Tuesday 9 July 2013
Back To Work!
Well, if that's my holidays then I've had them. Not really. Got a week in Machrihanish at the beginning of August to look forward to, when no doubt it will pleut tous les jours.
A brilliant and really warm ten days in the south west of France was had by all, especially the mosquitoes who have been using me as a feeding ground, must be all the bad cholesterol that appeals to them. Beaucoup du vin et le canard was consumed and I am even more portly than I was previously.
Anything been happening in my near two weeks of splendid isolation?
A Brit has won Wimbledon, you say!
On my ferry home anyway, you could have been excused if you had thought that Andy Murray was from some country even more despised than France to the population of the largest nation in our United (?) Kingdom. I know that I cannot base my judgement on the two or three hundred English people on a particular boat at a particular time but I was rather disappointed and a tad incensed at the contempt that there was for the Scot, there I've said it, although he left the country when he was fifteen for Barcelona, and let's face it who wouldn't if they got the chance, he still sounds Scottish, then again so does Sir Sean and he hasn't lived here since the fifties but don't get me started on him. I and probably the majority of people north of Carlisle are under no illusions that he would have been Scottish in the English press on Monday morning had he not beaten the world's number one. No the Serb had not been paid to throw the match like the couple from the West Midlands sitting next to me remarked at the end, in all fucking seriousness!
I am not one for tennis. When I was a kid the only thing that the second week of Wimbledon meant to me was the start of my school holidays. I have always thought of it as a sport for the rather privileged, you don't find many tennis courts in housing schemes or see many normal punters on the seats at Center Court, and nearly as anachronistic in it's outlook as golf. However, when stuck on a boat for nine hours with nothing else to, do as we did not have a cabin I decided to watch the final, christ, I would even have watched the Grand Prix or something equally mind numbing to pass the time. It wasn't long until I was really getting involved and vocally cheering on Murray as others from my homeland, as I do consider myself as British, rooted for Djokovic. At the end I was more relieved that the Scot had won rather than pleased as it wiped the smug satisfying looks off of the coupons of some sitting around me.
I don't believe that the whole of the English nation is so small minded and bigoted as the ones I encountered on Sunday, just like not all Scots are drunks with a penchant for anything deep fried in batter, only some of us. But there is a section of the society that needs to take a hard look at itself, the same section who in the middle of France should also review the strategy of shouting at a waitress and breaking an English word down into syllables as it isn't going to get you anywhere and probably just reinforces the preconceived contempt that she probably already had.
How dare you people make me think that our "sonsie faced" First Minister might have a point and also have me banging on about a sport that I really couldn't give a flying fuck for!
Oh, and just before I finish, Murray's victory cannot be compared to the English team winning the World Cup in 1966, as suggested on the Today programme yesterday morning, you can have that one, as you haven't stopped banging on about it for fifty three fucking years!
Sorry for the rant, but I needed to get that off my chest.
Here is a bit of soul.
Doris Duke -I Don't Care Anymore