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.

Independence Day

Just before I settle down for the evening I must thank my friend, the Duchess of Michigan, for trawling through all my previous posts and commenting on nearly every single one. She's either bonkers in the nut or a woman with a penchant for the finer things in life. My money's on the latter.

This blonde babe has followed me from disaster to disaster, from happy days to confused days, from rage to joy and from helplessness to hope. And this camaraderie was born and has since flourished from our time together on a music website to this, my latest blogging incarnation. She has always commented, often making 'sensible' suggestions, her clear and concise remarks about food, men and kids were quite good too but most of all she's always made me laugh. Let me tell you about her. First of all she's an American.
Her sense of humour is naughty and grown up, her earthiness often has me rolling on the floor and coming over all shocked and delicate, because I'm English and not used to that sort of thing. She's generous too, her presents to me have made my day. She once sent one of my cats a scratching post because he was tearing up the hall wallpaper, she's a thoughtful lass too.

We have a lot in common the Duchess and I, for a start we both have royal blood gushing through our veins, mine is there from birth of course, hers was put in by me! I bestowed on her the title of Duchess way back in 2006/7 because I was a Queen and I decided I needed another Royal to keep me company on our music website. So she became a Duchess, her husband a Duke and her two boys little dukettes and her little girl a duchessett!
Anyway we both wear our crowns with pride.

The Duchess and I have both seen our jewels get a wee bit tarnished over the years what with one thing and another, but we've helped each get our sparkle back by continually being there for one another with the duster of humour and a huge handkerchief to mop up our tears. In other words we've been mates. I once wrote a poem about her and in it I called her a 'ballsy babe', and she still is. Because anyone that is willing to take risks in life deserves the best of everything. Good Luck Duchess. As for me I'm kind of at a crossroads too, the frightening signposts are there for me to gawp at and my nerves are getting the better of me but with my chum across the pond I think I'll survive.
So on that optimistic note I'll bid you a goodnight.
Happy Independence Day!

Honoured

My friend has just asked me if she could print out one of my poems which is on this blog.
(Woman, 14th May)
She wants to hang it on the wall.
Of course she can.
Thanks Duchess

Back from my quick fire trip to London and all is the same. And so with an overpowering emptiness engulfing me I let chocolate and tears come together on my tongue.
Monty is on the floor entangled in the baked laundry and the sun is still shining and I don't know why, but but I wish it would go away.
I've lost track of Wimbledon, only game I remember watching was Murray v Gasquet. Sweet.
Don't give a damn about the Ladies final. Pointless if it's a Williams sisters party.
My new handbag is lying on my bed, it doesn't look so grand or pretty any more.
This is pointless.
Never in my life have I felt so numb, so completely and utterly devoid of a life worth living, so I'm sorry this is a bad post, but I can't think of anything good to write about.

Sorry Pigeon It Won't Happen Again...

I feel 'still' this morning and I don't like it. Because 'still' means 'lifeless'. And 'lifeless' means only one thing, unhappiness.
Talking of 'still' I have just disturbed a perfectly poised wood pigeon who was sitting on the garden fence, on seeing me through the kitchen window he opened his wings and angrily flapped up a few feet only to land on next doors garage roof. Silly bird.
Tomorrow I'll crawl in the kitchen on my hands and knees.

Night Time

Some night time thoughts in no particular order:

Andy Murray has been taught a lesson by Rafa, now limp off lad and leave the game to the big boys.


Forgive my wobbly writing, I'm riding a great big sick inducing roller coaster, my eyes are struggling to take in the blurred landscape as I ride high and wide, my head has given up trying to keep calm, has given up trying to make sense of any of it and my heart has just stopped.
But dear God how the sumptuous waves and dips give me the perfect sweetest ride.

Goodnight.

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.