Editorial: Battle to avoid blue Monday

The alarm was beeping; 6am on Waitangi Day and I had work.

The bitterness was brewing the night before when I thought about how my fellow Wellington Sevens attendees would use it to continue recuperating.

This weekend was the first time I'd attended the Sevens and, it's accurate to say, I was blown away. It's continually marketed as "the biggest party of the year" and "the capital's biggest party", and with most major annual events around the country previously ticked off, I can confirm this is true.

I was dressed in a kilt, with a wild mane of orange hair and a Scottish flag painted across my face. Gran would be proud.

This outfit regularly raised the same two questions. "Are you really Scottish?" And "are you wearing underwear?"

The answers were "no" and "yes" respectively.

Saturday afternoon went into overdrive when watching the auld enemy England lose their cup semifinal to New Zealand. We then ventured to the other side of the stadium to the Scotland section, in time for their Shield final against the Cook Islands. When they were victorious, the sight of a capacity Westpac Stadium bouncing up and down to the music was the most memorable part of the day.

I had expected a sporting event, but the emphasis is really split between the rugby and the party.

Music, fireworks and the costumes turn it into a spectacle, and just as much time is spent among the crowds underneath the stands as on watching games. Osama Bin Laden, the Monopoly set, green army men, and my personal favourite Nek Minute were all in attendance.

Our costumes had given us a second team to support, which was much more fun as it gave us twice as many games to anticipate. I've always maintained sport is better for the parochial than the neutral. A heavy loss has its lows, but the joy of victory is based on the lows of previous defeats. Would last year's Rugby World Cup final victory have been as satisfying if we had also won in 2007? I don't think so. Scotland went from low to high in the space of two days.

For New Zealand victory was sweet once again.

Sunday night was spent furiously scrubbing the remaining blue paint from my face. Plenty was left on a pillow in Wellington, and I was uncertain if it was all going to be gone for work the next morning.

It was, and I hope to have the same issue next year.