Number seven has been my special number for as long as I can remember. Whenever I’ve been asked to pick a number, seven has been my immediate response.I have absolutely no idea why.
My youngest son, a keen rugby player, has always played best at flanker – number seven position.
Richie McCaw, New Zealand and the World’s top rugby player, is also a flanker – number seven. I adore Richie McCaw – he’s the most sensational player and better than that, he reminds me of my late brother Rick. They have the same eyes. When he’s on the field I look at noone else.
The above picture featuring Richie McCaw’s signature (not my chest I hasten to mention) was taken several years ago on a rugby trip. We had travelled to Sydney for a Bledisloe Cup challenge – All Blacks versus the Wallabies (Australia). At the time Richie was nursing an injury and instead of preparing for the game at the Stadium, he was a guests of the hosts of our harbour cruise.
He was swamped by everyone wanting to have their picture taken with him and asking for autographs. He was using a big black felt pen for signing people hats, jerseys, programmes and whatever else was put in front of him.
When my friend’s turn came she, having been fortified by a few beers, proudly showed him her chest. No hesitation!
So she wore his signature all night – showing it off at every opportunity.
Next morning it was still there. She panicked. Her husband is the jealous sort, and would not have taken too kindly to another man in such close proximity to her chest.
Permanent ink …
She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. When she came down to breakfast her chest looked red raw. She looked very embarrassed and a little fearful. Whatever was she going to do? She felt that one saving grace was our late arrival back into Wellington – her husband was sure to be asleep when she arrived home.
An early morning shower would provide another opportunity for scrubbing.
From memory she was successful and she made promise to not circulate the photo.