Wow, what a weekend of festival rugby!
It started on the best note with a phenomenal opening ceremony, followed by exciting challenges from the minnows. To watch Japan give the French a run and then to see Argentina almost serve up England was great.
I wanted the Pumas to whip the Poms for wearing those ridiculous try-hard jerseys. Obviously the numbers felt so uncomfortable they fell off during the game.
As a one-eyed Cantabrian, I find it hard to say this, but Auckland was the most stunning place to be on opening night. You could be forgiven for thinking the All Blacks were playing in the final.
It's a mighty call to say something is the "best", but the opening ceremony at Eden Park was the best. I have been to a number of Olympic and Commonwealth Games opening ceremonies and it surpassed them all.
Its colour was more vibrant, its story was succinct, its drama was engaging and it captured the essence of the game and country.
The haka was my 6-year-old son's favourite bit. When powerfully done, it never fails to cause a deep stirring within.
Watching at home, he asked why the Maori warriors had bare bottoms. I said it's because that's what they wore originally, a long time ago. To which he asked, why don't the All Blacks do it like that? I said they do. He said, no, with bare bottoms. I thought, what a lovely idea!
I saw two games at the weekend from very different platforms. Invited to the RWC lounge for the cup opener, I was privileged to sit with the movers and shakers of the tournament and just 10 seats away from the Prime Minister, enjoying charitable hospitality and the banter of former 1987 rugby greats and the IRB. It was brilliant.
In contrast, two days later I took my son to the Australia versus Italy afternoon match at North Harbour Stadium. Seated in uncovered stands, we were metres away from the players.
James O'Connor was gracious when the Justin Beiber taunts from the crowd began and I fell in love again, but this time with Italy's blind-side flanker, Alessandro Zanni.
Italy was our team but I had to scold my son and his mate when they joined the crowd in booing the Aussie kicks.
It was a great afternoon and reminded me of the old days at Lancaster Park in Christchurch when we used to give it to John Kirwan and Alan Hewson.
My boy and his friend loved it all, from the ride from to the stadium in a bus full of colourful fans, to the souvenir stalls and the hot chips.
Many visitors have commented on the fabulous feeling in the city, but above all they are loving the friendly and enthusiastic passion of the locals.