No love match for Henman (From Gazette & Herald)

No love match for Henman

Deuce! Orange, please. Let! Let what? Love! Oh I'm flattered.

Henman! Ah ha, here's a tennis phrase I understand - semi-finals!

Well, as I'm writing this, everyone's favourite player (well, there isn't too much choice is there?) hasn't actually fulfilled his usual role (getting even tennis ignoramuses excited at the thought that maybe, just maybe, a Brit might win Wimbledon and giving us all near heart attacks in the semis when he decides that he just doesn't have it in him to get to the final this year).

But there's still time and, so I'm told by my sister (our resident tennis expert), it looks like he won't be disappointing us until the semis at least.

I love Wimbledon, despite not understanding its weirdo jargon and failing to appreciate Agassi's backhand as much as I ought to. It's like the Royal family - pretty useless really and a lot of show, but nevertheless a good, patriotic event that for most people in the country signals the start of the summer.

Strawberries and cream - what could be more British than eating them under a Union Jack parasol, while watching our players get thrashed in the first round?

Wimbledon - I salute you, despite making everyone in my house curse at the telly when Tim messes up a shot (except for me - I find it pretty funny when the players start screaming four-letter words at the umpire and throwing rackets into the crowd).

No, the best bit, I've decided, is when the ball people fall over in front of the cameras... I have to find amusement from somewhere!

And then there's the outfits - who was the idiot who decided white was a useful colour to play tennis in on muddy lawns?

So I would sit back now and cross my fingers for Timmy but it's raining and I want to see how many ball girls get trapped under the court cover - it's more fun to watch anyway.

Updated: 11:42 Wednesday, July 02, 2003