I should tell you, I am an awesome tennis player. (That simply isn’t true, and never was. Even before my arthritic shoulders gave up.) In my heyday however I had a backhand to fear – I certainly did: it was an unpredictable little blighter. If it went well, it could cause the ball to screech across the net and burn the paint off on the other side: a sensible opponent would see it coming and get out of the way. If it was having an off day however, the struck little yellow blob could soar straight over the chain link, or roll slowly under the net – or perhaps just give up and fall off the face of my racquet. The joy of it was that I had no way of knowing what was about to happen until I hit the thing – surprise is a great tactic in warfare and in the ‘gentle’ sport of lawn tennis, and I was certainly always surprised by my backhand. So it was with renewed awe and reverence that I took up my position in front of the L&F HQ TV four days ago, and I can tell you now, I will not be moving until July 14th. How DO they do it?! The athleticism, the drive, the focus, the refusal to go bright red in the sun – the only answer is for another cup of tea and probably some more cake, while I continue to marvel. And to worry. What on earth will I do all day on July 15th? Answers on a postcard please.
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