Days 20-23: If You're Tired of London, You're Tired of Life
Serena Waves to me after another powerful display.
You gotta love those red knickers.
London rejuvenates me.
If the British economy is struggling, someone forgot to tell London. And if it’s this busy at a normal time, then what will it be like during the 2012 Olympics? It is lively, smiling, energetic, warm and sunny.
I have a busy calling programme (honestly, I have the call reports to prove it), and garner sympathy for my heavy travel schedule by coughing at each meeting. Doesn’t get me far, the English are past caring. I manage to make a couple of presentations without my voice giving way. And I sneak in a few hours at Centre Court Wimbledon.
What a great experience! It’s all so wonderfully civilised. The gentle applause is such a contrast to the incessant vuvuzelas. It’s white hats and white suits, patient queuing, Pim’s and lemonade, quiet please, no entry between games, smiling policemen in rolled up sleeves, flowers in full bloom. It oozes history, one of the hallowed places that are as big as the game itself. It’s a place where you feel you should pay respect to past players, etched forever into honour boards and pictures around the grounds.
If there is one tennis player in the world I want to see, it’s Serena Williams. And after an entertaining game on Centre Court where ‘Our Kimmie’ (Clujsters) loses, on prowls Serena. Thanks for that. Now, I don't want to be accused of being either fattist or sexist or whatever, but as I suspected, she’s a lot more attractive in person than on the screen. The television seems to reduce her height and increase her width, making her look a bit frumpy. She’s actually a very well-proportioned woman, wearing a particularly fetching white dress, but there’s no disguising the power and intimidation she projects.
Her opponent, a slip of a girl named Na Li, starts quite well, holding the match to 4-4. Then it’s as if she looks over the net, sees this large black woman whose left leg is bigger that poor Na’s entire body, and she loses her nerve, hardly winning another point. And Na is no pushover, this is the second week of Wimbledon.
Equally enthralling is the bright red pair of knickers that Serena is wearing, which of course come into full bloom each time she serves. To mix metaphors, it’s like a red flag jumping out from under her dress. Although there’s probably enough material for the roof of a small marquee, it all works well. In the bright sunshine, her body seems to glow, and … well, since Debbie will probably read this, I’d better stop there.
But Debbie, you’ll be glad to know I did not buy you a set of Serena Williams Limited Edition Red Bloomers Wimbledon 2010 from the shop. They didn’t have your small size.
Then to top it off, the most sublime strawberries I have ever tasted in my life. So naturally sweet, neither soft not firm, warmed in the sun, picked at the precise moment of their perfection. Australian strawberries are apples in comparison.
On my last night, I go for a long, late walk along the Thames. It does not go dark until after 9pm, it's balmy, and the streets are still busy towards midnight.
I photograph Big Ben at 10:10. Advertisements for watches always put their watches at 10:10 because it looks as if the watch is smiling. You’d never sell a watch showing 8:20. Or is Ben set at this time because he is for sale, as the UK Government seeks to balance the books?
You gotta love those red knickers.
London rejuvenates me.
If the British economy is struggling, someone forgot to tell London. And if it’s this busy at a normal time, then what will it be like during the 2012 Olympics? It is lively, smiling, energetic, warm and sunny.
I have a busy calling programme (honestly, I have the call reports to prove it), and garner sympathy for my heavy travel schedule by coughing at each meeting. Doesn’t get me far, the English are past caring. I manage to make a couple of presentations without my voice giving way. And I sneak in a few hours at Centre Court Wimbledon.
What a great experience! It’s all so wonderfully civilised. The gentle applause is such a contrast to the incessant vuvuzelas. It’s white hats and white suits, patient queuing, Pim’s and lemonade, quiet please, no entry between games, smiling policemen in rolled up sleeves, flowers in full bloom. It oozes history, one of the hallowed places that are as big as the game itself. It’s a place where you feel you should pay respect to past players, etched forever into honour boards and pictures around the grounds.
If there is one tennis player in the world I want to see, it’s Serena Williams. And after an entertaining game on Centre Court where ‘Our Kimmie’ (Clujsters) loses, on prowls Serena. Thanks for that. Now, I don't want to be accused of being either fattist or sexist or whatever, but as I suspected, she’s a lot more attractive in person than on the screen. The television seems to reduce her height and increase her width, making her look a bit frumpy. She’s actually a very well-proportioned woman, wearing a particularly fetching white dress, but there’s no disguising the power and intimidation she projects.
Her opponent, a slip of a girl named Na Li, starts quite well, holding the match to 4-4. Then it’s as if she looks over the net, sees this large black woman whose left leg is bigger that poor Na’s entire body, and she loses her nerve, hardly winning another point. And Na is no pushover, this is the second week of Wimbledon.
Equally enthralling is the bright red pair of knickers that Serena is wearing, which of course come into full bloom each time she serves. To mix metaphors, it’s like a red flag jumping out from under her dress. Although there’s probably enough material for the roof of a small marquee, it all works well. In the bright sunshine, her body seems to glow, and … well, since Debbie will probably read this, I’d better stop there.
But Debbie, you’ll be glad to know I did not buy you a set of Serena Williams Limited Edition Red Bloomers Wimbledon 2010 from the shop. They didn’t have your small size.
Then to top it off, the most sublime strawberries I have ever tasted in my life. So naturally sweet, neither soft not firm, warmed in the sun, picked at the precise moment of their perfection. Australian strawberries are apples in comparison.
On my last night, I go for a long, late walk along the Thames. It does not go dark until after 9pm, it's balmy, and the streets are still busy towards midnight.
I photograph Big Ben at 10:10. Advertisements for watches always put their watches at 10:10 because it looks as if the watch is smiling. You’d never sell a watch showing 8:20. Or is Ben set at this time because he is for sale, as the UK Government seeks to balance the books?
posted by Graham Hand | 7:45 AM
9 Comments:
You've been watching too much of the Socceroos, Graham. That should be Pimm's (with 2 "m"s)!
Don't get too excited, they're just bike shorts.
You're right, I have been away too long.
I'd love to have been there- and I am glad that London's weather shone for your stay as it did for mine, although it sounds a heck of a lot warmer now.
Sorry to be going back to Cape Town?
Thanks for saying something nice about England and her weather.
I wish I could have shared that Pimm's with you, it's been a long time since I've had one. That was in St. Helens
Good pick up, Geoff. An m and m. Should be a chocolate drink.
Thanks, Anonymous. I think I know who you are ...
After our less than gallant exit I doubt we'll ever see a "Pim's" No. 1 Cup.
A post fuelled by Pimms and the best of British weather. A good read and you chose the right time to cease one discourse! :-) Thank you for bringing the Cup and the tennis to life.
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