Success!

Must blog quickly today as Murray is due on centre court in about an hour and a half, after the Federer/Haas match. Nine Brits have reached the semi finals in the last 71 years, none have got through to the finals. The last appearance in the finals was 71 years ago and the last win by a Brit was 75 years ago. Hence I absolutely have to watch on TV. Here in Norfolk it’s just started torrential rain, but so far it’s fine at Wimbledon. And yes, I know he’s playing one of yours, but you’ve had McEnroe and Connors and Sampras and heaps of others. Allow us just one little burst of excitement.

Anyway, before the match starts.

My success story isn’t Murray (although of course I hope it will be) but the fact that at long last and some months later, I’ve eventually managed to network my two computers running Linux by dint of changing from Ubuntu to Mint. Now, not only can I ‘see’ each computer from the other, but I can actually print wirelessly with my feet up in front of the tennis (the printer being in the study). This may not seem like much to you, but for me is an occasion of great rejoicing.

Furthermore, I cut my own hair this morning. Well, the fringe anyway. Wielded the scissors in fear and trepidation and with considerable difficulty as I was looking in the mirror, but it worked well enough. May not be Park Lane, but will pass muster. I think. Mind you, I shall now be on the lookout for those sidelong glances, quickly averted but ever returning in embarrassed fascination, unable to quite believe the sight…

I think our brief heatwave has come to an end. It was so hot yesterday that Ed volunteered to drive me to the Crematorium for yesteday’s funeral, his car having air-con. I was glad to accept. Those darn terylene stoles around your neck may be comforting in the depths of winter in a medieval church, but are not quite so much fun at ninety degrees. A small funeral, this one, only around twenty people. The poor old guy had dropped out of circulation when his wife died six years ago. Couldn’t really cope with the loss and became something of a recluse, cared for by his daughter who used to visit daily. But the folk at the funeral spoke highly of him – he served on destroyers during the war when he was just a teenager and survived two ships which were bombed and sunk. Too much for a teenage lad from a quiet, rural village in the heart of Norfolk. The experiences completely coloured his whole life, as they did for most during WW 2.

Federer’s looking pretty hot stuff at the moment, so I’m afraid I need to leave you and concentrate on Wimbledon. Bye for now.

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