I have been playing real tennis at The Queen’s Club this September, as the Lord’s court is closed for refurbishment and a few other clubs, such as Queen’s, have, very kindly, offered us MCC tennis types refugee status for the month.
It’s been a somewhat sobering experience at times.
My first gig as a refugee was a singles friendly match against a 12-year-old…
…who absolutely took me to pieces.
To be fair, he is the champion player at his age group and, if “the book” is to be believed, he is even capable of beating the U15 champion now. Here is some film of him winning the French Open:
I’m pretty sure he’ll be an exceptionally good player. Remember where you first heard the name: Bertie Vallat…
…I know, you couldn’t make up a more Wodehouseian name than that…
…he’s the boy in the foreground at the start of the filum.
Anyway, point is, after that ego-bruising episode, I decided that I needed a lesson in technique, so arranged to play an hour-long friendly match with one of my Lord’s chums, then an hour of coaching, ahead of meeting up with Simon in Hammersmith.
I did well in my friendly match – reclaiming the handicap points I had lost to Bertie. Then I enjoyed my lesson too, which I think will help my lawners as well as my realers…am I starting to spend to much time hanging around the arcane language of this game?
Then, after killing some time in a couple of coffee bars along the way, I met up with Simon Jacobs for a relatively early dinner at Brasserie Blanc.
I explained my difficult hour at the hands of a twelve-year-old the previous week, which led Simon to suggest that I might have “done a Serena” and/or resorted to corporal punishment. Neither of these suggestions seemed, to me, worthy of Simon.
But then Simon might well have had other things on his mind. He was very kindly taking time out to have dinner with me just a couple of days ahead of the launch of his latest single; Top Of The Pops. How cool is that?
Well, you can judge for youreselves by listening to and watching the following YouTube:
We discussed without irony the increasingly ghastly political landscape. The absence of irony is not because we have lost our senses of humour – heaven forbid. No, it appears that we never did have a sense of irony, due to ethnic accidents of birth. No point mocking us (we wouldn’t get it), simply pity us.
The food was very good indeed. The wine was also very good. The service was excellent, until we asked our waiter to leave us alone for a short while to consider what to have for, or indeed if to have, desert. Then we complained when the waiter returned because he had neglected us for so long.
The waiter laughed and told us that we were his favourite table of the evening. Poor chap, he clearly thought we were being ironic…he didn’t realise that we really meant it – he didn’t realise that we don’t do irony.
We talked a fair bit about music; not only Simon’s new single but his plans for the album and also the stuff that I am fiddling around with at the moment. Simon set me some homework around “I Only Have Eyes For You” and also “Nothing Rhymed”, the latter of which has yielded faster results than the somewhat tricky former.
The evening whizzed by and I had no idea how late it was until we got to Hammersmith Station. Still, not so late that the tubes get tricky.
As always, it had been a very enjoyable evening with Simon.
After Sunday’s long-signalled washout, I had been keeping a close eye on the weather forecast for the rescheduled slot for real tennis at Falkland Palace; late morning Tuesday.
The weather was smiling on us first thing and continued to smile on us for our day in Falkland.
Worrying about the weather for real tennis is an unusual experience, as almost all of the functioning courts are indoors. In fact, the Royal Court at Falkland Palace is currently the only functioning outdoor court in the world. It is also the oldest functioning tennis court in the world.
Falkland Palace is also home to the most northerly court in the world. Indeed, as neither Janie nor I had previously ventured further north than Glasgow/Livingstone/Edinburgh, our visit to Falkland was also the most northerly place we have yet been.
We allowed plenty of time to get to Falkland, but in truth it is only an hour or so’s drive from our digs in Leith.
We planned to look at the gardens as well as play tennis, but didn’t particularly want to wander around the old pile.
On arrival, I told the attendant our plans and offered to pay for garden visit tickets, but she told us that we didn’t need to pay to see the garden if we were there for tennis.
Then we met our hosts; Ewan and Kirsten Lee. An extremely pleasant couple bursting with enthusiasm for the game of real tennis. They had been unable to find a fourth player to join us, so, as planned, Janie gave it a go, despite her inexperience at the game.
I say, “Janie’s inexperience”…that court would make many an experienced dedanist feel like a fresher.
For a start, the design of the court is quite different from any other active court; it is a jeu quarré court, which means that there is no dedans for the receiver to aim at, no penthouse roof at the server’s end and no tambour on the hazard side for the server to aim at.
