The All England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club

Well, it is the time of year again for a swish of the racquet, a pot of strawberries and some fine Devonshire clotted cream!

I see Murray won his first round tie under the new retractable roof. The dislikable oik will no doubt dispatch a couple more no-mark eastern europeans on his way to being knocked out by someone with more grease in his hair than I have in the Bentley; as usual I'll pretend to support him for a while but secretly I'll be eager for his somewhat inevitable defeat and the chance to herd the pictish savage all the way back to his pen in the Highlands.

I have to say chaps, Wimbledon is a tradition which is losing some of it's appeal. Like the great public schools of England such as Eton and Harrow, the Championship is undoubtably world class, but also a bit too choca of swarthy Latins and sinister Russians for a gentleman's liking. Still, it encourages me to dust off the whites and send a telegram to old Chumley-Worpington to arrange a rally or two!

Anyone into this? I was going to wait and see which members of the Royal family will be in the Royal box before I decide whether or not to go or give the tickets to the groundskeeper's squire who I know is fond of the game. So long as he keeps his trap shut while there and promises not to embarrass His Lordship, of course. One would hate to have to take the whip to such a fine and muscular behind!

Wimbledon is really the preserve of middleage women and men who wish they were.

I was watching some of the women's play on the television today. My oh my what thighs some of these specimens have! The only negative with watching Wimbledon on the plasma is the screeching crowds every time a rally lasts more than 3 shots. FAR too many she-oiks have not only been allowed in, but then not reprimanded for their screams of joy. I have to turn the sound down on the system such is the screech they make. I was next to one such female fan in the queue to one of the marquees last year, a terribly noveau woman who was clearly trying to be sophisticated on her big day out, but failing to mask her lowly heritage by sporting leggings and a baseball cap. I was stood in this queue minding my own business whilst watching one of the many screens hoisted up around Wimbledon when she asked me if I could get her a glass of Pimms as she needed the loo. I said no, of course, and this seemed to offend her. She wasn't classy enough to work in one of my kitchens let alone to demand I purchase a beverage for her. Her ginger husband's angry red face as I waved to him from the Royal Box - such passion and loss of control - probably Irish!

Agree about the awful grunts and screeches coming from the courts,especially the players, these days,completely spoils it IMHO.I don't take a great interest in tennis now,a lot of the players seem rather robotical and colourless,not like the great days of Johhny Mac,Jimbo and Vitas.Mind you,there was Lendl to balance things up,i suppose.I watch a match now and then but not religiously as i once did.In the days of yore,many of the female players had Lesbianic tendencies-does this culture still prevail?

BTW-the lady that you offended-her partner could have been Heaney from your description.Another coincidence to start a many page thread?

Ah... Wimbers...

I too, do like the sound of felt and rubber whipped by catgut.

Where were we..?
Yes, these noisy girls... Only one place a lady should squeal and grunt like that.

And Vitas...

"And let that be a lesson to you all. Nobody beats Vitas Gerulaitis 17 times in a row"

– after finally beating Jimmy Connors at the 1979 Masters following sixteen straight losses.

Vitas always did like a good line.

"She-oiks"