It was officially the first day of autumn in France yesterday, which would explain the fog that consumed me on the long road from Nantes to Bordeaux. This was a no-view plod down through La Vendée and into Poitou-Charente and, well, I could have been anywhere.
The fog lifted on the road to Toulouse. Autumn gave way to what would count as a brilliant summer's day in Blaenavon. Which may not be saying much. But it was still pretty warm, and getting warmer as Toulouse turned into Carcassonne, then Narbonne, then Beziers. Carcassonne stands as defiant as its city walls, a citadel of rugby league between the king-city of French rugby union and the two towns who used to beat everybody to a pulp in the 1970s. If you went to Narbonne and Beziers in the old days the rugby was as hot as a proper summer's day in Languedoc-Roussillon.
And on finally to Montpellier, doing its best to be the rising star of the French rugby scene. Metro-Racing in Paris is another, and Toulon another. There are businessmen taking an interest in rugby over here.
After about 800 kilometres I must confess to a certain mushiness of the senses. Instead of turning left for Mosson and the stadium, with its single open, sunlit stand towering high above three lower covered stands, I turned right and headed down this narrow spit between the Étang de Mauguio and the open sea. This was a real bit of the Camargue, tall rushes on either side of the road and a grand flatness of land and sea all around. Bobbing sails on one side, a shimmering, misty landscape on the other. I could have swayed with the grasses and dropped off ...
Instead, I ended up at Fiji-Australia, where I nearly dropped off too. Fiji seemed to be bracing themselves for something more winnable, like Wales in Nantes on Saturday. Australia did enough, taking all the ball and just about avoiding the tackles of Seru Rabeni. Berrick Barnes is turning into quite the little star of the World Cup. Typical. You think they might miss Stephen Larkham, but they unveil this new bloke, who turns out to be as cool as you like.
The whole game was a little sluggish, though, a concession to the conditions by two sides for whom they were pretty average. In fact, in Suva it would have been considered chilly. But there was no escaping the feeling that here were two teams going through the motions, with bigger games ahead.
Sunday ended with a quiet drive up to Lodève, a small town on the way to the mountains and Clermont-Ferrand. Scotland-New Zealand was on the television. Scotland, like Fiji, had their last game on their mind. Italy in St Etienne on Friday.
The B team did all right, I thought. Only losing by 40. Not that I really saw what was happening. The fog returned, internally this time. My lights went out. The next thing I knew it was the second day of autumn in France.
