That dopey Murray lost again.
But what a thrilling match it was.
I was, for once, rooting for the Scot, not because I've fallen for him but because I wanted to see him  get knocked for six in Sunday's final. What a happy chick I'd have been.
A Sunday roast and tennis? My giddy aunt I'd have been in seventh heaven. But it wasn't to be, so a jolly good roast is all I'll get.
Boo hiss. Foul. Fault. Game over.

Nursie came this morning to tend to Mother's bits, all ok. And the hospital phoned asking questions about mum's non-attendance, I had a bit of a grilling I don't mind telling you. But all was well in the end.

After the tennis finished I popped to the charity shop and chatted with the lady and boy and came away with two tops, two rugs and four white tea plates.
My God I love that shop.

Lovely weather today.
Sun great.
Sky faultless.

Have a million things to do now so I will say cheerybye.
By the way, I'm feeling very supple managed to do 32 tummy scrunchies by the back door.