Writer's Notebook

"Thirty minutes," added Luap as he continued his letter to the life-change fairy. "It mustn't be a minute more; that would be detrimental to our cause. But for thirty minutes..."

Luap closed his eyes and tried to imagine the sights, sounds and smells inside the dressing rooms. The pungent odour of ointment as the players rubbed themselves down. The banter designed to provide an outlet for the big-match tension. The back slapping as the players make their way to the tunnels. And then the deafening roar as the doors open and he jogs out onto the pitch alongside his fourteen or more colleagues and looks up at the thousands of waving dragons, voices raised in song.

Then, the deafening silence. The two teams line up. The first hymn for the visitors, a sign of respect Luap thinks only fitting. Yet he can scarcely wait for the moment which finally comes. Those introductory notes echoing around the stadium and then he opens his mouth and sings his heart out as his soul rises to the highest heights of whichever heaven habours anthem-singing rugby players.

Luap's dream is over all too quickly. The game is beginning. Good job he only asked for thirty minutes, because once the game starts...

His piece finished, Luap reflected a while before again putting pen to paper...

"Dear life-change fairy, should you by any chance be an avid Sunday Scribbling reader, please don't forget me."