BEEF LARDED, CAKE BAKING..WE'RE READY!

There are absolutely no pictures of Andy on the web-so this is the best I could do.

For the biggest sporting event of the year......

My morning has been planned around the 13:00 hrs start of what promises to be the highlight of the BBC's Wimbledon coverage. The Final.
As the beef roasts and the cake rests fattened with strawberries, mum and me good self will be chattering non-stop about...Muzza, Fedders, the Great British Nit Wits standing in line in trepidation and precipitation waiting in anticipation for what could be, has to be, the greatest day in Wimbledon's history. Mr H. prob be tea boy.
Blimey Oh Riley matey 'tis a long long time since Fred held the Plate but now, now there's a chance a SLIM chance mind you, that the beanpoley slightly adolescently mega rich Scot will finally leave his mark. 74 years since Fred..long times to wait.

I know I've cursed Andy but it wasn't meant literally, I didn't do anything really evil to make him lose in all his Wimbledon semi-finals but this time, due to maturity and a desperate need for front room excitement/action I'm gagging for a Scottish win.

All my domestic cuties, I mean duties, are in strict must-do order. Firstly veggies, then yorkies then bake the celebratory cake... A Swiss Roll.

Come On Andy!

Mauler Murray

Plays Davydenko this afternoon on Centre...

Mother's essential outdoor activities therefore postponed.

One has one's priorities after all.

New Balls....Change Ends

As a tonic to my de-fizzed world cup champers I choose to serve a tennis cocktail.
Without umbrellas.

The great sporting event, highlighted with a green marker in my sugary kitchen diary, starts today, Wimblingdon. A perennial favourite of mine even when rained off, but torrents won't stop the start or delay the end on account of the new roof.
Tennis has never looked so swish.

Federer is out first, but when he plays I'll be kitchen clamped and his glossy shots and slicing forehands may be lost as I turn out a sweet confection. Chicken pie will also demand my complete and undivided attention. Somehow though, pies of a fowl kind don't sit comfortably alongside strawberries and cream. But I have to eat.

What does demand my attention however is the hullaballoo over the possible resignation of Fabio Capello. If England fail to qualify he may well hand in his notice, pack his cases and head off to warmer climes. Rat. And I thought he was such a nice gentleman.

But I couldn't blame him, not really, not after seeing how badly England are performing, how disappointing the multi-millionaires have been, I too would consider looking for another job.
There's also discontent in the brain of Rooney, it, that's the England team, apparently revolves around him. Does it? I thought the other ten guys wore the shirt also. If I were Capello I'd drop him and bring on Joe Cole. Teach Wayne Rooney that he IS NOT indispensable. Silly boy.

So.........you can imagine the flap I'm getting in, and I did promise myself a little while ago that flaps were a thing I wouldn't get in. But love, and it is indeed love, love of my team affects my heart and I can't let go. For God's sake how dare I speak of love, then when I'm needed most, shove of giving myself to something else. Wimblingdon.

Balls and shorts will hold me today and tomorrow so Portugal et al won't get a look in...But come Wednesday, in the afternoon, the ghost of Fred Perry could appear and Cliff Richard could arrive with a bride and I would not turn a hair.

England will have me. Enraptured and believing again.
I hope X

Aye, The Wee Lad's Still There...

It's day 6 of Wimbledon and that stinker Murray is still there. This afternoon he's up against the Serb, Victor Troiki.

I heard a radio interview with some old tennis duffer who echoed Roger Federer's comments by stating that Murray could win Wimbledon..In the future.

Back to what I think, I think the Scottish ball basher with the immovable hang dog expression could get to this year's final but only on account of the spectacular absence of Rafa Nadal. If he, Murray, does walk out on to Centre Court next week for the highly likely meet with Roger Federer the new Wimbledon roof will explode. I remember when Tim Henman puffed his way to the semis, you'd have thought he'd won the damn thing already. So if Murray, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Charlton Heston, does get to stand the other side of the net from whoever, it would be a remarkable day in British tennis history, and my love of all things British would be sorely tested.

Could I really support and cheer for a foreigner against on of my 'own' or would I flash my legs in a twirling kilt every time he a nailed a game?

What do you think?

