Surely not again?
Three years ago on a (strangley) warm day in March, our little nation turned its attention towards the capital city of Cardiff and in particular, to the rugby stadium at the heart of the city. Wales were on the verge of completing a grand-slam, (that is - beating England, Scotland, Italy, France and Ireland in one championship) for the first time in 28 years. The expectation was huge, no nation is so fanatical about its rugby and no nation can have its mood altered so drastically by the performance of the national team. Cardiff's population increased by a reported 2/3rds of its regular size as Welsh and Irish supporters flooded in from seemingly everywhere. Every corner store had queues of people, buying booze, snaking throughout the store and outside along the streets. It was almost physically impossible to fit any more people inside the pubs, street-wise students flogged beer outside for a huge profit and one major city-centre supermarket completely ran out of beer, cider and white wine - yet there was still a huge line of people snapping up as much red wine as they could carry. Two pubs reportedly had to order in extra barrels of beer as they feared they would run out before the day was finished. No bones were to be made about it, this was a city that was about to get very, very drunk.
Wales triumphed over Ireland that day, the celebrations went on well into the early hours, I remember walking home (still beaming) at around 4am, there were people passed out at the roadside, house parties still going and tired bouncers still dealing with revellers.
This year, this Saturday, France arrive in Cardiff and quite unbelievably, we're set to do it all over again. 80 mintutes of rugby stands between Wales, another Grand Slam and another party that'll stay long in the memories of anyone in the principality. My stomach is already performing acrobatics with all the excitement.