Instead, the receiver has a small plank of wood, the “ais”, to aim at in the right-hand corner of the server’s court. although hitting the ais only counts as a winning stroke if it hits that feature before the second bounce and without first hitting the gallery penthouse roof.
The other ludicrously tantalising and no-doubt mostly confounding targets for the receiver are four small apertures in the server’s side back wall known, as lunes.
We played a rather one-sided Scotland v England fixture for over two hours and had lots of fun, while only occasionally having long wrests. So passing visitors, of whom there were many during those hours of play, might have been forgiven, when told that there are four lunes on the Falkland Palace tennis court, for mistakenly assuming that the term “four lunes” referred to the players, not to the apertures on the wall.
The surfaces are also very different at Falkland, the walls and the floor being unpolished stone and the balls, consequently, made with a rougher, more robust felt; another currently unique feature for Falkland.
Indeed, Ewan added an additional characteristic in the hazard/gallery corner; some salt to make less slippery that part of the floor that gets no sun and therefore remains damp. Dramatic backspin was available for those talented enough or lucky enough to produce it.
For sure luck plays its part to a greater extent even than we see on indoor real tennis courts, but that adds to the fun and of course luck evens out after a while, allowing the better players to prevail, more often than not.
I am pleased to be able to say that I managed to hit the grille once during our game and that I hit a winning shot to the ais. Both of those aimed and I think I might have had a couple more points from hitting the ais had it not been for Ewan’s determined defending of the ais with his increasingly successful volleys.
But my moment of glory from the hours of play came from a rather frustrated, wild receiving shot, which I think would have hit the penthouse roof above the dedans on most courts. But on this one occasion at Falkland, my forceful shot went sailing through the lower lune on the main wall side of the server’s wall.
We had a brief discussion on the scoring rule for a lune shot. The most recent incarnation of the Falkland Tennis Club scores a mere point for the lune shot, which is clearly inadequate reward for such a risky and unlikely shot. Ewan announced that the 16th century rule was that a successful lune shot determined the game, so we agreed that particular deuce game had been been won by me and Janie, then moved on in the set.
But on returning to my many ancient texts and manuscripts, I learn that the phrase “determines the game”, in the sixteenth century, could not have referred to a mere single game within a set of tennis…no, no, no…“determines the game”, in those days unquestionably meant, “the side with the most lune shots wins the whole match”.
So despite the fact that the Scottish pair (Ewan and Kirsten) won most of the points, almost all of the games and all of the sets ahead of the intrepid English pair (me and Janie), it seems that, by dint of my single, lucky lune shot, Janie and I won the match. Scotland 0-1 England. An historic win for England over Scotland away at Falkland. Hopefully our opponents will demand a rematch to try their luck again.
In truth, of course, the winner was real tennis; the hours of fun and the conviviality that seems almost always to go along with that wonderful sport.
We eventually had to stop playing when a large party of schoolchildren arrived on a school trip to see the court and watch people in 16th century fancy dress demonstrating the court. Janie took some photographs.
We four modern realists retired to The Covenanter across the road for some drinks, snacks and chat. Ewan, who is a schoolteacher, is a great enthusiast for sports, in particular court sports, so he and I schemed about fives (another shared interest) as well as tennis. Kirsten is an artist and designer with a great love of gardens, so she and Janie had plenty to talk about in those departments too.
Much like our recent visit to Petworth, Janie and I lost track of time and ate into far too much of our hosts’ day, for which we are grateful and which didn’t seem to bother our hosts. But on this occasion at Falkland, with no further visits on our itinerary, after saying goodbye to Ewan and Kirsten, we thankfully did find time to look around the beautiful, peaceful garden.
Highlights include a charming orchard, a small physic garden and also the lovely areas around the house and tennis court.
We also revisited the tennis court to try to capture some better pictures of the nesting swallows who populate the galleries side of the court.
On the way home, we stopped off at the David Lloyd Tennis Club on Glasgow Road (what a contrast) to pick up some of those ASICS indoor tennis shoes at that seem so hard to track down at the moment. Stephen at the Bruntsfield Sports concession there was very helpful, although they only had one pair that ticked all of my boxes.
Gosh we felt tired when we got home, but not too tired to go out again after showering to get some protein and carbs inside us by visiting Domenico’s in Leith for a spicy prawn starter and big bowls of the day’s special pasta; venison ragu tagliatelle.
We’d had a really lovely day, not least thanks to Ewan, Kirsten and the wonderful sport of real tennis.
