Yellow Fuzz
This year has seen my unimpressive return to tennis after a sizeable absence.
I have missed that odd smell of yellow fuzz and rubber which I am rediscovering at some municipal courts a few hundred yards away from my humble abode, nestled between a shooting gallery for the local vagrants and some run down swings. Charming.
The courts are actually in excellent condition, and are not too crowded due to the general apathy for anything not football.
My backhand has mysteriously all but disappeared, a bit like Agassi's hair, and my forehand is erratic at the best of times. Strange to think that in the year that Andre Agassi is retiring, at age 36, I am starting up again, at the exact same age. Social tennis is the name of my game, but I do like to win.
If I were to get a blister, then I would take the lead from our new British tennis hero, Andrew Murray, and use pickling juice from gherkins, if my local Deli still existed. I am told it is currently pupating, soon to emerge as a swanky wine bar. Maybe I could use some red wine instead as this is meant to have some healing properties when applied to the skin. In parts of India some places are even using red wine as a sort of exfoliating face beauty treatment. I am yet to be convinced that the benefits of wine are anything but internal.
I enjoyed watching Wimbledon this year, but did not get near a ticket. Queens is the easier tournament to get into, as is the French Open. In fact I am intending to travel to Paris with friends next year for that very purpose.
I have missed that odd smell of yellow fuzz and rubber which I am rediscovering at some municipal courts a few hundred yards away from my humble abode, nestled between a shooting gallery for the local vagrants and some run down swings. Charming.
The courts are actually in excellent condition, and are not too crowded due to the general apathy for anything not football.
My backhand has mysteriously all but disappeared, a bit like Agassi's hair, and my forehand is erratic at the best of times. Strange to think that in the year that Andre Agassi is retiring, at age 36, I am starting up again, at the exact same age. Social tennis is the name of my game, but I do like to win.
If I were to get a blister, then I would take the lead from our new British tennis hero, Andrew Murray, and use pickling juice from gherkins, if my local Deli still existed. I am told it is currently pupating, soon to emerge as a swanky wine bar. Maybe I could use some red wine instead as this is meant to have some healing properties when applied to the skin. In parts of India some places are even using red wine as a sort of exfoliating face beauty treatment. I am yet to be convinced that the benefits of wine are anything but internal.
I enjoyed watching Wimbledon this year, but did not get near a ticket. Queens is the easier tournament to get into, as is the French Open. In fact I am intending to travel to Paris with friends next year for that very purpose.
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