Wimbledon, Silverstone, Barlow Sands, what a weekend! The dog and I are in need of a rest. Star
ted out with young Lewis Hammilton showing his driving skills in the torrential rain. Thrills and spills all the way, man and machine in harmony.
Then the tennis. Normally I can take it or leave it - over paid 'noisy' exhibitionists, just about sums up my normal thoughts on these sportsmen... but THIS! To see athletes such as Nadal and Federer, men in top physical and mental condition, performing at the highest levels, is a treat for the armchair pundits. They did movements on court worthy of a gymnast, ran like the Olympic sprinters and had reactions of championship boxers.
Put that in the blender and what do you get? A Wimbledon champion! The most telling thing to my mind, was the loser, Federer, saying 'I will be back next year!'
Both Hammilton and Nadal are young lads, talented and very rich, and deservedly so.
Needing a rest during the rain-interrupted tennis, the dog and I went for a spin down by the ponds where there were very few anglers, the rain and television proving too much for many. Murphy spotted a moorhen on the bankside, which needed some examination. It didn't hang about for long though.
In the middle of the pond, a family of mallards- Mum and seven ducklings were playing silly beggars, round and round each other, wild excited quacking and the water turning to froth. We watched them for a few minutes. Then thinking 'will the rain at Wimbledon have stopped' we decided to return to base.
At this stage Murphy virtually goes AWOL, not tonight though. I think he might be a closet tennis fan. As we headed home, it was the highlight of the weekend.
There was an azure flash down by the brook. We saw it settle on a branch over the pond. My best view in sixty odd years of a kingfisher. A few magic seconds, then gone in a flash of iridescence. Murphy would rather see a rabbit. He was not impressed.
On our return, the tennis had resumed to the screen. There was another hour of their gladiatorial sparring, with not a sign of tiring or a hint of defeat in either man.
As night developed the Spaniard edged into the lead. Neither man had shown emotion up until the end. Upon his victory, the young Hispanic left the court climbing over the seats up to his family - then the royal box to the Spanish dignitary and his wife - the crowd loved it. No sign of emotion on court, but at the end, joy and elation by the bucketful.
We needed a pipe and a liberation after all this excitement. Murphy got a chew.
I leave you with this thought:
Nature abhors a vacuum.
When a head lacks a brain,
Nature fills it with conceit.
See you,
Buggy Man
