What goes on tour, stays on tour....... ....but, Ruby G has decided to tell all for the RFTG girls Ruby tells us the true story about the Army Navy match .... and how she nearly got caught out! Let Me Tell You a Story…About An Officer & A Gentleman…Or Two

Now I know, appreciate and fully understand the famous rugby adage of what goes on tour, stays on tour…but I thought it would be churlish to deprive you of a slice of a day in the life of RubyG…as long as no names are mentioned - and I’m sure I can trust you to keep it quiet! It’s taken a while to recover from this one, but now that the whole membership shebang is working and I am amongst friends, I have a little tale to tell you, albeit slightly risqué …and it may just whet your appetite as to the possibilities of what can happen at Twickenham…or should I say engineered if one has the wherewithal to do so?!

Well there we all were - 45,000 eager spectators waiting expectantly for a brutal gladiatorial display from our esteemed forces, the British Army vs the Royal Navy on a vaguely pleasant Saturday afternoon in South West London at the beginning of May. And of those 45,000 onlookers, there must have been at least 30,000 men…and we were surrounded…by beautiful specimens of all shapes and sizes of that virile masculine race…and we were content to find ourselves in this situation. Men, rugby, East Lower stand at Twickenham Stadium, directly infront of the corporate boxes, and abundance of Moscow Mule…game on darlings. It was a little grey and slightly precipitous - the weather was not doing any favours to the extortionate amount of time spent preening the tresses in the morning, but the match kicked off…unfortunately, dire is too subtle a word to describe the monotony of the spectacle on the pitch.

This too on a day when the mighty London Wasps were playing away to Gloucester for a place in the Guinness Premiership play-offs, and the match was being televised live, as we became progressively more blasé about the display from our illustrious servicemen. Even the copious amounts of alcohol was not alleviating the apathy, until a particular bright spark realised that the corporate boxes directly behind us were suitably equipped with adjustable-angle TV screens and fully functional Sky Sports. Best find of the day…so far…so of course we ingratiated ourselves with the powers that be at that moment…and those powers happened to be an exclusive little bevy of senior servicemen. There were Commanders and Colonels, Lieutenants, Majors and Captains, and we were obviously in the right place at the right time.

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They started by graciously turning the screen in order that we could watch the far more interesting match [which was nail-biting throughout and thankfully Wasps won], and then proceeded to invite us into the aforementioned corporate box, and to partake in a small libation or two with them [which we did in the most lady-like manner possible for two girls having to climb over the ‘them and us’ barrier]. Pleasantries were exchanged, and then we progressed to rugby chit chat [I do think our superior knowledge of the game of the intelligentsia was suitably impressive as compared to the usual ‘wow! fab thighs!’ comments expected from girls], and I am happy to report we became fast friends for the duration.

It was then explained that we had in fact missed out on the weightier Army v Navy game of the day played that morning at Kneller Hall [directly behind Twickenham, which houses the Royal Military School of Music]. The match in question was that of the Veterans, and in comparison to the match we were currently witnessing, this was like watching paint dry whilst the Vets’ match was as tense as the 2003 Rugby World Cup Final, and ended 17-16 to the Royal Navy Veterans squad. During this rendition of the morning’s goings on, we were shown a souvenir programme of the aforesaid match, and I simply had to comment on the quality of the species partaking in that sporting foray; they were gorgeous, and thankfully somewhat older than the young pups in the elite squads who were currently underperforming on the hallowed ground. And as young[ish] beautiful, single women, we happened to let our opinions be known on the photographs we had seen.

But let me move on…our hosts then invited us to join them in corporate hospitality once the match was over, so gallantly we were escorted to Kneller Hall surrounded by these wonderful gentlemen, [unfortunately we were not body-searched at the gates by the strapping security soldiers] who flashed top security passes and gained us entry to this exclusive venue. And we mingled and chatted and generally were like delightful butterflies flitting from one blossom to the next, and until we came across a super Major, who had through the grapevine had heard of our escapades of the afternoon. Whilst discussing the finer points of rugby with this strapping young man, we came upon the vets programme again, at which point I just had to clarify my choice of man to The Girlfriend, and she reciprocated; but to our dismay the masterful Major turned on his heel and left us.

Obviously we had upset him with our callous talk of other men in front of him…so we thought to move on lest we upset our hosts entirely. But just as we turned to leave, our Major was promptly returning, and heading towards us with two very smartly-attired gentlemen. The Girlfriend and I had to double-take…could this really be the same two chaps we had pointed out to each other five minutes earlier? Well of course, and boy did they scrub up nicely too! Gone was the kit covered in mud and sweat, and in its place were two clean-shaven, perfectly-coiffed blazered beefcakes. The day was rapidly becoming more exciting…and though our Major shall remain nameless to protect his honour…he did his country proud!

