Well as week-ends go that was quite eventful if you’re a Brit and enjoy sport. Now we have a reputation for being gallant losers or just losers on the world sporting stage. But after the Olympics and Bradley Wiggins winning the Tour de France and our amazing come-back victory in the Ryder Cup and some brilliant individual golfing achievements recently by Rose and McDowell, we are turning into world beaters. Blimey. And then this week-end we only went and topped everything by delivering a fantastic series win by the Lions in Australia on Saturday morning, later on Chris Froome donned the yellow jersey and then, oh my lord, yesterday afternoon we only went and won Wimbledon with Andy Murray. The title that’s evaded us even longer than the World Cup. What’s happening? Where are the Australians and Americans, Russians, Germans and other sporting giants on the world stage? Bloody nowhere.
It’ll never last of course. Natural advantages such as bigger populations, wonderful weather, massive state funding, facilities we can only dream of, impressive coaching capability, a fantastic collegiate system of sporting scholarships and the ability to cheat effectively will see the bigger nations re-impose their winning positions on the world’s sporting stage but only after we’ve won the Ashes and the Tour de France again and the Open later this summer. Come on you Brits!
But back to this weekend. Our daughter S, who’s very pregnant with her first baby, and husband E came over to watch the Wimbledon final with us. As usual they came laden with food and goodies. It was a scorching day but we had all our floor to ceiling doors open and the fans on and we had a great afternoon. It was a fantastic match; Murray was far and away the best player at this years’s tournament and he absolutely deserved his straight sets victory. I almost forgot his little tantrum in the semi’s against the big Pole when he complained in a very squeaky voice about he closure of the roof (which as it happened didn’t deflect Andy one jot from pulverising his opponent). But watching him argue with the umpire in a voice like Joe Pasquale’s did make me snigger a little bit…
Anyway he won and all those Fred Perry stats can be laid to rest for good now. But that wasn’t the end of the action at our place because early in the evening our daughter S took ill surprisingly and they had to leave for home. However we later found out that E had to take S to her maternity hospital in the night as her sickness wasn’t easing. She stayed in overnight of course and up until 8pm this evening to ensure she was properly re-hydrated etc. They reckon she’d caught a gastroenteritis bug which isn’t welcome in her condition of course. Still all looks good now, thankfully.
There was one final televisual note of the week-end; another first. I’ve fought the good fight over many years but last night I succumbed to a sad defeat and had to finally watch the film Mamma Mia, selected by the women folk after a weekend of sport. I’ve read about its awfulness but nothing could prepare me for just how grim it is. And yet my wife C and other daughter R enjoyed re-seeing it enormously. Even Pierce Brosnan’s singing. Aren’t women amazing? I’m having trouble getting the imagery and songs out of my head today. Gimme, gimme, gimme some nurofen.