“You could have said no”, said Daisy, as I prepared to leave Noddyland ridiculously early on a non-working day, with reference to the 9:00 game of real tennis I had agreed to play as a late substitute, in addition to my 10:00 game. “Two hours of singles on the hottest day of the year is not a very bright idea”.
“I’ll drink plenty of water,” I mumbled.
Two challenging hours they proved to be; one against a newbie whose handicap has clearly not yet settled in its firmament way beyond my level, then my anticipated hour against a familiar adversary with whom I tend to have very close battles. Today was a very tight battle until the last 15-20 minutes which went resoundingly his way. The experience probably did more for my strength and conditioning for tournament play than it did for my confidence.
Soon after that 2017 visit, Ian gave up full time work and disappeared for a gap year with his good lady, Sally. I love the rationale behind the Ian and Sally gap year; such things had barely been invented when we were younger (or rather, they were beyond the means of most), whereas their kids had taken gap years before starting formal work; why shouldn’t Ian and Sally have a gap year when concluding their formal careers?
Anyway, they went to New Zealand, then Japan and then – or should I say, at the time of writing, now – the canals of England. This adventure, which Ian and Sally have almost completed, they are blogging as Living In Hope…
…not to be confused with The Rutles classic, Living In Hope:
So Ian thought he had his work cut out pulling together suitable attire for the pavilion, given that his former life possessions are mostly in crates…
…except that, being Ian, he had kept one business suit and tie accessible for “just in case” – and this was such a case.
More challenging, for me, was the space in the pavilion guest book where the member records the visitor’s address. I have often wondered whether anyone ever pays heed to this box, which is often filled in with only the scantiest details…
…indeed I would question its GDPR compliance these days – organisations are not supposed to record personal details they don’t need…
…anyway, I merely wrote “canal boat” as the address in the book, so I am living in hope that no-one hauls me over the coals for some rule breach or another; not least the rule that says “though shalt not bring persons of no fixed abode into the pavilion as guests”.
Ian had never been in the pavilion before, which surprised me as I know he has quite a few MCC members in his circle. Still, this gave me an opportunity to give him an informal guided tour and witness a cricket lover taking great pleasure in watching cricket from the inner sanctum that is the Lord’s pavilion.
Ian was a little disappointed, though, with Ryan Sidebottom. He was expecting a hairy Yorkshireman who used to play for England, not a tidy-looking Victorian who used to play for Victoria.
Side on, Sidebottom
So, to please Ian and Ryan Sidebottom fans generally, here are two short vids of recently-retired Yorkshireman Ryan Sidebottom’s biggest moment; his hat trick against New Zealand in 2008 – a “language-strewn” hand-held shot of the moment (which I have discovered on YouTube) follows:
The second of these vids is one of the most absurd/extraordinary stop-frame animation films I have ever seen – by Are You A Left-Arm Chinaman? – the Ryan Sidebottom hat-trick starts around 3:30 and is well worth waiting for or sliding the dial towards:
But I digress.
Dewey-eyed I was, as we stood up soon after the umpires called lunch; not with emotion you understand, but two hours of tennis followed by those rump-racking pavilion benches was telling its toll.
Actually we decided to stick around that pavilion spot and continue munching cashews and taking on water, until about twenty minutes after lunch, by which time there is usually room to sit reasonably comfortably in the long room bar and take some proper lunch. Bap of the day was a wonderful pork jobbie with crackling and a sort-of sausage meat stuffing to add to the general porkiness. I had a glass of white while Ian opted for a beer.
After lunch, Ian fancied trying the new Warner Stand, where the seats are far more comfy than the pavilion and the view is still very good. Then, come tea-time, we returned to the pavilion, enabling me to conclude Ian’s guided tour of the pavilion with the upstairs bits, ending up on the top deck, where we enjoyed a cuppa and a breeze to provide slight relief from the heat of the day.
Ian needed to leave an hour or so before stumps, whereas I fancied seeing that last hour of cricket, so we parted company at the pavilion door – I decided to watch the last hour from the comfort of the Warner Stand seats.
It had been really pleasant to catch up with Ian over lunch and cricket; not least because chatting about some of his gap year experiences added an element of colour that no blog (not even Ogblog) can provide.
When I got to the Warner Stand, I spotted Ed Griffiths watching solo and asked him if he minded me joining him. He didn’t. I hadn’t really watched cricket with him before, despite having spent a fair amount of time with him, not least over the London Cricket Trust initiative. While it was very interesting to watch and discuss cricket together, unfortunately Middlesex’s improving position went into reverse while we were watching together, leaving matters seeming very precarious overnight.
