Dear RFU......

Dear RFU

Sometimes it's not easy being an England supporter. Sometimes I think you forget what game you are playing, sometimes you are just bloody brilliant but really, is it too much to ask that,  when organising a major tournament, you at least check that the games don't clash with my daughter's busy social diary.

Tonight England plays France. One of the best games of the tournament (and we're going to whip their Froggy asses) but where will I be? Go on.  Ask me?  I'm going to be taking four overexcited girls to see The Saturdays. The Saturdays FFS! It's not like it's even Rihanna, or Muse of even the Vienna Boys Choir. It's the blood Saturdays!  One of them is going out with Ben Foden. Couldn't he have given you a bit of a head-up?  So instead of enjoying a night of excellent rugby I'll be stuck in the Bournemouth International Centre wishing I was dead with my hands over my ears and my phone on vibrate so The Husband can text me the scores as they happen. I mean, it's not exactly going to be my greatest moment is it?

And then on the last weekend of the tournament where will I be? Go on. Ask me if you dare!  At the flaming X-Factor tour at the O2, that's where. How could you have got it so wrong? Pikey Cher and Katie Wasteofspace will be my entertainment instead of 15 of England's finest.  It's just not fair. Worse that not fair, it's just bad planning on your part.

I'm not one of these 'Johnny Come Lately' rugby fans you know. Not like half the women you see at matches these days who are just there for the bums and thighs and the faint hope that someone's shorts might get pulled down in the scrums. They wouldn't know a ruck from a maul, the blindside from the openside and the only 'up and over' they know is a garage door.  No, I was at the very first Rugby World Cup in Australia - and not just because I happened to be there either. No, I went especially for the rugby (although the illicit week with an ex-boyfriend was something of a draw too, I admit it).  I got on a plane and travelled to Australia and sat in little provincial rugby grounds and got buses round Australia to follow the teams.  I threw books at the telly when David Campese dissed the England team and cheered riotously when he was taken out in the first 20 seconds of the England-Australia game by two very large England backs. I had to put up with being forcefed beer and dancing on tables in Australian pubs singing 'Sunshine Mountain'. It wasn't easy you know.

God knows I even sat through the finals of the Pilkington Cup at Twickenham in the referee's section. Have you any idea how dull that is? Any at all?  They won't even do a bloody Mexican wave. I watched the wave travel round the stands until it reached the section where all the refs and touch judges were sitting glued to their seats and it became more a ripple than a wave with only me to continue it. Have you tried doing a Mexican wave on your own? Have you? It's not easy.  I couldn't even shout 'You should have gone to Specsavers' at the touch judges!

So what I'm trying to say is, I'm a proper fan of the game. I even played it myself. OK, it was only for 6 weeks but you should have seen the size of some of the opposition players. Dubious sexuality doesn't even come into it. And they all had names like 'Ace' and 'Crusher' while our players were called things like Fiona and Charlotte.  And binding on in the scrum  was a nightmare. It's just not natural for us girls to put their hands between the legs of another girl and grab the front of their shorts. It really isn't.

The 6 Nations comes around but once a year so is it really too much to ask you to just do me the courtesy of  a little phone call.... you know, just to check on my other social obligations? So far it's been a Right F**k Up

Your devoted fan

Wylye Girl