7.40pm Saturday 20th October. Edinburgh. The excellent wedding breakfast comes to an end and we are asked to loiter in the lobby with coffee and small talk while the big room is cleared for the Ceilidh. Mrs BW announced that she was returning to the flat on Old Toll Booth Wynd to change into her dancing shoes. Words that strike fear into the cowardly birdwatcher. I don’t do dancing. Especially difficult ones that mean you have to remember things and end up stepping on lots of different peoples toes. She was joined by various other women folk and the Munch (smallest BW) ,I offered to go, but my offer was declined. I was ordered to stay at the reception and mingle. As soon as the taxi was on its way I gathered together a small (four) band of Englishmen and we sneaked off to the pub at the end of the street where I knew that they would be showing the game. (I had happened to be passing earlier inthe day and had popped in to ask them.) I had convinced myself that I would only stay for the first half. That I would be back in time for the start of the Ceilidh. The pub was very quiet but at least the rugby was on. The few Scots that were in were adopting the ABBE philosophy. Half time came and went in a blur. We stayed put. We leaped from our seats and punched the air as Cueto scored that Try and then endured minutes of increasingly forlorn hope as the Video ref played and replayed the try only to disallow it. To my left ,Ed a rugby league fan fought a losing battle against sleep. The minutes counted down, the final whistle went, the Scots punched the air in celebration at the South Africans victory. We slunk out and back to the Ceilidh to face the music in more ways than one.