Since Jez Horne left Z/Yen, he and I have a rather shocking record of planning to meet up for a T20 match at Lord’s on a day that turns out to be rainy.
We expected no such problem in this glorious summer of 2018 and, as luck would have it, Jez was available on one of the few T20 evenings I can manage this season.
I arranged to play tennis at 15:00, giving me plenty of time to sauna, shower, spruce myself up and bagsy some good pavilion seats.
My opponent for the afternoon, Bill Taylor, is one of my favourite adversaries; although I tend to come off second best against him, we nearly always have an epic battle along the way.
We had an exceptionally good first set, which took almost the whole hour. Playing level, the pesky ninth game went to deuce upon deuce upon deuce…
…upon deuce…you get the idea. But in the end Bill prevailed, both in that game and then the set and match.
I took my time over warming down and my ablutions. As I was just preparing to leave the changing room, John Stephenson (MCC Director of Cricket) and Guy Lavender (the new MCC Chief Executive) emerged from one of the squash courts. They were discussing the pavilion dress code and the practicalities around the “jackets allowed off in hot weather” rule.
I was putting the finishing touches on my tie, jacket and general pavilion aesthetic look when, horror of horrors, I realised that I had come out without a comb in my linen suit’s jacket pocket and had used a kit bag that also lacks one of my emergency combs.
My hair probably looked a little like the following photo, taken at the end of a victorious tennis skills night eighteen months ago…
…perhaps a little worse when combined with a jacket and tie.
“Just as well you don’t have a bad hair rule for the pavilion”, I said “I have come out without a comb”.
“No we don’t, but don’t worry, there will be a bad hair rule in time for your next visit”, said Guy with a smile.
Guy’s smile widened a little forcedly, as if to say, “…and your point is?…”
“I’ll bring a comb,” I conceded. Need to stay on the right side of the new Chief Exec, I thought.
Jez is not exactly the sartorial type…he used to hang out with Barmy Kev for gawd’s sake…so I didn’t need to make any any excuses or explanations to him. He seemed pleased with my choice of “right up front” seat.
As always, it was good to catch up with Jez. He and his burgeoning family have recently relocated to…
…coincidentally given my visit a couple of days earlier…
We chatted about cricket. We chatted a bit about work. We chatted about…
…trigger warning…
…geeky statistics, operational research and machine learning stuff.
We both brought nibbles of the “old style Z/Yen gathering” variety with us – in my case parcel-type bites from M&S, in Jez’s case from Sainsbury. I had brought a mini bottle (250 ml) of Sancerre for myself – that should last the evening on a warm night; Jez managed a few bottles of quality beer. I remember Badger and Theakstons Old Peculiar as two of the labels.
We watched Middlesex start well with the bat, seem to get bogged down, finish better, then watched Somerset do all that with quite a bit more purpose than Middlesex.
One of the very good things about real tennis is the extent to which it seems to be a community of enthusiasts. To such an extent that, when you meet and play realists from other clubs – as often you do at Lord’s – they seem keen to welcome you at their places.
Example: back in the winter, I played at Lord’s against Mark Bradshaw, a member at Petworth, who has quite recently taken up the sport more seriously having only dabbled previously – rackets was more his game. Mark said, after our good game, that Petworth was being refurbished at the moment but that he would like me to visit for a game once the refurb was done. I said I would very much like to do that.
I thought little of the matter again until I received, in the spring, out of the blue, a kind e-mail from Mark reminding me of our conversation and wondering whether I really was interested. The suggested timing, as it happened, worked out well for Janie, so we hatched a plan to go to both Petworth and Hove in a day, so we might visit Sidney and Joan later.
The plan soon became a reality. Janie and I half-planned to get to Petworth early enough to have a look at the gardens of the old house as well, but by the time we found the tennis court entrance (the postcode sent Waze and therefore me to the wrong entrance)…
I’ll Recognise The Entrance Next Time
…and then spent some time with a few of the charming Petworth Club members who showed us their mural (above) and the spelling challenges they faced with the donations board (below)…
He Who Would Valiant Be…
…we realised that a more realistic pastime ahead of my tennis match would be a wander around the village and the purchase of a plant or flowers for Sidney and Joan.
Petworth has plenty of art galleries and arty shops. Janie spotted some rather tasteful hand-blown coloured tumblers that she fancied as water glasses. By the time we had completed the non-trivial task of choosing each of the six she wanted – each was a different colour and had a different amount of bubbling-effect – it was time to move on to the next non-trivial task; choosing a plant or flowers for Sidney and Joan:
Choosing that splendid plant wasn’t as easy as it looks
Then back to the Petworth Real Tennis Club:
Can I hear banging on the roof?
