Notoplip the Shogun and the kebab frenzy

The match in Cardiff was entertaining enough and the second half atmosphere reflected a much better Welsh performance.

Notoplip is a football lad, uninitiated in the ways of the egg-chasing fraternity so I had wanted him to sample the unique dynamics of a rugby crowd and occasion.

It was frustating that the traffic we encountered on the way down curtailed the preliminaries, as we did not arrive in Cardiff town centre until one hour before kick-off.

On the way to meeting up with Lady Dai, Mrs Stockholm, the Serious Barman and friends, Notoplip was asked directions by a Welsh lady. That was the gateway for his one-night acceptance into "Welshness".

A bit of chit-chat in a Mill Lane bar then it was off for the serious business of the match. Time afforded little other than to touch base and collect tickets from Lady Dai and Mrs Stockholm (Cheers for passing them in my direction).

The thing about the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff is that it really is in Cardiff. Bang slap on the river Taff and running the length of Westgate Street it strikes an impressive pose to the surrounding landscape. Inside the ground the tiers of seats are banked closely to the ground, which provides an intimate atmosphere especially when the Stadium roof is also closed.

Mixing the home and away support, who chat and banter with each other, is not something that can be seen in football at any level. The argument that alcohol is to blame for trouble at football matches doesn't gain a lot of support here either because opposing fans sit and drink alcohol in the stadium without a whiff of trouble. It pained me to have to turn down the offer of a beer from the French supporters sitting next to me. I felt it would have been rude not to take the offer so I settled for a coke.

So Notoplip broke his rugby virginity and, by the time we left the stadium, Cardiff looked a completely different place.

Rugby internationals often provide an even flow to the day in Cardiff. I can remember being on the lash at 10:30am in the capital for an afternoon clash and carrying on into the small hours, so I want to make it clear that I am not sitting in judgment of anyone in the following passage.

The town centre looked like a different landscape with a Friday night kick-off. You have to understand that a rugby day in Cardiff is very different from a rugby day in, for example, Twickenham. The day in Cardiff will have just as many women as men in the in the pubs and bars. The culture in South Wales is such that rugby internationals permeate into the overall public conciousness much more than rugby and even football do in England. In order to understand this you have to realise that there are rugby clubs in even the smallest of villages in South Wales and they often have a strong focus within the local community.

It appeared to me that Cardiff on Friday was a mixture of a match focused crowd and a Friday night going out crowd, which is entirely logical. But it is an interesting mix.

St. Mary's street in Cardiff has a reputation as being the most drunken street in the whole of the UK. You would think that people were exaggerating if they said that there are a host of first-aid portacabins and ambulance parked in the street but it is perfectly true. A quick search on Google will give you a feel for the place. There are very few perks to being sober but watching people stagger around completely paralytic from one bar to another is quite amusing in its own little way. The pinnacle for me was at the end of the night when walking back to the Serious Barman's car. We stopped off in "Chip Alley" (yes it is self-explanatory) for Notoplip to grab a kebab.

Chip Alley is a unique place after midnight. I had laughed out loud earlier in the evening when the Serious Barman had relayed an Aussie comic's comments about Cardiff to a Portsmouth crowd. He said something along the lines of

"You think you are all drinkers but you have nothing on the Welsh. In Cardiff a bloke will have a piss, order his chips and pull a bird at the same time. The women who are wearing next to nothing in the freezing cold will be impressed that he has in own bag of chips".

Now some of you may not understand that and some may not appreciate it, but when you are there in Chip Alley after midnight it carries a certain resonance with it.

The jewel of my own Friday night experience was people watching in Chip Alley. There was the bloke ordering a kebab that he was in no fit state to eat. Outside the kebab shop he made a brave attempt (with a fork from his box) but half of it was down his arm. When he noticed, he picked a bit of lettuce off without noticing half of the kebab shop sitting on the rest of his arm.

Better still was a bloke who was at least managing to get it into his mouth but he had forgotten the basic use of a fork. Most of us know that when you use a fork you put a bit of food on it and then you lift it to your mouth. This bloke was so pissed that he would get the food on his fork and then lean forward to get the food off the fork whist simultaneously moving the fork further away from himself. Part of me was inwardly praying that he would fall over. Not because I wanted any harm to come to him but because I was convinced that if he had fallen over then he would have done so face first into his kebab box and would have continued chomping on tasty donor oblivious to the world around him.

For a moment I felt like the picture of good health!

Notoplip was content with his kebab and Serious Barman and I nicked a couple of chips.

Thanks to Serious Barman for the lift home to my parents