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Adventpilez 2010 – December 13: Rawr Data Misc Profile: The Twickenham Experience December 13, 2010

Filed under: Random,Rawr Data,Uncategorized — Manpilez @ 5:25 pm
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The first of our festive Rawr Data profiles takes a look at the home of English rugby. Stiff upper lips and Pimms as standard, what.

Behold your huddled masses congregating on the concourse at London Waterloo of a Saturday lunchtime, eagerly awaiting for that platform number to tick over before bundling themselves onto an awaiting Fail Carriage (a model not necessarily created by South West Trains, but steadily employed throughout the network). These are the lucky ones, for it’s the poshos who attempt to join the journey at Clapham or Putney that warrant the most sympathy. Or not. They are that rarest of breeds, anyway: Londoners with cars. Just bloody drive, Tristram.
 
You start to realise that you’re in the suburbs when things become distinctly green. Don’t be fooled. The roads are still wild enough in TW1 that the neighbourhood goes on lock down on match days, with mounted police keeping a watchful eye over the irate mob who have finally disembarked and are now trudging up Whitton Road with one thing on their minds: being as far away from a train as possible. Oh, and rugby. Plus, beer.
 
The natives are a canny lot, with many flogging wares from their own front lawn. Your more discerning ticket holder, however, will forgo the myriad grot vans and pop-up BBQs for the privilege of handing over inordinate amounts of cash money once inside Fortress Twickenham. Let’s not forget, after all, that we’re in the borough of Richmond-upon-Thames and the home of English rugby comes complete with it’s very own Pizza Express concession. That’s right. You can have dough balls with your rugby balls. Bruschetta with your blindsides. La Reine with your rucks.
 
For all this frothiness, good ol’ Twickers can still be relied upon to deliver where it counts and it certainly excels at being a big concrete arena where rugby is played. It also boasts several hidden benefits, should the game you be watching prove less than thrilling: Behold the unnervingly low flying aircraft on descent into Heathrow. Slip out to the Museum of Rugby to… be at the Museum of Rugby. Purchase an England Rugby hi-viz jacket at the RFU shop. Or if all else fails, partake in a parlour game such as The Double Never Ending Mexican Wave or Just Keep Throwing Random Shit in The Air, which was deemed more entertaining than the second half of Wasps v Quins by the crowd at this year’s London Double Header.
 
The amount of money parted with during the day would make a banker blush, but who cares when swaying merrily homeward with a belly full of 24 carat burgers and diamond infused IPA? The chanting of Swing Low will prevail, even as you and 20,000 of your newest, closest friends are kettled, like so many student protesters, onto the forecourt of a Toyota garage.
 
Fences are scaled, traffic traversed and then, upon return to the train station, that most English of sports, Queuing, comes into its own. If only they served tea!
 
When trains are finally boarded, the suburbanites may scuttle back towards Reading and the oiks towards London, but no one is spared the opportunity of getting intimate with a stranger’s armpit or crotch, you know in your heart of hearts that this is what it is to be English. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. Godspeed, sir.
Words by Anna
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