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Good Wig

Occasional comedian Graham Rowntree on form in England's press conference earlier today.

The Kiwis won't go home

Five hours until kick-off. I feel nervous. And around town, you can really feel it too. Fans of the same shirts nod in recognition. Or on the whole they toast each in recognition and drink on. All of which brings me to the All Blacks.

No advice available

I don't know how many times I have been asked these questions from home, so I'll answer the lot of you in one go. Can England win on Saturday? Or was last weekend their final? Should I come this weekend for the semi or should I save myself for the final?

The death of sledging

DOES anyone really think that a few gobby Aussies are going to have the remotest influence on this result?

Ashton and the truth

Today I attended my third press conference with Brian Ashton in a week. And as I listened to him trotting out the same old positive stuff that you really struggle to believe, I started to sympathise.

The game England never threw

Let's just nail one theory which was doing the rounds last Friday and which certain astonished Englishmen have clung to as a sign, perhaps, that there is some method in the madness. I heard it a couple of times before the game and yesterday again: that Brian Ashton knew that South Africa would be too strong, that he therefore held back his best troops - the Jonnys and the Lawrences - for the one that really mattered, the Samoa game. In short, this is saying that Ashton targetted Samoa and threw the Boks game. And no, he did not.

Allez les Bleus, part 2

What joy to be in Paris last night.

Happy days with England

I know that today does not quite qualify for GOOD DAY status in the England camp. So thank the Lord for Wiggy.

Gauging the badness

Hmmm. This time 24 hours ago I was on the train back to Paris from Lens where the barman had told me to lighten up. Numerous franglais cliché comebacks came to mind, predictably all about three minutes too late, but what the merry monsieur didn't realise was that the glumness was not due to the England performance - I can live with that, I'm infinitely more Welsh than English - but because he was so damned slow in pulling the beers. Anyway, when we had bought the beers and consumed them and were trundling towards Paris, we set our minds to the serious topic of the day: was that the worst England performance of all time?

Are we too harsh on England?

OK, help me here. This morning I went to the last England press conference before their World Cup campaign starts, against the United States. And mid the questions over Jonny's ankle, over who on earth is going to be the place-kicker if Olly Barkley joins Wilko on the injury list, and whether there had yet been telephone contact over a possible call-up for Toby Flood, I picked up again that sense of detached, amused but simmering resentment from the team - or in this case Phil Vickery - over the way this England team has been portrayed in the press.

England pay their respects

I went to the Thiepval World War One Memorial today where the England team had come to pay their respects to the dead. What an incredible place. What a soul-stirring way to spend some time. And what good news too: there was Jonny W on crutches - and not only on crutches but genuinely putting genuine weight on his right foot. Yes, that's right. Genuine solid weight, foot to ground. And he didn't fall over, he didn't reinjure the ligament. My, he didn't even flinch.