England Expects

I am still working on my hobble at the start of the week, so the plan of seeing how I went in Thursday’s 4^th Round of the Nottingham Grand Prix at Colwick Park before deciding whether to join L and Daughter in Sunday’s Notfast 10k now looks a bit flawed. I might need another week to recuperate.

We are not doing Tuesday’s 3^rd Round at the Embankment anyway because we have tickets for Wimbledon. I get the train across from Derby to Nottingham after work on Monday and then we get the train down from Nottingham to St Pancras. We stay the night in the Holiday Inn at Shoreditch and have a night out in the local pubs.

On Tuesday we then get the tube over to Wimbledon, which turns out to be further than I thought. I’ve always wanted to go to Wimbledon but just to have a good old wander round. I’ve never really been bothered about getting on to Centre Court and seeing one of the big names annihilating the canon fodder they put in front of them in the early rounds. However this appears to be the only easy way of getting in.

So today we see the defending women’s champion Garbine Muguruza demolishing our own Naomi Broady followed by Rafael Nadal barely breaking sweat as he swats aside Dudi Sela. We don’t even bother taking our seats for No 1 seed Simona Halep who also cruises through and have a bit of a wander round instead. That is after stopping for a Pimms (for L) and the allocated tournament beer Stella (for me).

The outside courts that I so wanted to wander around are a bit disappointing, all a bit squashed in and difficult to get round. The whole place needs a bit of a redesign if you ask me but I’m sure they won’t. However, my curiosity has been satisfied and it was a good day out.

We leave a bit early but mainly to catch England v Columbia, as do many others. We catch (well I catch, L is reading a book) the first hour in the Parcel Shed at Kings Cross, leaving to catch our train just after Harry Kane’s penalty gave England the lead. The rest of the game will be in the hands of East Midlands Trains’ on board wifi.

Which might have been fine, if the game hadn’t gone into extra time thanks to Columbia’s 93^rd minute equaliser. The whole carriage is watching or listening to the game but as we head north the mobile phone signal and consequently East Midlands Trains’ wifi deteriorates. Now, depending on whether you are following via the wifi or everyone’s differing mobile phone networks signals, we are all listening to different parts of the game.

So when it goes to penalties while I had my head in my hands after Jordan Henderson missed England’s third, the woman across the way was still celebrating Marcus Rashford scoring our second but the chap across from me was smiling because Columbia had just missed and Kieran Tripper had restored our lead. We all got there in the end though, and found out that Eric Dier (of all people) had put us into the Quarter Finals.

(Wednesday 3^rd July)

Perhaps That's Just Her Hay Fever

A very sporting day today. I get up early (11am) and watch yesterday’s coverage of the Tour de France as live, enjoying a dominate performance from Chris Froome as he took the lead in the race. Then when that’s over I decide it’s too hot and hay fevery to cut the lawn and instead setting down to watch ‘our’ Andy win Wimbledon. Cracking stuff.

Personally I think this has been one of the best Wimbledons ever, even before his win. A lot of this is down to the BBC’s website which enables you to watch whatever match you like, even if that is four Japanese woman playing doubles out on Court 14. Their website coverage gets better every year and is much needed because BBC 1, BBC 2 and Radio 5 yet again featured the tennis equivalent of Manchester United v Wigan throughout the first week. E.g. one of the main seeds thrashing the pants off some sacrificial lower ranked player. Boring. Ok, they got lucky twice, with unexpected defeats for Rog and Rafa but other than that I can understand why people resent the rescheduling of the One Show.

What I want to see is all the Brits getting thrashed on days one and two by, well, anybody and some of the closer mid-ranking games. I'm also rather partial to doubles and now I can indulge myself thoroughly.

After Andy's win we returned to the scene of yesterday’s ‘excitement’, the National Water Sports Centre, to catch some of the Outlaw Triathlon. Which we’ve actually been following online all day. Despite starting at 6am, it’s only now that people are starting to finish.

On the way we check out the runners heading (slowly) through the Embankment before carrying onto the finish. I’m full of admiration for all of them and would love a go at experiencing the same levels of pain at some point in the future. Even L appears to be going a bit glassy eyed at the thought or perhaps that's just her hay fever.

After a few hours we head back home, although still we keep an eye on the online updates. Everybody needs to be home by 11pm in order to call themselves an ‘Outlaw’. Now I can sit down and watch today’s Tour de France coverage.

(Sunday 7^th July)

Brought Into Line

A day at home today. L doesn’t even 'storm' out of bed to do her Parkrun. Which isn’t really the way to get the t-shirt for doing 50 of them. Not that the boys and I complain. None of us get out of bed until noon.

Then it’s tennis and cycling all the way. Wins for Robson, Murray and some of our doubles teams at Wimbledon and someone wedging a bus under the finish line at the Tour de France.

In between I attack the jungle in our garden. My attempts to bring the hedge into line is thwarted by the hard work my Dad’s ancient hedgecutters make of it. In the end I give up and go buy a new pair from B&Q. Everything is suddenly much easier, particularly on my arms because the new cutters are a fraction of the weight of the old ones. 

(Saturday 29^th June)

Lack Of Ambition

I bike to work, then when I arrive I enter Friday’s Jägermeister 10k run and next Sunday’s Great Shakespeare 100km Ride. So I guess I must be feeling fitter.



Then I play tennis... after fuelling up on the Thursday pub trip of course. I got mash with my pie today rather than chips, so it was actually really healthy... That should power me round the tennis court.

L’s been working from home all day. With the dogs at her feet, when she’s eating that is, or when she’s sat in the garden, when they’re joined by a football or two. Such a loyal pair.

It’s been a while since Wimbledon, when I honed my game plan in front of live internet feed and I noticed that several players had actually nicked one of my favourite shots. My bounce three times just over the net shot, a shot my opponent says isn’t a proper tennis shot, a least not for anyone over the age of eight. So now I feel vindicated.

I'm happy with tonight's result, a 4-6 4-6 defeat. I would have hated to have had to play for another hour and a third set. Some folk would perhaps call that a lack of ambition.

(Thursday 28th July)

The Big Day Arrives

The big day arrives. To some it’s just another Saturday in June but no. Not only is it the midpoint of Glastonbury, it’s the midpoint of Wimbledon and bizarrely the midpoint of the year, in that it’s exactly six months from/to Christmas. Freaky, scary even. If all these significant events have coincided at the same time it can only mean one thing. It must be Daughter’s eighteenth birthday.

The countdown has been going on for some time, approximately the last four years, so you must have noticed. I’m surprised they haven’t got one of those big clocks in Trafalgar Square counting down. Well they have, but it’s for the Olympics, that thing you can’t get tickets for.

Subsequently our Saturday lie-in is truncated, although it’s not all Daughter’s fault. True, L is up and baking birthday cake but I’m berating Student Finance England over the phone and that is no one’s fault but their own, for being crap, again.

At lunch we assemble the family hoards and invade a local hostelry that doubles as a Thai restaurant. Daughter goes to the off licence on the way to try out her ID.

The restaurant is a compromise. Daughter wanted Chinese but L’s not keen on Chinese. Daughter’s not keen on Thai but we’re paying, so Thai it is. Personally I don’t think there’s much difference between the two but here at least I can get a pint.

It all goes well. The family depart, Daughter heads for home to meet some friends for part two, so L and I amble back, stopping for another beer on the way.

Then Daughter hits the town, on her first night of freedom and we hope that she isn’t too late home, along with L she has a 8am train to catch tomorrow. We go to bed early, shattered. Daughter tumbles in at 2.45am and wakes us both up, which works out better than it might have. I'll thank her later.

(Saturday 25th June)