150. Mostly for Zoe

HOME.

Father’s Day.
I was gifted a great card in the form of a film advert for The Goodfather, which gave everybody a smile. And I had a DVD set of Chance in a Million, first series, with Simon Callow and Brenda Blethyn. We watched it with the same enjoyment we experienced in 1984. Pleasant memories. Lovely stuff.
As for the actual day, the description I best liked of it was: “Another load of American bollocks.”
Thank heavens for outspoken offspring.
The weather.
Driest spell since 1929, we are told. We went out and bought a four seater fishermans’ chair and a two seater rocker for the courtyard.
It has been too hot to sit out there.
We will, we will…

FOOTBALL.

England 0 - Algeria 0.
Ten minutes into the second half the cat Shadow made for the cat flap.
“Had enough then?” I enquired.
“Don’t know which is worse, the game or your language,” he replied.
Ho hum.
Slovenia 0 - England 1.
Harry Redknapp was one of the panel discussing this game and in the pre-match summary, acknowledging his bias as Tottenham Hotspur manager, said that Tottenham striker Jermain Defoe should be chosen to play.
He was and he scored the only goal.
Say what y’like, ol’ Harry does know his stuff.
Germany 4 - England 1.
The cat Shadow came in when it was over.
It was obvious they had been talking up on the roof.
“Well?” he said.
“No comment,” I said.
“You could always blame it on the red shirts,” he said.
“No comment,” I said.
“How about the goal that wasn’t given?” he said.
“No comment,” I said..
“Not having Harry Redknapp as manager?” he said.
I shook my head and shrugged. He sighed.
“Yeah,” he said. “They were crap.”
Argentina 3 - Mexico 1.
I managed to persuade my Leader, a dedicated visitor to anywhere else during football matches, to stay a while and see some real football. She was amazed by the skill and commitment of the South Americans, thought the ebullient Argentinian manager Diego Maradona was great and wondered why none of the England players could hit the ball like Carlos Tevez did.
Why indeed.

TENNIS.

Longest ever game.
Unlike snooker, they don’t give a ‘highest break’ type prize at Wimbledon.
If they did it would have to go to the American John Isner and his French opponent Nicholas Mahut: they played an absolute blinder over June 22nd, 23rd, and 24th 2010 to break the record for the longest ever tennis match. They played for 11 hours and five minutes.
If you have just returned from Mars and want to know more, go to Wiki.
Isner won and was unsurprisingly knocked out of the tournament the next day by Thiemo de Bakker of the Netherlands in 74 minutes.
And more of Wimbledon 2010.
Equally unsurprising was the reappearance of the fleeting shadow, Shadow.
“Poetry time again,” he declared briskly.
“Has the year gone that fast?” I muttered.
He ignored me and struck a poetic pose:
“Poem one: Who Needs a Roof?"

With a brand new roof worth millions of pounds,
Wimbledon’s ready for rain.
So view the baking Centre Court
You could get no more sunshine in Spain
Roddick’s been beaten and Federer, too,
By Berdych at the peak of his play.
Murray hangs on, though for just how long
I really would not care to say
Poor Jarkko Nieminen must have felt some alarm,
When an elderly lady (who does nobody harm)
Granted young Andy the rare accolade
Of her first Queenly Visit since Virginia Wade,
Pushing the lad, growing visibly stronger,
Into beating the Frenchman Jo-Wilifred Tsonga.
And onwards pell-mell to that ultimate hell
A semi final place on a court with Nadal.
It will soon be all over, the grunts and the blisters:
And a Ladies’ Doubles final with no Willams sisters.
Write none of them off. They will be back again.
To try out the roof in the Wimbledon rain.

He looked at me; I pretended not to notice.
“Poem two: Mostly for Zoe.”

I have said Roddick and Federer
Defy the art of rhyme,
Tomas Berdych ain’t much better
While Djokovic is a crime.
And when it comes to football
Ronaldo’s quite a pain
But so are Torres and Villa
Who both turn out for Spain.
I even had a foolish try
At rhyming Fabio Capello,
But my ‘Hello, England manager guy'
Really should have been 'Bye bye.’
So praise be for Zoe Farndon,
A reader and a pal
Whose name rhymes well with Barnden
And that’s my kind of gal.

He had a quick wash; said: “What d’ya think?”
“Farndon doesn’t really rhyme with Barnden,” I said gently.
“Does if you say it quickly,” he said.
“Fair enough,” I said.
We have yet to meet Zoe, but we like her.

TELEVISION.

NCIS. (Five)
Trouble with being able to watch this programme on Five, where series six is coming to an end and on FX, where series seven has just finished, is that you become in turn bemused and too knowledgeable. You also begin to realise that, unless you are prepared to watch another series re-run, you will have bugger all to watch next year on Five.
NCIS continues to be the sort of propaganda stuff we were fed throughout the Second World War and is no more real than that: but I can laugh at the ‘we are under threat from Whirling Dervishes’ twaddle and still stick with it because I like the actors.
Breakfast. (BBC1)
My favourite interviewee of the week was Jason Isaacs. He appeared on the Breakfast show to plug Nick Whitfield’s award winning film Skeletons in which he plays the Colonel, a role he clearly enjoyed.
As the interview ended he was prompted with the: “We can’t let you go without mention that you are Lucius Malfoy in the Harry Potter films…” line.
The Harry Potter films were not short on publicity, Mr. Isaacs pointed out, politely but firmly. The Deathly Hallows would be out in November and again next July. In the meantime, he was on the Breakfast show to publicise Skeletons, a fine little British film that deserved support.
Well done, Jason Isaacs. My Leader and I like you.
Luther. (BBC1)
Luther came to a gory climax with everybody but Luther’s psychopathic helpmate Alice (Ruth Wilson) and his wife’s lover Mark (Paul McGann) either oozing blood or dead or both. Idris Elba and Co. tried hard but were on a hiding to nothing from the start.
I suppose it will be back but I don't really care.
Dr. Who. (BBC1)
I did worry that the series might falter with the departure of Russell T. Davies, but the fresh approach remained lively and Series Five finished on a high with all the main characters set to return.
Look forward to it.

AND HOME AGAIN.

More tennis.
Got to go downstairs now…more tennis. Mens’ semi finals. Have to be able to say I saw them. The cat Shadow has been asleep all morning. He knows the danger of too much excitement.