Welcome to Murrayfield

Ants has wanted to see Scotland play at Murrayfield since before he ever set foot in the UK. So this year, Santa made it happen and on Sunday morning we carefully defrosted the car and nudged her out of our snowed in street and onto the motorway towards Heathrow.

Saturday's sunshine had cleared most of the roads, and the trip in was easy, as was the flight to Edinburgh. It feels strange to think that somewhere that feels so culturally far removed from southern England is just an hour away by air (agreed, NOT the most environmentally friendly way to travel!).I love Edinburgh and I can't believe it's taken us this long to get back here.We bussed in to the ground, bought baguettes stuffed with beef and gravy and our first pints. I needed a scarf, Ants was already wearing his Scotland rugby jersey. The man searching bags asked if that was a recipe for disaster in a relationship: we said not as much as one of us being Aussie and the other a Kiwi. Lacking a lighter, Ants found that every Scot he asked was more than happy to oblige, 'good sir - and good luck!'

The Welsh were already singing. It was just like going to a packed house at the 'G: a family friendly environment where women and kids are welcome, as unlike going to the soccer as could be. As the stadium grounds began to fill us, anticipation grew, as did the retinue of silly hats. Check these out!HRH Princess Anne shook hands with both sides, there were fireworks and bagpipes and huge jets of flame, an airforce flyover and the match began. We got donuts and hot chocolate at half time and Wales won, in part because Scotland knocked out two of their own players, one chap going unconscious while commiting a foul. 'I can't give him a yellow card when he's knocked out' said the ref into his mike, 'but his replacement can't come on for 10 minutes'.After the match we joined the thronging thousands who walked into the centre of town, about 2 miles away. Ants' feet got sore so we bargained with a pedicab for a fare, and then realised we had no idea where the place was that we'd agreed to be let out. Found our bearings, found a bar with a restaurant at the back, tucked into smoked haddock soup, followed by haggis neeps and tatties in whisky cream sauce for the lad, and 'Chicken balmoral' (chicken stuffed with haggis, wrapped in bacon, whisky cream sauce. mmm. calories.) for me. Finished with 12 yr old whisky and a brisk walk down to the bus through a light shower of snow, vowing to come back soon.Sadly, we nearly didn't leave. After an exciting few minutes going through security alongside the Welsh rugby team (it's not often people make Ants look small, but several of these fellas did!), we arrived at our gate, took our seats... and there we sat for the next 3 hours. The light snow had gotten heavier, and by the time the de-icer got to our plane, the runway had been closed. 'Cooped up with a bunch of pissed rugby fans' is not the best way to spend 3 hours, and even Ants' patience was stretched by the time we finally took off.

We finally made it home at 2.30 am, knackered, but still vowing it was worth every minute.