Last weekend I had the delights of a trip to Blois in France for the women's Six Nations clash between France and Ireland, and it set a new record.
A few years back, my local referees' society, Somerset (pronounced Zummerzet), sent three of us to Glasgow on exchange and never I have been so cold while refereeing.
The rain was horizontal, the wind blowing a gale and the temperature dropped to around 2C. At the end of the game, I was so cold I couldn't write the final score down on a piece of paper and was soaked to the skin so much that I simply turned on the shower in the changing room and, once the water ran warm, stood under it fully clothed.
Last weekend surpassed that - easily. Given the fact that when I woke up on the Thursday (game was being played on Friday evening) the news reported a large snow fall in the south east of the country, I had a feeling that Blois may be a little on the cold side given it's location in France.
And so it proved. Flying in to Paris later that day was pleasant in that it looked picturesque covered in snow, but with temperatures predicted to fall to -3C, the thought that game may not go to ahead crept through my mind.
On Friday, it was biting cold and there was still a smattering of snow, but a call mid-morning confirmed the game would go ahead.
Go ahead it did, and at kick-off it was -7C. Remarkably the pitch was playable, albeit with a sprinkling of snow, but it was bitter and I don't think I have ever wished for a free-flowing, quick, fast-paced game of rugby to ensure we all kept moving.
So, credit to the groundsmen who got the pitch playable and to the players who, like me, were keen to keep the moving and keep warm.
It wasn't a game to be a winger, or an assistant referee for that matter, but it was a thoroughly enjoyable game and indeed occasion.
At least this time I didn't get soaked and managed to undress before I thawed out in the shower.
Saying that, I'm sure the glass of mulled wine waiting for me in the changing room helped.
A few years back, my local referees' society, Somerset (pronounced Zummerzet), sent three of us to Glasgow on exchange and never I have been so cold while refereeing.
The rain was horizontal, the wind blowing a gale and the temperature dropped to around 2C. At the end of the game, I was so cold I couldn't write the final score down on a piece of paper and was soaked to the skin so much that I simply turned on the shower in the changing room and, once the water ran warm, stood under it fully clothed.
Last weekend surpassed that - easily. Given the fact that when I woke up on the Thursday (game was being played on Friday evening) the news reported a large snow fall in the south east of the country, I had a feeling that Blois may be a little on the cold side given it's location in France.
And so it proved. Flying in to Paris later that day was pleasant in that it looked picturesque covered in snow, but with temperatures predicted to fall to -3C, the thought that game may not go to ahead crept through my mind.
On Friday, it was biting cold and there was still a smattering of snow, but a call mid-morning confirmed the game would go ahead.
Go ahead it did, and at kick-off it was -7C. Remarkably the pitch was playable, albeit with a sprinkling of snow, but it was bitter and I don't think I have ever wished for a free-flowing, quick, fast-paced game of rugby to ensure we all kept moving.
So, credit to the groundsmen who got the pitch playable and to the players who, like me, were keen to keep the moving and keep warm.
It wasn't a game to be a winger, or an assistant referee for that matter, but it was a thoroughly enjoyable game and indeed occasion.
At least this time I didn't get soaked and managed to undress before I thawed out in the shower.
Saying that, I'm sure the glass of mulled wine waiting for me in the changing room helped.
