EUROPEAN CUP DIARY:A series of heavy engagements proved seriously stressful but mighty fun, writes Trevor Brennan.

DUBLIN AIRPORT, Wednesday, April 23rd. I was back in Dublin for three black-tie nights in a row, the first of them being the IRUPA awards that night, and, the plane having been delayed, I was obliged to change in the toilets, Superman-style.

I had a good laugh in the toilets listening to a group of Dublin lads who were heading away for a stag weekend.

"Ah, man, this is goin' to be the best bleedin' weekend ever."

"Ah, bud, it's gonna be brill."

"Yeah, we're gonna have some craic."

"Eh, what were you two doin' in there? Oh-ho."

Real Dubs, heading away for a stag.

I jumped into a taxi and headed to the O'Reilly Hall in UCD. It was great to meet up with some old friends. Spotted on my arrival, I did a quick TV interview alongside Mick Galwey about the two Heineken Cup semi-finals and the prospect of a Munster-Toulouse final. Gaillimh called me an effin' traitor. We agreed it would be a Toulouse-Munster final but only after two hard-fought semis; you don't get to a semi-final without beating good sides along the way.

I had a few pints with my good friend Brent Pope. He told me his father was reading my book in a small town, Ashburton in New Zealand, and his old man loved it.

I was quite taken aback by that.

And I met Derek McGrath and Diarmaid Murphy of ERC and a few others.

Ding-a-ling-a-ling. Dinner time. I ended up sitting with a few of my old mates from Leinster: Brian O'Driscoll, Malcolm O'Kelly, Gordon D'Arcy, Shane Jennings and Luke Fitzgerald. We had a good laugh, sharing a few stories, old and new. Myself and Mal were the only ones doing some damage to the wine. The rest of the boys were on Perrier, even though they didn't have a match last weekend.

Fair play. Ultimate professionals. But good old Mal didn't let me down.

It was a Who's Who of Irish rugby. Most of the lads shot off home relatively early and I decided to do the same myself, along with an old friend from the IRFU, Martin Murphy. A nicer man you couldn't meet.

Thursday night, my book was short-listed for Sports Book of the Year, one of nine categories on the night at the 2008 Irish Book Awards in the Mansion House: Irish Novel of the Year, Non-Fiction book of the Year, Children's Book of the Year, etc.

I met up with my publisher Steve Ryan, my agent Yvan and a few others for a drink in the Shelbourne beforehand. Everybody seemed to be drinking wine or champagne, whereas I was on the Guinness, before moving on to the Mansion House, where Bertie Ahern launched the evening. An Taoiseach spoke well, emphasising the importance of Irish literature. I was moving in a different world tonight.

William Trevor, born 1928 in Mitchelstown, Co Cork, would win the Lifetime Achievement Award. Some of the awards that man has won over the years! - he's been winning awards since 1977.

To be in a room with some of the greats - Joseph O'Connor, Melissa Hill, John Banville, Roddy Doyle, Ross O'Carroll-Kelly (Paul Howard), Tom Kelly . . .

In my own category was Pádraig Harrington's The Journey to the Open, Seán Kelly's Rule 47 And All That and Oisín McConville's The Gambler. To be honest, I was just glad to be there. It was an honour to be in the same room as these people, and that over 30,000 people had bought my book. I think the Energiser Sports Book was the fourth category . . . "and the winner is Heart and Soul."

I was chuffed. I climbed up on the podium to exchange a bizou with the host for the night, Gráinne Seoige, and accepted the award from last year's winner Vincent Hogan, who wrote Paul McGrath's book. I didn't even think my first 34 years would be worth a book.

I invited all the publishers present to come up and talk to me afterwards about a French translation and told a story about meeting my good friend Peter Clohessy a few months earlier.

"I heard you wrote a book."

"Yes, that's right, Peter."

"Who wrote it for you?"

"Never mind that, Peter. Who f***ing read it for you?"

That seemed to go down well. We continued drinking champagne and Guinness and a great night was had.

The next day I was driven to Galway by my good friend Kevin Corcoran, where I was speaking at Corinthians' 75th anniversary dinner at the invite of an old friend from my Bective days, Paul Tarpy. All the way down I swore, "Never again, never again."

