The Rugby sevens Day One

Walking to the  Rugby Sevens to act as Liquor Management at one of the bars to raise money for our dragon boat teams is like walking into some bizarre alternate Wellington which shows its head only for two days of the year. It is when you will see a burly brown tattooed truck driver and ten of his mates wandering down the road wearing pink tutus, fairy wings and carrying sparkly wands as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For every other day of the year they would never allow such an assault on their masculinity, and would probably baulk at having to shower and don a suit and tie.
Once established at my proscribed bar having briefed the team selling liquor, I relaxed and enjoyed the hour before the crowds started to roll in. The first people in were there for the rugby games. Their costumes were token - a floral shirt and a wig maybe. The games last 14 minutes and are between countries who have played well enough to be on this years world circuit.
Slowly the quiet murmurings of a few people transformed into a constant discordant roar supported by  a riot of colour and confusion. For most people, rugby is secondary to partying. They walk around the concourse to observe and be observed. Inhibitions are down and bananas cuddle a quantity of sweating teddy - bears (not the smartest costume on a hot day), cave men accost barmaids, Lance Armstrongs wander by with syringes hanging out of their arms and grotesque giant babies waddle by. I find it slightly perturbing the number of young men who choose nappies for their Sevens wear. Those who have fine physiques wear gladiator costumes to show of their muscles glistening in the heat. Girls who want to show their figures dress as barmaids, fitness fiends and movie stars. A large quantity of Adam and Eves go by wearing nothing much except leaves and sun tans. Their exuberance and joie de vivre spill everywhere.
By late afternoon the crowds are getting merry but in the main are behaving themselves. One or two become pains and argumentative and are best ignored. I watch for people trying to find ways to get more than their allotted four beers at a time. I am always astounded at the amount of money people are prepared to spend on alcohol. Others stop to chat and ask what my role is. Someone with no wristband which means no alcohol, angsts over how he can possibly enjoy himself.
I am glad when my replacement arrives a little early and I am free to depart.

The crazy crowds

Out on the concourse

                                                                 Wending my way home