It seems like a really friendly club. John Ritblat was one of the main movers and shakers in achieving the major refurb, which includes modern changing rooms and a charming kitchen and breakout area. The people who had been playing before us had brought a picnic lunch with them and were enjoying a convivial post-play repast while we played.
I found the Petworth surface very difficult to come to terms with in the first set, but made a bit more of a fist of it in the second.
Mark has come on leaps and bounds since we last played; his rackets background making him wicked fast around the court and able to get most balls, good or bad ones, back. My problems getting used to the surfaces were multiplied by his technique, in which he boasts the ball of multiple walls quite regularly.
Janie has a strange knack of shooting a little bit of video on points that I tend win. She very rarely captures one of my many losing points. She doesn’t delete stuff from the gizmo at the time; it’s just a strange statistical thing. So I can safely ascertain that I would win all my matches if she videoed all of them in their entirety. Perhaps I should kit her out with a proper video camera and have her with me for all my games…
…anyway, the match didn’t go my way at Petworth but we did get a good game in the end; the second set was tight.
Then lunch. Mark and Henrietta recommended The Hungry Guest which was indeed an excellent choice.
Mark certainly looks happy with his choice…
…in fact, everyone looks happy.
It is a glorious summer this year; the opportunity to eat and chat al fresco on occasions such as this is one not to be missed.
In fact, we ate and chatted so fervently, that we all lost track of time. Mark then suddenly realised the time and we hurriedly said our goodbyes to enable him to get to a 16:00 appointment.
Meanwhile Janie and I worked out that we really didn’t have time to take in the Petworth Gardens on this visit, so we had a coffee and mellowed out before hitting the road to Hove, for a family visit, privately Ogblogged.
We thought we’d failed to get tickets in the Wimbledon ballot this year. Janie and I had heard from several people that they or their loved ones had secured something. Odds are that you miss out more often than not, so we thought that was that.
But I suppose that most of the seats that come up in the public ballot are week one seats and that Wimbledon send out the week two letters the following week.
So, a few days after we had agreed that 2018 had been a miss, Janie announced that an envelope had just arrived from Wimbledon and that she’d let me open it.
OMG, we’ve got centre court tickets for Ladies’ Semi-Finals Day.
Janie was so excited; in truth we were both very excited.
A few weeks later the tickets themselves came through and turned out to be very good ones – Row F; near to commentary boxes and the Royal Box – just over our right shoulders above us.
…but second Thursday felt almost like hitting the jackpot.
I took on picnic duties again (that kinda makes sense for midweek Wimbledon), producing smoked salmon in poppy-seed bagels and prosciutto muffins as the centre-pieces for centre court. A Single Estate Villa Maria Sauv Blanc and an Aussie “Daydream” Pinot Noir (the latter partly surviving for another day).
I studied the order of play carefully when it came through and suggested that we aim to get to Wimbledon early enough to catch a little bit of juniors action on one of the larger outer courts before the main event.
We plugged for Court 18, where a couple of girls with similar rankings, Xiyu Wang & Cori Gauff, were doing battle:
Surprisingly good quality tennis
Gauff, who looked like Venus Williams’s mini-me in style of play and demeanour, took the first set and was well up in the second, before Xiyu Wang started to turn the match around.
Thinking about the turn around
Don’t confuse Xiyu Wang with her doubles partner, Xinyu Wang. That would be foolish of you. Also don’t assume that they must be sisters. They were born about 6 months apart which made the “must be sisters” theory bite the dust, unless an awful lot of artificial intervention was involved. The Wang pair went on to win the girls doubles title, while Cori Gauff, who turned out to be only 14 years old, really is a rising star, so remember where you heard these names first.
At the end of the second set on Court 18, we decided it was time to freshen up and progress to centre court in good time for the first semi-final.
Janie’s choices of photographers from the crowd was somewhat flawed. The first lady had the shakes so much that her efforts were very blurry indeed. Then one person somehow pressed the video button for a few seconds rather than the simple shutter release. It sort-of looks like one of those Harry Potter photos:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmyJiZBh_IM
Younger people in the crowd wanted nothing to do with having people take pictures for them – it is all about selfies and selfie-sticks these days – so my offers reciprocally to take pictures were rejected.
We chatted with a very nice lady next to us, Carolyn, and her friend, Deana, who had come all the way from Yorkshire for the tennis. They helped Janie do some celebrity spotting in the neighbouring Royal Box.