And I didn't, until after the speeches. A few pints came over on the house. I have to say it was one of the best club dinners I've been at. When the band stopped playing, at 1.30, I tried to sneak off to bed, but Paul wasn't having it. A piano player was starting in the lobby in a few minutes. I ended up giving renditions of Willie McBride, Dublin In The Rare Oul Times, Clare To Here and a few others. They said they'd get me back next year, not as a guest speaker but as a guest singer. When I asked the barman what time the bar was closing he said: "November."

After a lie-on the next morning, a few of us watched Toulouse and London Irish in Busker Browns, a Corinthians pub in Galway.

I got home to Toulouse at about 3.50 on Sunday afternoon and was like Speedy Gonzales with Paula and the kids in rushing to the bar to watch Munster and Saracens.

We missed the first 10 minutes but I was delighted to be met inside the door by Yannick Nyanga, Yves Donguy and Byron Kelleher, who were still munching away on breakfast and recovering from their celebrations the night before. It was funny to hear Byron talking about how tough and well-respected Rua Tipoki, Lifeimi Mafi and Doug Howlett were and then at the end of the game to hear him say, "F***. It's Munster, not Saracens."

Both teams start badly before hanging on in real battles. Another five minutes in both games and it could have been a London Irish-Saracens final. But you have to take your hat off to Munster and Toulouse. Watching Jean-Baptiste Elissalde hobbling on one leg and kicking penalties for 40 minutes, it was like a game from the old days when replacements weren't allowed.

Experience won it for both of them in the end. Toulouse hardly spread the ball in the second half. I'd say they decided at half-time the only way they were going to win was to play 10-man rugby.

London Irish's lineout has been fantastic for years but Toulouse did a massive amount of work on their lineout. They even nicked a few balls and ultimately won it with a try off a lineout maul.

Munster, once they went a few points ahead, were able to protect that lead for the simple reason they've done it so many times. I'd say the Munster players woke up on Monday morning thinking they were a bit lucky. They could easily have given away a penalty when Tipoki came around the side and when David Wallace contested the ball on the deck with the last play. On another day, those decisions can go against you.

Yesterday, William Servat invited me to lunch with a few of the boys. They were given Monday and Tuesday off. Toulouse have seven more Top 14 games. They play Auch away on Friday night and because the semi-final clashes with a game away to Castres, that has been brought forward to next Wednesday. They play Montauban the following Saturday and Perpignan away the week before the Munster match.

Toulouse could have another 10 games this season if they reach the French final on June 28th!

It helps that so many of the young players have come through, like Maxime Medard, Donguy and others. Elissalde has been heroic and Kelleher has been offered another two years on top of his initial two-year deal. He's an icon around town already.

I've become a popular man with ticket requests, but I was surprised to be told by one of the girls in the ticket office that Toulouse have been given only half (5,000) of Munster's allocation, which, she said, was an ERC decision because of the Toulouse turn-out at previous finals compared to Munster. The Stade fans will take that up easily. Everyone is talking about this game.

Myself, William, Thierry Dusautoir, Jean Bouilhou, Jean-Baptiste Poux and Virgile Lacombe sat outside a restaurant called Little Italy in 28 degrees. We had a salad-and-charcuterie (mixed meats) starter, a main course, dessert, coffees, a couple of bottles of Perrier and two bottles of wine. A two-hour sitting: your typical French lunch.

We spoke about the final; what players will be rested; how tough the London Irish game was; how tough Munster will be. The boys seem pretty relaxed about it.

There's no fear factor there, though there's massive respect for Munster. I've been asked: "Who's this guy Hurley or O'Leary?" And "Where's Stringer gone?" The talk is of how Munster have changed their game, how they play with more width and offloading.

I went up to the counter to see if I could pay the bill on the sly. The owner said, "It's paid."

"Who did that? Thierry?"

No, a man at the counter had paid the bill. He'd been following Toulouse so long he just thought he'd like to acknowledge the courage of the semi-final effort by picking up the tab.

What a gesture! A lunch for six men. It must have been the guts of €300. It just typifies what I love about Toulouse.

In an interview with Gerry Thornley