Wimbledon

Today is the first day of the greatest tennis tournament on earth and I will be at work and that is a first. But I'm going to make sure that my new Boombox (see above) is switched off and Henry's telly is switched on because no way am I going to miss it.
So as I have breakfast I'll be hoping that by the time I arrive Henry will have already fled the castle because I cannot waste precious ball time listening to his post-wine, post-weekend rants.

I mentioned just now that I had a new Boombox, otherwise known as a portable cd player/radio, it's a funny little silver thing with bug eyed speakers, I need it because I want to dance around the kitchen at Henry's. So that's another reason why I hope he's scarpered I don't wish to dance again with the dodgy legged ex-mayor.

So Wimbledon...
No Rafa Nadal just endless speculation about Andy Murray. And if the tetchy, lanky, long faced, miserable tyke does manage to get to the final it'll be unbearable.
But I'll watch.




Another big event coming up in 6 days...

Starlings For Breakfast

As I was eating breakfast...

Starlings were bombing around the bird table intent on knocking seven bells out of the fruity suet slab. It was a heart warming sight.
And as they swooped and swerved there was one particular bird which was getting to peck in a major way, the top starling I expect, the others being put firmly in their place. On neighbouring branches. But not for long. The gang then swerved and dived leaving the branches trembling in their wake while the main man continued to dig out bits of berry then swiftly wiping and swiping his greasy beak on the table ledge.

Watching this exuberant rock and roll dance has put me in a better mood, why I'm almost half crazed with joy because I know that come the summer and winter I'll be spending an awful lot of time enjoying the boisterous slap stick fun of the 'bully birds'. And hopefully the gentle scooping up of peanuts and seeds by pigeons, sparrows, tits and robins.

On the menu today: Fish, chips, peas tomatoes. Unsure about pud, possibly a fruit salad. Yes, I like the sound of that.

I see Andy Murray has won something...And is now second favourite to win Wimbledon which starts next week. I'm not saying another word...All I hope is that my favourite player, the bright-as-a-kite Rafael Nadal is fit enough to play.
I get in such a lather over my boys.

Time for work, but before I head out I'll gaze stupidly at the bird table.

Rafa v Roger. Weather Permitting!

The weather gods are playing games at Wimbledon. Let's hope they run out of steam and rain soon!
Good Luck to Rafa and let's hope for a good game.

Chris Is Still My Number One

I was feeding pigeons and watering tomato plants at six this morning, the idea of laying in bed on such a damp and beautiful Saturday morning was just stupid, much rather be doing something worthwhile.

I see the Ladies Final at Wimbledon is a Williams affair, I won't watch it, don't particularly care for those two girls, they're a bit too loud for my liking, I much prefered watching the now retired Justine Henin, she was a lovely divine and feisty character.
Talking of adorable creatures my all time favourite tennis gal was Chris Evert, (see pic above) me and Mum watched her thrash out final after final, she was humble and sweet when victorious and always gracious and polite in defeat and always, always behaved like a lady on court. The only thing that puzzled me about Chrissy was how she could have married that no good tyke John Lloyd, I always thought he was a bad 'un, and I was right. She recently married again I hope she's found Mr Right.

Another player I loved watching was Arancha Sanchez Vicario (not sure about the spelling) she used to storm out onto court like an untamed pony, she'd then run around like a thing possessed not worrying about her flying hair and sweaty brow, she was a great little thing, so unpolished and natural, an absolute kiss of freshness to a staid old Brit like me. I just love women who act like men.
The current crop of women players leave me a bit chilled, haven't seen any real stars, Dementiava looks like she could go far and there's a fourteen year old British girl called Laura Robson who looks set to make a mark on British tennis in a big way. She was born in Australia but I won't hold that against her.
Let's hope she bounces around court like a kangaroo (sorry couldn't resist!)

The mens final tomorrow between my favourite boy Rafa Nadal and the slightly creepy Roger Federer looks like being another corker, Rafa's been on top form recently and his idiosyncratic ways with bottles of water make me laugh. Could have some kind of emotional problem there I thought, as he carefully and meticulously placed one bottle in front of the other. Better watch that Rafa...Don't become obsessive about bottles dear!

Federer plays like an automaton, rarely going off kilter, rarely doing anything wrong, I don't enjoy having perfection rammed down my throat, I know he's a master at what he does but I need to see flaws to fall in love.

So my Saturday is one of avoiding the telly and doing something with chicken legs.
Be happy everyone.