Janie spotted Cliff enjoying the privacy of the Royal Box
With you I am Bjorn again?
Billie Jean – who is not my lover…
We enjoyed some snacks and a glass of wine.Why were we here? Oh yes, tennis. Here come some players:
Jelena Ostopenko and Angelique Kerber
Ostopenko came out all guns blazing, but that is not usually the way to best Kerber and so it proved that day:
Kerber kept her cool
We had time to eat our smoked salmon in poppy seed bagels during that match; just about.
Next up: Serena Williams against Julia Goerges. We’d never seen Serena play live before, although we have seen Venus more than once at Wimbledon.
Get ready…
…Julia got set, but took no sets…
…Serena powered her way through the match; Julia seemed overawed…
…thank you, ma’am.
A Wimbledon summary vid shows some glimpses here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VaXv5f3_QiA
In truth the semi-finals had been short and one-sided, but there was plenty of entertainment to come. I went for a leg-stretching stroll at that juncture, having been assured by a steward that the mixed doubles was at least 20-25 minutes away. So I leg-stretched for that period of time, looking at one or two outer courts and chatting idly with one of the volunteer stewards there.
On my return, the mixed doubles quarter final had started. Mercifully Janie had taken some snaps of the players arriving and starting. It was a young British pair; Jay Clarke & Harriet Dart, taking on a far more experienced, seeded pair – Juan Sebastian Cabal and Abigail Spears. The thing is, though, that no-one seemed able to tell these youngsters that they weren’t supposed to beat the more experienced players.
Shhh…let’s try to win.
Jay’s entourage to the right – dad Errol just visible (and more audible)
Heck, these kids can play
Smiles even in defeat
A semi-final place – very promising signs from young Clarke and Dart. I was impressed especially by Clarke in the days and weeks leading up to our visit but on the day I was especially impressed by Dart, who looks a very natural doubles player. Jay Clarke might go on to excel at either singles or doubles or even both; at 19 he seems a very complete player already.
Towards the end of the mixed doubles, the seats vacated by a rather grumpy couple in front of us were taken up by a very friendly couple who had come from Bristol to see the Court One action and were thrilled to have managed to grab a couple of £10 end of day returns to get to see some action on the Centre Court.
All three fixtures so far had been quite short matches, so the authorities laid on some entertainment for us in the form of a bonus match; Gentlemen’s Invitation Doubles. The couple in front of us were thrilled to get to see an extra match; she described it as a dream come true.
Mark Philippoussis and Tommy Haas both still look well fit
Sebastian Grosjean and Fernando Gonzalez not so much
Many years ago some kids in the park mistook me for Sebastian Grosjean while I was playing with Janie. I had no beard in those days and Grosjean did sport a bandana in a similar style to mine if I recall correctly. Back then, the tennis comparison seemed absurd, but now, looking at a chunkier, less agile Grosjean, I’m not sure whether either of us should be flattered by that comparison.
Anyway, the guys played some fun tennis; mostly clowning around but some exhibition quality shots too, with the result never in doubt. Entertaining tennis was the winner.
Heck, we had a lovely day, as always when we go to Wimbledon. It wasn’t the most competitive day we have ever seen, nor was it one of the better days of this year’s championships, tournament-wise. But such a day at Wimbledon is very special indeed and we feel very lucky and privileged to have been able to enjoy it.
I turned up to play him in the morning. On arrival he greets me with the phrase:
I ran into someone who knows you the other day. Knows you from the gym or something. When real tennis came up in the conversation, he asked if I knew you.
But the really strange coincidence about that encounter was that, John told me, it was at Grace Road, Leicester, at a Cricket Society bash…
…do you mean day two of the Leicestershire v Middlesex match?…
John and I fought out a tough, some would say bitter, battle, which ended in a draw, once the nonagenarians, who were next on court, separated us combatants who, by that time, were (naturally) screaming, punching, wrestling and biting. It’s a gentleman’s game, real tennis. In fact, I stayed on for the nonagenarian doubles that day and almost managed to keep up with the oppo for an additional hour.
Later that day, once I had recovered from two hours of combat (and done a spot of work), Janie and I took dinner at Delamina in Marylebone, ahead of a rather unusual-looking late night concert at the Wigmore Hall.
We thought the food in Delamina was superb – I had a seriously posh kofta dish while Janie had a seriously posh take on turkey shawarma – but the place was very noisy on a Friday evening and the service, while admittedly delivered by universally sweet staff, was poor.
