So, I am an All Black. Well, not really, but I can play rugby like an All Black. Ok, that’s a lie, but I am built like an All Black. Plus the beer gut. Ok, so I look like a retired All Black. With a teeny weeny bit of extra kilos.
Oh, ok, you rumbled me. I look like a retired All Black with a weight problem. Without the cauliflower ears, the sports car or the gambling habit, but at least I lived in North Otago for 6 years, and I know the sister of an All Black.
But today I feel like an All Black. Because today the All Blacks played one of their best games ever (with abysmal kicking, but what can you do) and I watched it on an Ipad, in bed, with the best ever girl friend cuddled up to me, hurtling abuse at Australians (her, not me).
So today I am an All Black. Me and the other million exiled Kiwis in London.