The raw and the uncooked

Yesterday we got up at 4AM to watch the Rugby World Cup final. After all, it's impossible for me not to love a sport that has rules around blood-loss and doesn't let you pass the ball forwards. (Oh, and those tight English jerseys look good and Jonny Wilkinson is, um, dead sexy.)

Seriously, I think rugby is beautiful to watch. Sure I'm captivated by the skill, strength and endurance ... It's just so urgently physical and makes me think of the simple joys of the flesh: burning lungs, aching muscles, screaming excitement, every sense lit right up. Brilliant.

But I'm also fascinated by how much these men touch each other. I always liked this Barbara Kruger piece: it points at boundaries around masculinity, and how men subvert these boundaries. Sort of like rugby.