I thought I would have time to write a quick Daily Blog in between the two Wimbledon semi-final matches this afternoon. I had reckoned without Juan Martin Del Potro (who sounds like a delicious, fruity, perfectly matured port
wine, don’t you think?)
Every time I think it’s “Match Over” he pulls something else out of the bag. And there was me bewailing the fact
that with the likes of Federer and Rafa out so early, we had only somewhat tame matches to look forward to. Oh me of little faith!
I was forced to leave Djokovic
and the Fruity One to their labours while I prepared my famous (as far as Mr B is concerned) beef curry for the oven. Timing was critical because we needed to eat before we headed off for our Friday Night Cribbage Group. It meant that I missed the result of
the tie-break which decided the third set. Not fair, not fair, I fumed. Still, like all the best tennis players, I turned my back on the past and set my face to the future. You didn’t know I could be quite so poetic did you?
Mr B used to be a ball-boy at Wimbledon, long, long ago. Those were the days when girls were not allowed and the ball-boys on the outside courts had to do everything, including adjusting
the score-board. Everything, that is, except actually playing. Mr B had to give back his kit when Wimbledon fortnight was over, unlike today’s teams of ball-boys and girls. He even had to provide his own plimsolls, bless him. Today
he is the only person I know who pays almost as much attention to how well the ball-boys are performing as to the players.
Djokovic finally triumphed just as I
set the beef curry on the table. This doubtless helped us avoid indigestion from jumping up and down in sheer excitement so it could be considered to be good timing. Except that we had to leave for our Cribbage Group just as Andy Murray was starting his quest
for a place in the Final. Mr B planned to record the match so that we could watch it when we arrived home but didn’t know whether it would be on BBC1 or BBC2. They do switch around so, have you noticed? In the end he taped every programme on both BBC
1 and BBC2. Mr B is what you might call a “belt and braces” kind of man.
You could tell that our fellow cribbage players all wished, like us,
that they were back home in front of the TV. Our hearts were not really in it. The TV was turned up loud in Diana’s front room so we could hear the roars of the crowd – whether roars of delight, disappointment, encouragement or fury was more difficult
to fathom. Every so often one of our number would creep into the front room to check the score and report back. At one set down, we all sighed and talked about Tim Henman. At one set all, we started to perk up. During the nervy third set, we played our
cards with grim determination as if by some kind of thought transference this might influence the outcome on Centre Court.
At nine o’clock, just as the roof
was being rolled out over Centre Court, we headed for home. Mr Murray may have been cross at the delay this caused but it enabled us to get home in time to catch the Happy Ending.
And I found time to finish today’s Daily Blog! A splendid result all round...