Is it just me or does anyone else find dates keep ringing bells with them as the years advance? Dates from the distant, distant past. For example, I’ve just typed the 6th July and, for some reason – for the first time in decades – I remember that today is the birthday of an old friend of mine from yesteryear. Why? I haven’t seen him in forever. When I was in my early twenties, he was like a brother to me and we lived in each other’s pockets. Funny, one takes it for granted that you will always be friends but, then … spouses come along and it all goes pear-shaped! It’s sad. Life moves on and that’s it; never see each other again. How can that be? Is it sad – feels such a waste – or is it, merely, that most friends are transient and there are very few one keeps for life? In truth, it is the friends from childhood who tend to stay the course; the ones who remember you when you were knee-high to a grasshopper. Somehow, that bond can never be broken. You may not see each other for years but you just pick up the phone and it’s like yesterday once more. That would make a good song title … Suffice to say, over the past couple of years, particularly, I have been back in touch with exactly those, one of whom made the perfect backing singer to my lead vocal, all those years ago, as my beloved red record player blasted out Donny or David in my poster-clad bedroom! In a nutshell, I suppose. With shared memories like that, there’s no escaping. Friends for life. Meantime, Happy Birthday, Reebo, wherever you are!
Now to address the elephant in the room and may I, firstly, say: they didn’t win. The Conservatives lost! The thing is, Keir Starmer was not run over by a bus and has now slithered his way into Number Ten. God help us all! I suppose one must be grateful that the SNP were slaughtered in Scotland, so there is a silver lining. Talking of those who sail close to the wind, I could not believe my eyes – or ears – when the ‘White Stiletto’ appeared on the ‘expert’ panel in the ITV election round-up programme with Tom Bradby! Where has she been? What has she been doing – other than eating all the pies, clearly? More to the point, why would she be wheeled out for this? She was sitting next to George Osborne, too; a match made in heaven, if ever there was one. Her presence meant I could hardly bear to watch but there was a degree of solace in the fact that nothing is going her way. The triumvirate of herself, that revolting ‘husband’ of hers – Peter Murrell – and Colin Beattie, her Treasurer, thought they were invincible. Not a thought for running the country they all but brought to its knees. Beneath the mantra for independence, there is no need to guess what the feigned Mr & Mrs Murrell were up to but, as is so often the case, one need only look to Shakespeare for the outcome.
‘Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.’
William Shakespeare, Macbeth.
Didn’t pan out so well for Macbeth …
Back to the election, though. What a mess! A plethora of abstainers, disillusioned with them all. Tactical voting? What is the point? Follow your instinct, the most reliable gauge. Five years of Keir Starmer? I doubt it. Totally useless, ultimately, he was handed the job on a plate by the Conservatives but one must never forget the part that Covid played in their downfall. Barely through the door in 2019, Boris hadn’t even had the time to change the decor of the Number Ten flat into that more fitting of a Moroccan boudoir before the chaos of the pandemic! All hell broke loose and the aftermath was far-reaching – and, quite frankly, just never goes away. So much scaremongering. So much division. So much damage. I would defy any party to survive that intact. By nature, people seek scapegoats and the Conservatives took the brunt, deservedly up to a point but … I dread to think what Keir Starmer would have done to us! While the ‘White Stiletto’ milked her momentary platform as though pursuing an Oscar, Slimy Starmer would have had us locked up indefinitely. Imagine him as a wartime leader in the role of Churchill in WWII? Comedy gold. The enemy would have surrendered in boredom!
Nigel Farage and Reform. On the up! If I had to vote on the NHS, alone, he would have my vote every time. The only one with the guts and foresight to say it needs pulled apart and re-structured while the rest, totally blinkered and uninspired, would throw good money after bad and solve nothing. Keir Starmer. Why not pour further millions into the pit of baying management, qualified for nothing more than creating ridiculous woke jobs for more of the unqualified while, all the time, siphoning the funds from those on the front line? Siphoning the funds from those who make a difference; those who are medically trained to save lives! Utter madness. It’s not rocket science. No more money. Lance the boil and watch it heal.
As I write, the rain is teeming down once more. The end of the second week at Wimbledon, the roofs on Centre and Court One have been closed every day. Henman Hill is never packed, instead, awash with umbrellas and gloom. What is going on? Is there nothing sacred? This is Wimbledon. It is July and still it pours … There have been some brilliant matches, though, such as that between Djokovic and Fearnley, the Scot from Dalkeith who has appeared from nowhere as if to claim the mantle of the departing Murray … Not a dry eye in the house as Thursday evening brought with it the last farewell. As ever, Wimbledon excelled. The return of Sue Barker, the heart-breaking film spanning the highs and lows of the years, his family in the stands – including his two eldest, beautiful little girls – all the players who came out to pay their respects, especially McEnroe and Djokovic, and the most moving of all, his brother, Jamie. That guy is a gem, not a jealous bone in his body! Once more, Andy fought through his tears to thank them all. I’ve always loved that about him, not afraid to show his emotions. He is one of a kind. What a legend! What a legacy! As the tears poured down our cheeks – Becca was with me – it was so sad but beyond that I was grateful: grateful that we were lucky enough to be a part of it all. We sat on Centre Court, we sat on Henman Hill and we were privileged to be there. What an era – and we were there! He gave us so many hours of enjoyment – and a few more grey hairs – but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Thank you to that lovely guy from Dunblane who gave his all, reached the top and never changed. We salute you!
The final goodbye. Why is it so emotive? I suppose because one sees one’s own life flashing before one; all the memories; all the years. Gone in a flash. Andy’s retirement is a reminder of that passing of time; the end of an era. Never forget, life is fleeting.
‘I was playing in the Juniors at Wimbledon and forgot to turn my mobile phone off. It was lying there in my bag and it rang in the middle of a match. It was one of my friends from school saying, ‘Murray, you’re on the telly!’.’
Classic Andy. Miss him already.
This is Trish, signing off.
