Wot a tennis week.
Tuesday I was super lucky to have a ticket for Wimbledon and, other than the great tennis, I enjoyed watching Katherine Jenkin’s make up. I think she must have put her face in a kiln and fired it because the woman sat in the royal box under the glaring sun for several hours and nothing – eyeshadow, liner, lipstick, blusher – shifted.
Kyrgios the 19 year old Australian wildcard rocked upon Centre Court with his pink headphones and sparkling earring and played at such a pace it was as though he only had the court for half an hour, like down the local park. It was so thrilling to see him boot Nadal’s very pretty ass out of the tournament that we clean forgot to eat our coconut mushrooms.
Wednesday Raonic stuffed poor Kyrgios, so I backed him as the overall winner.
And then 48 hours later Raonic walks out onto Centre Court to meet Roger Federer in the semis like he’s a Zombie with a tennis racquet. His 150mph serve deserted him and he played a baseline game so dull that all I could think about what was gel he uses to keep his Tin-Tin style hairdo in place. It didn’t move. I wasn’t moved, and judging by the lack of ooohs and aaaahs from the 15,000 people on Centre Court, they weren’t either.
I have booked my seat on Centre Sofa for Sunday and want Federer the ole bloke of tennis to win because he has two sets of twins. And my snack of choice will be cherries and Waitrose Almond Viennese biscuits.
And in more sports news: my family dog is currently holding hot ticket Brazil in our Family World Cup Sweepstake. We have all approached him offering either to buy him out, or buy a share in his team, but he is staying mutt on the subject.