So here we were, a stone’s throw from Twickers with two studs of choice off the programme menu and a whole evening to go…what were we to do? The answer was staring us boldly in the face…it was our civic duty to ensure that these brave servicemen of our great country were properly entertained for the remainder of their stay in Twickenham.

We took this duty extremely seriously, deciding to show The Boys [as they will be known from hereon] the more interesting venues of Twickenham where it is possible to enjoy a tipple or two, starting at the Duke of Cambridge directly across from Kneller Hall. From here, the Boys arranged for a hackney carriage to take us into the town centre to sample the refreshments on offer at the picturesque Eel Pie public house. As per usual, Church Street was vibrant after the match, and the punters spilled onto the street as the weather improved considerably, and as the banter became more light-hearted, the game progressed from rugby to tonsil-tennis.

Having clearly won the first set, we moved on to The Fox, and then the Bear, and then on to the infamous Twickenham Tup, where we happened to bump into more girlfriends. Surprisingly though, the girls were highly unimpressed with the lack of attention afforded them [they of course had not been drinking all day], so we took The Boys in hand [not literally may I hasten to add…] and directed them to the next venue of choice - the Up ‘N’ Under. And thus the story becomes a little complicated and amusing …

Whilst enjoying the fruits of this agreeable free house, I received a call, from a ‘rugby buddy’ of mine who I thought was about as far away from England as you can get, but discovered he was in fact across the road and was on his way over to see me - how awkward can one’s life get? 10 yards inside the door was the most gorgeous hunk of a number 8 I had every intention of misbehaving with, but heading towards me just outside the entrance was a charming prop I’ve ‘known’ for a while following the odd rugby outing around the globe. In order to keep everyone’s dignity, I somehow had to keep the two apart - in stepped the next hero of the evening…The Doorman, with whom I had an extremely rapid conversation explaining the disagreeable situation I had just got myself into, and that under no circumstances was he to allow The Boy to come out or The Prop to come in; I was precariously positioned just outside the door. Thankfully, it was now dark and the entrance was badly lit and so The Boy did not catch me playing a completely illegal game of tonsil tennis with The Prop which absolutely had to be done to quickly remove him from within the danger zone. Finally I managed to go from Code Red to a much calmer Code Green and the dust settled…and the second set was clearly won.

The Girlfriend, having noticed the kerfuffle cleverly suggested we move to the other side of Twickenham where I couldn’t get myself in such a pickle [hopefully], so we gently persuaded the somewhat inebriated Boys to procure yet another hackney carriage to carry us away to The Wine Bar. By this point, The Girlfriend and I were doing quite well on the intoxication stakes too, but for Crown and Country we had to battle on, and there was a prize to take at the end of the yellow brick road [even though it was in fact grey/black litter strewn tarmac]…

The Wine Bar happened, and as the time approached when our carriages would turn back into pumpkins, having completed a good 12 hour marathon of intoxication, we let sensibility get the better of us, and we took our last transport of the evening back to our respective abodes, with The Boys in tow of course!

As to what happened next, it would be impolite and unladylike of me to elaborate on the details, but suffice to say, I was not so bored for a moment that I had to lie back and think of England, but would have managed to work my way around not just Great Britain but all our former colonies too! And as for the stamina of our servicemen, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that they can more than hold their drink without it affecting performance. Thank God for daylight is all I can say - I finally managed to catch forty winks before my he-man awoke from his slumber, and seductively woke me too - I’d call that game, set and match with a couple of encores thrown in.

Finally the first phone call of the morning came from The Girlfriend checking all was well, and within moments the other mobile in the room rang; The Boys had a similar and simultaneous discussion, and they decided that buying us breakfast was the order of the day…so with an half hour countdown, we were all sat in the window at Greedies [the renowned rugby café].

Nursing slight hangovers, four full English’s and a packet of Nurofen later [between us of course], The Girlfriend and I became the gentlemen and drove The Boys back to their hotel, kissed them passionately and left them to return to their world of ‘Who Dares Wins’, never to be seen again.

Just one thing though…the puzzled look on the faces of The Boys when they asked for our phone numbers - and we independently replied thanks but no thanks. Maybe they had never come across girls with their own tour rules. Forget winning the match that weekend, I think we won the Grand Slam.

I have this to say about our British Servicemen, they are honourable, chivalrous, decent, well-mannered gentlemen who let us not trouble our bank accounts at any point during our assignations.