The Lays guy, of all people

I don’t know what it is lately about blonde, spanner, rugby players. Not my usual type, by any means.

My thing for Schalk worries me slightly, especially when people make ork comparisons. But I put this little crush of mine down to that whole hands-on, fearless, being-his-own-man vibe he has going on.

But last night I had a dream that I was smooching Francois Pienaar. The Lays guy.

Shit.

I am gob smacked at how F.P. even crossed over into my sub-conscious frame of reference. Let it be known that I have never, not even vaguely, found the man attractive (which is more than I can say for my mother).

Francois came round to my folks’ place, and I was interviewing him for some magazine article. A few things, as is customary with dreams, were amiss. A) he was smoking, and B) there was a rugby field in our lounge and we was watching the Boks in their training routines … live. (Sadly, this must have been before Schalk’s time).

F.P. was, at that time, obviously, unmarried.

Anyway, he kept answering the questions I was throwing at him about rugby, his career etc, with really personal insights into his private life. It was like he wanted to convey his inner self in the article. He just kept opening up, and I just kept writing.

At one point he did ask that I specifically mention the impact that some of the rugby development clinics the squad was involved in had made on his life. He invited me to come and watch one of these … clinics. It turned out that the ‘development clinic’ was actually a full-on rugby match of Boks vs prisoners. They were in black and white stripes and covered in coal … like some kind of Laurel & Hardy/chimney sweep/miner from the 1920’s setup). They were pretty evenly matched. After the game the prisoners went back into their prison cell which was a hell-like flaming inferno.

Anyway, after I had felt sorry for them, Francois again showed his sensitive side. [I can’t believe I’m writing this].

There he was, lying on our couch, just talking, talking, talking. The next thing he started holding my hand, and then lunged. It was a surprisingly gentle kiss.

Rather disturbing.