Posted by / Category London /

I have been living in London for the last twelve years. Twelve years! What can I say? Time flies. I thought that I was British by now. As it turns out, I am not. I remain still very, very French. What happened? Well, the Rugby World Cup. That’s what happened. A friend of mine asked me whom I would be supporting. Without even thinking, I answered “Les Bleus of course!”. It wasn’t a rational response. It just came out.

What? So much for thinking I was fully integrated.



There it is. I support France for the Rugby World Cup. Today more than ever. That’s just the way it is, I can’t explain it. I hope that they won’t take away my British passport because I have just written it. Damn it. It’s out there now.

It gets worse. I simply couldn’t help it: I went to buy some overpriced French jerseys at the official world cup shop on Oxford Street. I simply had to show my support. I had to be ready for Les Bleus’ first match (France against Italy, in case you have been hibernating!). You see, I grew up near Toulon. Rugby is on our blood. We live and breathe rugby. That’s who we are. And it still shows. And I will attend as many matches with Les Bleus as possible. I will be there all along.

I listened to the radio during the school run. We are supposed the live in the country of fair play, but you British don’t miss any opportunity to make fun of Les Bleus, do you? The snide comment is back with a vengeance. Les Bleus are staying in Croydon, and apparently, according to the serious (and less so serious) newspapers, they don’t like it. The comments are all about the fact that it will be their excuse not to win, and so on and so forth. Apparently, there was a wedding the other day and les Bleus couldn’t sleep. They even interviewed one of the wedding guests on the show. How petty is this?

Just wait and see, Darling. Just wait and see.

I have a good feeling about this Rugby World Cup. I just do. So here is my message to Les Bleus: