This is for you, Craig – and so much more! Good as my word, Man …
Firstly, sorry! No time. However, so heavily has the burden weighed upon my shoulders – apropos my lack of entry – that I have voluntarily left the television screen and an exciting opening match on Centre Court to retire upstairs to my laptop. Self-imposed suffering. Almost feels as though I am late with my homework!
Monday, 30th June and the first day of Wimbledon, the high point of my year. Wimbledon IS summer; always has been; always will be. As the credits rise on the final Sunday, along with the highlights of the fortnight, I feel an overwhelming sadness. That’s it! Been, gone and now what? Christmas?! You get my drift … Of course, once again, Manny and I entered the public ballot and were robbed for the umpteenth year in a row. It’s three years since we were last there and, even then, we had no tickets on that occasion; in fact, I remember sitting in the ‘Pergola’ Bar – as we call it – beside Djokovic’s family, unable to access Henman Hill. Not like the old days, it is always packed and now there is security to prevent you entering. Why? Take a look at your TV screen. Alcaraz is on Centre Court right now, opening the tournament, playing the Italian Fognini. An exciting match, I have left Becca glued and with the instruction to call me when it gets nail-biting. No matter. Will the hordes in hospitality whose only interest is free food and alcohol – caring not a jot about tennis – tear themselves away from the bar to sit in their corporate seats on Centre Court? For a few minutes, even? These free seats which are absolute gold-dust to thousands of real tennis fans … It is an outrage! There he is, the newly knighted, Sir David Beckham – not a sign of worn knees on his trousers – in the front row of the Royal Box, hair newly shaved up the sides, looking like ‘Billy no mates’! Empty seats all around him. Makes me so angry. Meanwhile, the real tennis fans – like us – are forced to watch at home. Such is my eyesight, now, I can barely see our old TV – at least one fifth of today’s norm – let alone the ball. Oh, well, there’s always next year. Next year? Wouldn’t surprise me if Bob Vylan is up-front and centre flying the Palestinian flag while surrounded by a boat-load of illegal immigrants! One of the last bastions of British tradition – quintessentially British – this little corner of SW19 has already sold out to the insidious corporate world. How long can it cling to the values of old?
Glastonbury. What can I say? Predictable? Pathetic? Both. We watched The 1975 on Friday night and Rod Stewart on Sunday evening. Both, superb. Rod Stewart is 80, for goodness sake, with a glorious catalogue of hits which span my teenage years right through to decrepitness! The crowd lapped up every second and, as I sang my heart out with the iron in one hand and my wine in the other – try it, far less painful – I couldn’t help but smile at his ‘hareem’ of ladies, all looking fabulous, who have played and sung behind him for as long as I can remember. Their loyalty speaks volumes. Of course, in the comments on Instagram today, the Lefties are out in force, cursing him for pledging his support to Reform. God forbid, the guy has a brain as well as talent! Pathetic. As for The 1975, they took it in the neck, too. Their set showcased their genius, or, perhaps, that of lead singer Matt Healy. Clearly nervous, his voice and delivery were exempt as he moved from the heartfelt – one man and his guitar – to the band’s more upbeat numbers, testament to a wordsmith’s hand. The guy’s intelligence is only matched by his sensitivity. He speaks through his songs and those who choose to listen, hear.
Predictable? Pathetic? Of course. Inevitable. One only has to look at Michael Eavis, the mastermind behind a ‘dangerous’ extreme Left platform disguised as a music festival. ‘That’s Gary Glitter!’, said one comment on Facebook … So it was that, Bob Vylan – a controversial punk-rap duo – and Kneecap – an incendiary West Belfast rave-rap group – were booked. Kneecap are known cheerleaders for the IRA, their name, itself, a reference to the party’s chosen method of punishment. Footage from two of their previous gigs this year is being assessed by counter-terrorism police in the UK; footage which allegedly includes the band not only calling for the death of Conservative MPs but, also, their shouts of both ‘Up Hamas!’ and ‘Up Hezbollah!’. Terrorist organizations, it is a crime to express support for either in this country. Go Michael and Emily Eavis! Meanwhile, Bob Vylan were out there, on stage, the vocalist leading chants of ‘Death to the IDF (Israeli Defence Force)!’. There they were, these Left-wing, uneducated sheep, repeating these vile words; programmed to follow, blindly – in ignorance – as ever, aggression the name of the game. ‘Death to the IDF!’. No, that’s fine, as I heard on Jeremy Vine’s Radio 2 show today. Calling for death to an organization is not the same as calling for the death of an individual! That’s okay, then … Jeremy Vine. So far to the Left, he has lost his balance! It killed me but I listened to the whole segment, hoping for some intelligent comment or just a shred of sanity but none was forthcoming. Not ONE of them mentioned Lucy Connolly, the mother imprisoned for THIRTY-ONE MONTHS for a spur-of-the-moment tweet during the Southport riots, following the murder of three little girls. Not one of them! How could they not? There’s that vile guy blatantly using his platform to incite violence and not only do the BBC keep showing it but, worse, it would appear that most of the numpties in this country think that’s fine! At one point, he shouted, ‘You want your country back? Well, you can fxxx that!’. Lovely. Has he been arrested yet? Man-handled and in a cell? No, of course not. The police are assessing the situation. Meanwhile, they’ll be rehearsing some dance routine for Pride Month, painting rainbows or, more likely, arresting some granny in her own home …
At least, we can take comfort in the fact that our communist Government has pledged to pump more money into defence. Meaning what? Supplying the thousands of migrants sailing into our country, daily, with cars? Giving them free membership of BUPA? I mean, what next? To spend any money on this country’s defence, now, is an utter joke. The place is crawling with potential terrorists in every nook and cranny! Come on in! We’ll even supply you with the rucksack!!
I had my gin and tonic whilst watching the end of the Alcaraz/Fognini match. Wimbledon. The last bastion of sportsmanship? Alcaraz was so gracious in victory, directing the crowd’s cheers to Fognini. You see Wimbledon still has it: five letters beginning with ‘c’. That’s what I call a ray of hope.
‘If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two impostors just the same …’
Rudyard Kipling, If.
Becca and I, both, wear silver bangles inscribed with that quote. A souvenir of Wimbledon 2016, those same words are written above the players’ entrance to Centre Court. Life’s lesson. Game, set and match.
This is Trish, signing off.
P.S. Any chance I could have the red Hollywood phone and my yellow Walkman in exchange for Olivia and Donny?!