We stretched our legs and got a chance to have a conversation that we both could hear, by walking the long way round to the Wigmore Hall. While strolling, I told Janie about the strange coincidence that John Thirlwell (whom she had met at the Middlesex University Real Tennis match) had been in the next room to me all day at Leicester.
Before entering the concert hall itself, I popped to the Wigmore Hall loo. There I saw a gentleman who looked remarkably like John Thirlwell. No, he wasn’t a gentleman who looked a lot like John Thirlwell; it WAS John Thirlwell.
“This is bonkers”, I said, “you’re blooming everywhere” – to which John could only smile and agree. Thus Janie and I chatted with John and his charming companion Maggie before and briefly after the concert. John is not a Wigmore Hall regular – he had simply seen this concert listed and thought it looked interesting and different.
I often say that Lord’s and the Wigmore Hall are the last remaining places where I get addressed as “young man”. I wonder whether that sort of thing was the causal link for John Thirlwell visiting both places on the same day as me. Joking apart about fierce combat; it turns out that John is actually jolly good company, both on the tennis court (which I knew already) and also in the concert hall.
A collaboration much like the fusions in Delamina’s food, now I come to think of it.
Here is one of the pieces, from the latest David Orlowsky Trio album, which they played for us at the Wig:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrDBrUkv0Qw
Or try this tiddler, which the Wig used to promote the concert we attended:
We thought the music was wonderful fun; a mixture of smooth jazz and the sort of dance rhythms that central and eastern European music does so well, not least when klezmerised.
Janie and I sat next to an aficionado of the group who told us, sadly, that the trio is due to split soon after a mere 20 years together. Perhaps they feel it is time to pursue other projects. They are all virtuoso musicians; David Orlowsky himself utterly exceptional on the clarinet but really all three were excellent.
Quite a day; I hope John Thrilwell enjoyed his day as much as I enjoyed mine.
I have entered the MCC real tennis tournaments (handicap variety) for the second time this year – singles and doubles. With great difficulty, four of us had eventually arranged our “Round Of 16” doubles match for the late afternoon of 2 July; a day which Janie and I had arranged to take off work.
As fortunate coincidence would have it, Ed Griffiths had to reschedule the soft launch for our London Cricket Trust for that afternoon, so I was able to accept, subject to being released in time for my match and blagged Janie an invite for that low-key event too.
I shall report more about London Cricket Trust on Ogblog anon – once we have progressed from soft launch to hard launch. Suffice it to say at this stage that it is an innovative charitable venture, bringing together the four London-based counties (Essex, Kent, Middlesex & Surrey), designed to put cricket facilities – mostly in the form of non-turf pitches – into London’s parks and commons.
Ed Griffiths arranged for us to have a short Trustee meeting before the event – in part to prepare our low-key, short shpiels and in part to go through some regular business. For some reason, Janie seemed to find the idea of sitting in the Coronation Garden on a glorious summer day more attractive than sitting in a meeting room observing a Trustee meeting, but promised to return for the event, which she did.
For some reason Janie took this – perhaps to help her navigate her way back to the Tavern Stand Box for the event
The event went well, with representation from each of the four counties involved and from the ECB who are funding the early phase investments and managing the tendering processes for the installation of pitches etc. We should be ready for a formal launch, with several facilities up and running, before the end of this season.
I then hot-footed it across to the tennis court to get ready. My partner to be, Iain Harvey, had previously let me know that he thought that we were on the wrong end of the draw for this tournament (which I took to mean basically him drawing lowly me as his partner) and especially this match up, against Messrs Friend and Muir – a very experienced pair.
On arrival on the day of the match, Iain tried to put me at my ease by saying, “we’ll do well to get one game off these two”. I wondered what Ed Griffiths might make of this motivational technique. Not quite the style I could imagine Ed adopting.
Trying my best, studiously observed by my partner
Actually we did rather better than get one game, although not in the first set. We took the second set 6-5 and even managed to hang on in there to 5-5 in the deciding set, before succumbing in heartbreaking fashion to the deciding game of the deciding set. It was a bit of a thriller and I think all of us were a bit surprised at how competitive the match became in the end.
Of course I was disappointed not to qualify, but it is all a learning experience for me at this early stage of my real tennis “career” and think I exceeded expectations in that match, which is a sign of progress.
Let’s see how far I can go in the singles tournament – I’m still in that one – with the Round Of 16 still to play – and/but I have a fair bit more experience at singles. Not that I shall be going around Lord’s saying “it’s coming home” or anything like that.
