Today At Wimbledon: Day 5-Day 11. Just Make Sue Barker Queen And Be Done.

There was a point last week when Sue Barker really was Queen. She was on both BBC 1 and BBC 2 simultaneously. Question of Sport was shown on BBC 2 whilst dear old Sue did her round up of the courts on BBC 1. I for one would fully support her being granted the top-job of Queen when Lizzy pops her clogs. Why not? Someone who can get away with an electric blue pocket square is royalty already in my eyes.
The past few days at Wimbledon haven't been quite as shocking as the first when we saw Federer and Nadal knocked out but we have still had a few surprises. Serena Williams was knocked out and we saw Laura Robson go the furthest any woman has at the All England Club for 13 years. Today is one of my favourite days of the Championships as I get to make the age-old annual 'WImbledon Men's Semi' joke. Such fun. Up today we have Djokovic taking on Del Potro and then the titan Murray versus Janowicz. Can Murray make it into the final for the second year running. Here's hoping. I'll see you later after a few glasses of Pimms and hopefully with a Brit in the final. At least it will give us an excuse to use up all the Jubilee/Olympic stuff we have left over.

Today at Wimbledon: Day 1. The World's Greatest Name, NEW BALLS PLEASE and Sue Barker's Set.

So, as established in today's earlier post, I love Wimbledon fortnight and not just because of the brilliant tennis. Wimbledon is a brilliant chance for a right laugh too. Over the next two weeks I will be showcasing the lighter side of Wimbledon, (I feel it is best if you read the rest of this like Tony Blackburn reading the chart rundown).

*Wimbledon theme tune plays*

In at number 5 on today's Wimbledon countdown is Sue Barker's hair in Game, brilliant set Mr Hairdresser and match. For me Sue Barker has the most iconic haircut of the 20th and 21st centuries. Thatcher schmatcher, 'The Rachel'...please. Sue has found a style that works and for a woman of her ripening age that is hard. Well done Sue and a commendation to the person who follows you round SW19 with a can of Elnett.

At number 4 it is the greatest name I have ever heard. Coco Candeweghe.
Today dear old Candeweghe was pitted against Petra Kvitova, unfortunately she lost so I will have to wait another while to hear a BBC commentator struggling with the complexities of an (unbelievably) American name. Maybe she's like Lisa Vanderpump from the Real Housewives, with less sass (obviously). Nobody serves, albeit a glass of wine in someone's face, quite like Vanderpump.

Serving for the match at number 3 is the lack of cream for my strawberries tonight.
We had the strawberries but no cream. Somewhere along the line someone forgot to buy some and I didn't feel to keen about using the stuff that went off last week. I couldn't even find any proper sugar, only cubes, so ended up having to grind them up in a makeshift pestle and mortar. Not the classiest start to the Championships.

At number 2 is the re-introduction of the phrase 'New balls please' into my life.
It's always funny, but I see these two weeks as a chance to use 'new balls please' as a response for anything, regardless of situation. Someone drops a plate: NEW BALLS PLEASE! I holler. My Dad says something silly: NEW BALLS PLEASE. It's so versatile.

And finally at number 1 is Murray winning and a shock for Rafa. In an unprecedented move this countdown actually features something to do with tennis. Murray won, hurrah for Britain! And Nadal lost, so again, hurrah for Britain. It's got to that point after the first day where people start to murmur, 'could he do it, really?'

Wimbledon, Weather and Come on Tim.

We all secretly love the British Summer. Moaning about the weather is so ingrained into our national psyche I am pretty sure it is written up as a law somewhere, along with the ones about being able to drive sheep over London Bridge if you are a Lord. As Brits we also love an underdog. You just have to look at Strictly each year. Admittedly it is either our love of an underdog or rather a sadistic part of us that enjoys Anne Widdecome being dragged round a dancefloor, in front of millions, every Saturday night. Let's say underdog. It sounds much more, well, British. 

Naturally then the last week in June and the first in July fill this country with something it only gets once a year (because not many of us worry about the weather forecast for Strictly), the chance to root for the underdog and two blissful weeks when we can moan about the weather to our hearts content. Wimbledon. Yes, that great staple of the British Summer. It's two weeks where each and every one of us realises that we are the next Maria Sharapova, Andy Murray, Rafael Nadal and takes to our local tennis court with such gusto that it requires an ice bath, a glass of Pimms and the rest of the fortnight spent camped out on the sofa. These are the best two weeks of the whole Summer. I'm just going to say it. 

Even if you hate sport you can love Wimbledon. We can eat strawberries and cream, get afternoon drunk on Pimms, moan that it is too rainy or too hot, cheer Andy Murray and then collectively sigh with relief when he doesn't quite make it because we have already forgotten how to treat a winner, even after last Summer. This next fortnight brings with it the best of the British Summer in one handy two week-sized package so that by the end of it we can pack up the bunting and the Pimms and look forward to a Winter being able to moan, naturally, about the weather. So go forth and enjoy the next two weeks of sitting down, watching other people exercise and remember....COME ON TIM.