things. I saw the London Eye, Big Ben, the House of Lords and Westminster Cathedral and later that evening caught a darkened glimpse of Kensington Palace (there was a light on, but no sign of Wills and Cate). It was good to catch up with Katrin who is dividing her time between short international holidays, company courses and deciding which of a few fantastic internal job opportunities she will take – exciting times for her.
Later that evening the news of the Manchester bombing came through. It was really interesting to compare the reaction of the Brits to such a tragedy compared to we Australians who have not experienced anything of the like. I expected constant and highly emotive news crosses, shocked conversations by people on the street and that security would be stepped up on the streets and in places like the Underground and train stations. Instead the coverage was measured and respectful and life just went on as usual. When I asked if I should allow extra time to board the Eurostar the reaction was one of “Why would you?”. There was more coverage in the Age online than most news outlets here. The experiences here and in neighbouring countries over many years and different conflicts seems to have built a tolerance and resilience that is admirable.
Exhausted by having listened to international speakers for two days and engaging my brain in something other than choosing what to eat, I collapsed into my seat on the Eurostar. Destination Reims.