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I got my first taste of defeat on the tennis courts this lunchtime... well recently anyway. Don't worry, my useless tennis partner hasn't suddenly become good. Far from it. We had actually teamed up for doubles and found ourselves playing two people who actually knew how to play tennis.
We almost went 3-2 up in the first set (after going 2-0 down) and I thought we'd got the hang of it. But it turned out we lost 6-2, 6-1. And to be fair my partner played a lot better than I did.
One of our opponents was tall and very good at the net and the other was, unbelievably an 84 year old man with a cracked rib. Who you'd assume would be beatable, but he was solid and mobile and easily the second best player on the court. I had been looking forward to beating my partner (who is in his 40s) when I was in my 60s, but here I was being outplayed by a man 25 years older than me.
I couldn't even pull out the cancer card. This guy had a cracked rib. I've had one of those. It really fucking hurts.
Admittedly we haven't really played doubles before so were not up with the tactics, but to begin with at least I seemed to be playing everything either much too long or into the net.
I have been very happy to play when I've been winning, but found myself throwing my racquet on the floor quite a lot - not really because I was losing (well a little bit) but because I was playing so badly. We ended up playing four sets, but switched up partners for the last two and it was a lot closer when the two worst players weren't together.
We usually only play for an hour, so this two hour session was punishing, but somehow I improved and started hitting some good shots. Me and tall-o won the third set and me and old-o won the fourth on a very close tie-break. I am delighted to realise that my tennis partner was on the losing side for every set. Though he was playing very well, so he was unlucky.
I was absolutely hobbled for the rest of the day. But the main objective of playing tennis is to get fit and I think this intense workout and partial humiliation should help. And much as I doubt that I will make it to 84, it's good to have something to aim for. Tennis really is an extraordinary work out for the over forties.
In the afternoon I returned to the greatest love of my life and the mental workout that will either keep my mind agile or finally tip me over the edge,
Rich and Ally's Craven Newsround. Rather fittingly at some point since the last recording a box of drawing pins had fallen off the window sill (it's either a ghost or one of the cats) and pierced the Wes Treeting puppet (a balloon) and left him as a bit of rubber stuck to some gaffer tape. Which is possibly the greatest political satire of our age and yet no one (except a cat or a ghost) was there to witness it.
Ally was flying out of the gates today. I had forgotten that I need some water to do this show (even though I don't speak for most of it), so I was in trouble. But he quipped and sang his little heart out. I think he misses me when I am away for so long. Thank you Moriarty. Welcome home, dearie.