Anyway, Janie took some vids. I rather like this one – where I am on the hazard (far) side on the right and emit a bestial roar as I play my shot, while Janie emits a supportive yelp when Iain subsequently wins the point for our team:
My quirky piquet serve didn’t much work against this level of opposition, but on this one occasion it did:
I even hit a winner which Janie captured on film, although it was rather lucky to end up a winner, I admit:
Janie should have taken more vids, because it seems that the only ones she took depicted us winning points…
…which is not really telling the whole story of the match…but it is perhaps telling her story of the match.
It’s a rare day in the social calendar that includes two such a special occasions; one for the happy young couple of the moment and the other a major sporting rivalry unfolding.
But 19 May 2018 will go down in history as just such a day.
No, I’m not talking about the Heghan nuptials – more than enough has already been written and spoken about that for a lifetime. I’m talking about Escamillo Escapillo and Lavender having diner at Il Baretto with me and Daisy…
…and of course I’m not talking about the FA Cup final between Chelsea and Manchester United – surely that is only of limited interest to most people. No, I am talking about the intense rivalry between me and Daisy on the modern tennis court. A battle at which Daisy had, in recent months, seemed to have found an upper hand, but just these last couple of weeks I seem to have found my mojo again. Some extra gears, decisive play and a brutal finish – believe me you had to be there truly to sense the sheer thrill of it all.
Anyway, to Il Baretto. Most unusually, we all arrived a few minutes ahead of the appointed hour. Central London seemed surprisingly easy to navigate that evening – word was that there was congestion to the South West (out Windsor way) and the North West (Wembley direction) for some reasons.
The happy young couple of the moment
Escamillo Escapillo looks especially happy in the above picture, as he has received a birthday present in the form of the documents you can see by his elbow – tickets to Middlesex v The Australians – which will be the next outing for the four of us.
The food and wine at Il Baretto is consistently good. Janie and I shared some calamari and fried zucchini to start, while the youngsters had some very tasty-looking bruschetta. For mains, Lavender had risotto, Daisy had tuna steak, Escamillo Escapillo had sirloin steak and I had grilled sea bream.
We sort-of went our own way with wine – Daisy and I persevering with Riesling while Escamillo Escapillo switched to Pinot Nero. The wine waiter was a bit farcical – he told me that he had to replace the Riesling we had chosen with an alternative, which he promised was “better” and did taste absolutely fine, but he refused to show us what we were drinking. Then when Escamillo and I did the recommended wine match with deserts, he seemed unable to work out which wine should go with which desert…he even had two goes at it. Minor stuff – more amusing than irritating.
I haven’t the foggiest idea what I’ve been drinking
A very convivial evening
Janie chose a desert named “When Harry Met Meghan” which comprised a fruity, tasty-looking small tart and a long cocktail. Very apt.
Daisy indulging in her “When Harry…” It is an optical illusion making my cup of tiramisu look three times the size of Daisy’s pud
What else can I say? We all had a great time and went our separate ways at a respectable hour – Daisy and I needed to prepare to do battle on the tennis court again first thing Sunday. (Same result, seeing as how you’ve asked. Thank you, Mr Netchord, for the final point.)
An unusual week to say the least. A short one, as the Monday was a bank holiday. The bank holiday weekend weather had been glorious – Janie and I had spent most of the weekend enjoying the benefits of the garden in good weather.
On the Tuesday (8 May) I was asked to join the senior doubles at lunchtime, while I had my regular court booked at 18:00. It was a beautiful day and I was busy writing my pamphlet on Bullshit jobs, so thought that a few hours writing long-hand would do the piece and my posture no harm. I was right.
On the Wednesday morning I went to collect my Estonian e-Residency card, so i am now officially an e-Resident of the Republic of Estonia. Once I had finished my heavy writing sessions, I looked at some Arvo Pärt music in the evening to celebrate my new status.
On Thursday I had a rather frustrating music lesson as my machine kept playing up – in fact all of my machines seemed to be on go slow for some reason. Then Janie and I went to the Pear Tree for dinner with Toni, John and Tom Friend, plus Deni & Tony. Excellent food and an interesting evening.
…before I went on to Lord’s, playing a good game of tennis at 10:00 and then sticking around for the cricket. Janie joined me for most of the final session of the day, before we both went to the Middlesex kit sponsors party, which was fun. Always a nice bunch of people there.
Not only all that, but I got a lot of work done that week too. No wonder I was well-tired by the end of it.