Andy and Rafa

Andy Murray is due on centre court today if the rain holds off. The grouchy Scot is due to play Rafa Nadal so it's adios Senor Murray!
Watched him play a fantastic match against the Frenchman Gasquet on Monday night, (see pic above) and although I was in and out so to speak, I saw glimpses of a fighter in Andy Murray and I admire that, even in him. But todays match against the spaniard will be a totally different kettle of fish because Rafa aint no Frenchman. So I hope to see most of it, if the weather gods allow.
What have I been doing apart from watching the occasional tennis match?
Well I had a glorious day yesterday, went to the seaside in the blazing heat, ate cockles, drank cider and felt so happy I didn't want it to end.
But it did of course so today I'll cook a bit, watch Andy and Rafa and talk very little.

Betty's Bag is Angie's Bag!

Have no idea what's happening at Wimbledon, too busy recovering from my stint in hospital.
Good news on the birthday front though, was given a fabulous designer handbag, a Betty Jackson beauty now sits upon my dressing table. I wonder if it'll be lucky...

On other fronts, looks like being a corker weather wise, sunshine set to continue, at least until Wednesday, then expecting a downpour.
Made a glorious choccie cake yesterday, it's glossy and moist and just what a middle aged woman needs as she stares down at her streaky brown legs.

Have a million things to do this morning, but I expect I'll only manage one or two.

Smiler and Grumpy

England v Trinidad and Tobago
BBC1
Tonight 10:20 p.m.
It's another friendly, you know like our match against the States. That game however was soporific, dull and quite disappointing, even though England won 2-0.
I'm hoping for fireworks from the boys tonight.

Talking of combustibles.
Fabio Capello will have to a word with Wayne Rooney, because although Rooney is undoubtedly talented, his temper is in need of some kind of training though. I don't know what's in store for the lad but if he can keep his slate clean and his rages under control he should do well.
The never ending story about who's fit for the captaincy is sending me bonkers. Davey B. he of the unquestionable skill and fabulous smile has the armband for tonights match but who'll be wearing it in future is anyones guess.

Euro 2008 starts on Saturday 7th June and we're not in it. It's unbelievable. I suppose being a football lover I'll have to support someone so I'm plumping for er...Spain or Italy. Can't support the Germans likewise the Dutch, anyway I think both those teams have had enough glory.
But what about Croatia, Romania and the bloody French?
Oh, I wish we were in it. because I want to be able to dress up in my shorts and footie shirt and throw missiles around the room.

Oh well, Wimbledon's just around the corner, that'll give me something to cheer about. But.
Who will represent us, the English?
Nobody.
Nobody who has any chance of even getting through the first round yet alone to the finals. The Scots have the lanky very Scottish misery guts Andy Murray, and he's made it quite clear thank you very much that he'll always be playing for Scotland and not England. Wow! I'm devastated, how will we cope?

Never in the history of first class tennis has anyone been as sour faced and ungracious as the kid from the top bit of Britain. I know he's in the top ten and all that but he should take a few lessons from some of the brighter more grown up tennis players, i.e. be consistent, be nice and smile a bit more, he knows nothing about how to work an audience and knows even less about making people like you. So I wish he'd go back to whatever it is they do in Scotland, shoot haggis or something isn't it?

Oh, I don't care.
My money will be on Rafael Nadal as it was last year and it might help Murray if he studied Nadal very closely, because the Spaniard is not only a first class player, he's a first class entertainer. People look forward to watching him walk out on court, they gasp and dribble over his bright clothes and fantastic muscles, he thrills with his exciting passionate game and he knows how to please the paying crowd.
Murray on the other hand reminds me of Tim Henman, couldn't care less about the public, doesn't give a hoot about his image or what tennis fans think, all in all he's a bad egg.

When real stars come out to play, the crowd not only witness great skill they get treated to a performance too.
Murray glowers and shuffles around like a schoolboy then spits in the publics face, especially the English.
Nadal however just gets on with winning the game, he is a supreme tennis player and a great showman and most tennis fans adore him. Andy Murray? Nah on all counts.

So to sum up.
Football, tennis, screaming, hurling abuse at referees, umpires and lack lustre players. Wishing I could be there. Sucking on strawberries and slurping beer. Looks like I'm in for a cracking noisy summer. Oh, Goody.