Tennis! I have only just worked out that it is a very sly sort of game, cunning double bluff and getting your opponent on the wrong foot, its duplicitous, ungentlemanly actually its really nasty but all dressed up in Mr and Mrs nice guy white clothes. Yes people I know this, I live with a tennis freak. Our house I realize is a constant battle ground, sneaky scoring when you are not even thinking about winning always the last word. You are on the bloody floor with your head in the fridge and on it goes. You don’t even know you have been served a non-returnable killer. But it is quite nice to watch especially as they don’t actually kill each other although some of those post match interviews are very revealing quite a lot of blame the parents I have noticed, but that is usually the ladies.
The Sainted One lives for this fortnight and is on another planet doing some princely and very smooth entertaining, I am included in some of it and I must say I do benefit becoming very popular in about April, he is quite marvellous in the pale suit flashing about with badges and passes, and yes I am well up for that, but the façade tends to drop in the evenings, I had my own party in the garden last night and shared HALF a bottle of prosecco with a friend who called it prosexo. “What’s the matter with you ? Have you been drinking?” I was asked when I came inside in a jolly mood. Lots of toys out of the pram then. I suppose it is like a post coital hangover. Forty love but no juice, you are all so quick you get the pun of course.