David Flatman reflects on the end of England's tour and a well-earned rest in The Independent on Sunday.
"A man at Napier airport, who was wearing the All Blacks jersey and hat, asked: "What happened last night?" Working on a hunch, I countered: "Didn't you see it, mate?" "Yeah, I saw it." "Then you know what happened, don't you?" OK, so perhaps I was being a bit touchy and perhaps the mild malaise brought about by the night before had shortened my normally medium-length fuse, but this was a level of smugness that, at that point, I could not handle.
"The queue for customs snaked on and, in between daydreams of making a run for it to escape the desperately awful world of air travel, I had time to reflect on my actions. Three minutes later the Kiwi chap and I were like old friends; he mocked my "Blackadder" accent while I lamented the absence of any Maori genes in my bloodline. Having repaired this mini-relationship I felt much better about life as I walked on.
"This was, after all, not a touchy, angry tour. It was a proper, hard, meaty, fun tour and that is how I intend to remember it. Rugby really is a wonderful way to earn a living. It takes us to all manner of places, acts as the introduction to so many different people and puts before us so many challenges that, surely, no other job does."
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