Bath prop David Flatman recounts the ordeal of cooking Christmas dinner for, among others, a crutch-wielding Olly Barkley in The Independent.
”If this festive period taught me anything, it was that mothers deserve as much respect as it is possible to muster. It is not, as you might expect, due to the demands of satisfying and caring for a new baby, but for cooking Christmas dinner. I created the traditional feast this year and good Lord, it was an ordeal. I had, until this point, been under the impression that a first-class game of rugby was the ultimate combination of preparation, timing and concentration. It now slips into second place. OK, so there is the odd Dad that does the graft at Christmas time, but most of them only do it once. I sincerely hope to fall into that category.
“These days, you see, we rugby players do not get much time to sit back and enjoy what is supposed to be a relaxing, gluttonous and generally unconscious time of year. Thoughts of impending matches over the next day or two are difficult to banish from one's mind as the usual array of meats, sauces and goose fat potatoes are being offered round.
"Are you allowed Christmas pudding?" asked my wife. This is one of the only times when being a big lump by profession counts in one's favour. "You don't get a body like this skipping puddings. Whack it on there," came the reply. I worked on the basis of some old-school thinking: don't eat too much tomorrow and run a bit harder at training and all will be back to normal. We managed to beat Gloucester in the West Country derby so I guess it is difficult to contest my logic.”
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