On the filthiest of winter mornings last Tuesday, when the squalls rattled everybody and everything, the old boys from the glory days came from miles around for The Big Brekky.

The bacon and eggs, the sausage butties and the communal breaking of bread somehow almost imbued the occasion with a Revivalist fervour, a feeding of the spirit as well as the body.
To have been there listening to the veterans was to rediscover the soul of Welsh rugby, their message ringing out like hymns and arias in defiance of Storm Bram raging all around them.
In times hard enough for at least one former Wales co...