YEP. IT'S THAT TIME.
You can't miss
it in this country.
Wimbledon and tennis tennis tennis on BBC
television, at the same time as World Cup (don't ask me) Cricket
which, apparently, England won by very narrowly beating New Zealand
in the final.
I gather this was 'one day' cricket: I have never
watched it and I'm too bloody old to start now, but well done
England, enjoy it while you can.
As for the tennis. Well, the obvious
favourite, Roger Federer, lost in the longest ever final to the
reigning champion Novak Djokovic (the one whose support team looks
like a police identity parade).
They've played against each other so
many times it would be decidedly déjà
vu if they weren't so damned good.
Anyway, millions watched and
enjoyed it and neither of them is going home short of a few shillings
and a lot of respect.
HOME.
Our back garden has been given a bashing.
Stuart and Dave and a
rented digger have demolished what had become a mountain high mass of
weed, to reveal the biggest back garden in Wootton Bridge.
The
bedraggled old shed has been broken up and burnt – to the expected
complaints from the standard neighbourhood complainant (duly ignored)
and some small trees have gone (at least for my lifetime).
What will
happen next?
I haven't a clue.
TELEVISION.
Gentleman Jack.
We watched
Suranne Jones stride through this lively frolic and she didn't put a
foot wrong. The real life character Anne Lister was clearly years
before her time.
As usual, in costume drama, the villains were
starkly villainous and the pass-me-the-smelling-salts friend of the
hero/ine was pretty and pathetic.
I gather there will be another
series. Good.
Poldark (BBC One)
In what purports to be the last
series, Aidan Turner and Eleanor Tomlinson are back as the demanding
goodies, with Jack Farthing still the definitive baddy. Looks like
Poldark may be angling to single-handedly abolish the slave trade to
America. He'll do it, too, with or without the interference of top
brass.
Cheerio. Keep your powder dry.
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