After the final whistle, we went quiet for a while. Like a disappointed ”is that it?”. We needed an over-excited four-try-scoring blonde to wake us up from the sudden coma with a scream: ”Hey, we won you guys!” Enter post-game shenanigans. After all, we ARE the happiest team the Witney Angels have ever met.
Now it might be considered bad form to not only win the game big, but also win the boat race in the bar. However, (spurred on by previous success and our new war cry ”urfc urfc urfc”) we did just that and moved on to challenge the few male supporters that was hanging around. Their starting field had to include the Witney Angels’ coach, the bartender, and someone’s husband, but to be fair they all seemed very keen. Our war cry soared to new heights as we were awarded the win due to heavy cheating from the men’s side. And I’m telling you this, you’ve seen nothing until you’ve witnessed Tank neck a pint - she’s our new hero!
After food, a sneaky shot or two, and a long pleasant conversation about Swedish women being the gayest straights in existence (foreigner’s opinion) the bus came to pick us up. Our new fan Mr P followed to the URFC mansion to join in as punishments were doled out - it was court session time! Some of the following events, including the title of this post, will not be described due to International Tour Laws™.
Two hours later, taxi drivers from all over gathered at the gates. Fast (?) food, fast drinks, fast jokes and fast love was to be had in Oxford town. Naptard, feeling like she was lagging behind in the inter-team kissing records, did her best to catch up. Let’s just say quality wasn’t a factor to be counted with. Dino assaulted a taxi bonnet and moved on to her one-woman performance show on the dance floor. It’s unclear how this Death Pack™ managed to get into some sort of VIP area, but alas, we did. Everyone seemed to have a fabulous time for hours, and I did too, but my legs and my eyelids suddenly turned to stone. ”Eh, home?” I whispered tentatively to my left, but Doughnut just laughed and waved. Realising the need for a more forceful approach, I yelled, ”I need to eat and sleep!” to my right. ”Oh thank God!” said Naptard, ”let’s go”. And we did.
In the house there was pizza and pj’s. Eventually, all tourists returned to the nest. The next day was all about cleaning (yourself and the house) and packing. For a short while, I was jealous of the people on later flights, as they got to roam Oxford a few hours before going to the airport. 10 pm, as I got into my own bed at home thinking about them still being on a plane, not so much.