I’ve never watched a game of rugby. Nor have I seen senior naked netball. I don’t need to see either to know it’s not for me. I can use my imagination and my imagination says “no!”.

So, for 48 years I’ve not watched a game of rugby. Or read about it. Or thought about it. I don’t know the rules, I can’t name a player, I don’t even know it’s on, when it’s on unless I’m in Edinburgh and there’s a thousand fans on the train trying to get through. Rugby has passed me by, until now.

Last month I received an invite for corporate hospitality at Murrayfield to watch Scotland v England in the Six Nations (a competition involving six nations, aptly named) and the Calcutta Cup (a competition involving two nations, neither Indian, and not well named at all).

I said “yes” as I thought that maybe this would be my chance to find out why so many people enjoyed watching rugby by watching one of the oldest battles of them all, England humping Scotland.

Except, it turns out that Scotland have been more successful in recent years and, unlike football, they were regularly beating the English at Murrayfield.

“But not Italy” said Mrs TwinBikeRun, checking Google, “Scotland has just lost to them in Italy. You can maybe mention that to show you know something about rugby?”

So, armed with the knowledge that Scotland had just lost to Italy, but having forgotten to check the score, I set off on Saturday for my first trip to Murrayfield and:

Getting there

There’s usually a big queue at Queen Street station to get the train to Edinburgh, Instead, I jumped on the train at Central and went the long 90 minute trip through Lanarkshire to get to Edinburgh instead. Ha, take that everyone queuing for the 47 minute train. I didn’t queue and spent twice as long getting there to avoid the queue.

Yes, I know there’s a train every 15 minutes at Queen Street. And, yes, I know it was very unlikely I would have to queue more than 45 minutes and for three trains to leave before I could sit down. But I beat the queue by walking straight onto a train! A train that takes twice as long, admittedly. But I didn’t have to queue, so who’s the winner? Me!

Having got to Edinburgh, it’s only a short walk to Haymarket before a trip round Murrayfield and the first problem. Murrayfield has several entrances and, depending on which one, you should change your approach to the stadium as otherwise it’s a long, long loop around the ground to get in. I went to the wrong one so I got to race Phileas Fogg around the world to get to the other side of the stadium. Check where you are going before you go.

In the stadium

Finding my seat was straightforward but I was surprised to be in front of several fans with England tops. Was I in the wrong place? Should I start sining God Save The King to fit in? No. It turns out that all fans sit beside each other. There’s no ‘away end’ for the other fans. Which was fun, when Scotland went into an early lead, and I could hear the despair behind me. It did mean there was a lack of atmosphere as the English fans never sang together as they were all spread out.

During the game

I had no idea what was going on. Luckily the person who invited me was happy to answer all my daft questions: “Who’s that? What’s happening? Why did they stop? Why did he kick the ball out? Are we the team in blue?”

Rugby was a far more tactical sport than I expect with possession and control being more important than individual skill. Without the explanations I would have been lost as to why one team was better than the other and who had the advantage at any one time.

After the game

We won. But the atmosphere, at least to me, never seemed to rise beyond polite applause and a couple of renditions of Flower of Scotland at a volume which can only be described as ‘polite Morningside’ and ‘don’t wake the neighbours’.

There was no swearing. No hate. No casting aspersions about the opposition’s parentage, religion or affiliation with the right honourable company of freemasons. It was dull (but family friendly unless you’re family is friendly with a west coast bigot).

Overall

It was… alright… ish. I enjoyed the game, could see why others enjoyed it, but, like naked netball, it was not for me.