It was like renewing an old acquaintance really, I hadn't played much rugby or even thought about it since breaking my leg in 1980, but the interchanges of rugby talk rugby songs and rugby stories seemed to resurrect the old passion.

Incredibly, almost immediately upon my return to England my brother Gus mentioned that another old school friend had seen an offer from Leicester Tigers inducing supporters to buy season tickets. The lucky members would receive shares in exchange - seemed fair to us!

The Hat_Pack was a force to be reckoned with. Other than my sister, we had all participated in the game of rugby at some time. We knew the rules - well most of them! We knew the games - fizz whizz buzz, bunnies, clap trap, boat race etc. etc., but best of all we knew how to drink! We were about to embark on an adventure that would have us all wishing away the days between games and urging the hazy summer days to quickly pass on by in favour of wet, cold, drunken match days.

This will be our sixth season now and it seems quite amazing that this little institution from Luton chose to follow the Tigers; - most of our fellow rugby followers from this neck of the woods are all 'Fez Heads'. Bless them!

Significantly, I can't remember much about the first game we saw in 1997. Both who we played, neither what the score was nor who was playing. - Must be an age thing! I do however remember our first away trip to Pau. Gus, Ken and I managed to reserve our places with the away supporters, which meant travelling with the team from East Midlands Airport to Pau. The flight was fairly innocuous, except for the copious amounts of gin and tonic that we supped and of course the regulation supporter who takes umbrage if he hears swearing in front of his missus.

After dumping the kit off in the hotel, it was down to the Black Bear for more drinks! Anybody that has been to Pau cannot fail to be impressed by the beautiful Pyrenees Mountains, which at this particular time of year were encapsulated with snow. I must have glanced briefly at them as I can still retain the image to this day, but we were seriously in need of refreshment so quickly went to the bar.

Sometime later it was decided to order Gus a taxi. He had deteriorated quite badly now and his legs kind of resembled the ones on string puppets - sort of like the ones on the Wooden Tops or Captain Scarlet. Trying to get him in the cab was no better. - As we tried to get him in the back seat he just stood up straight - Cabbie was not impressed! "Er Ken, I think we'd better walk him home".

Inter-linking arms like three "poofters" in Brighton we'd managed three steps before Gus inadvertently caught his foot in my trouser turn-up slipped through our arms and face dived to the floor. To say his face was a mess was an understatement, the only bonus being the anaesthetic that he'd taken throughout the day, so as quick as we could we returned to the hotel.

Some time through the night I heard Gus get up to relieve himself. It was pitch black in the room as I had pulled the shutters down outside the windows - (you know what these French places are like!) and all of a sudden I heard this strangled scream "What the Hell!" Actually it was more strangled and stronger than "What the Hell!" but what the hell. Obviously he'd spotted his face in the mirror above the toilet and was oblivious to what had happened. - It took some explaining!

The rest of the weekend passed hazily. - Tigers lost, Gus kept a low profile and Ken and I remained lashed. It was our introduction to away games and we loved it!

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