A list!

Just to clear up my little ‘Sunday Night Recollections’ mini-series, I present for you:
Five Reasons I Will Never Watch Wimbledon Again:

1. 
I’m sick of setting aside two hours to watch a specific match, only to tune in and find a replay of an insignificant outer-court match from yesterday, because there’s yet another rain delay, but the players might be back soon so the producers want to be ready to cut to them at short notice, so they daren’t start something interesting like an old Fawlty Towers or an Ealing comedy. (Just as well, really, as it would be a reminder of stuff I could be doing instead of waiting for tennis. Lets face it - who would want to sit through Heather Watson vs. Venus when you could be watching ‘The Ladkillers’?)

2.
I’m sick of seeing shots of players insignificant others seconds after they’ve won the biggest game of their life. When Milos Raonic booms an ace down to dump Federer out in the semis, I’d like to see how Raonic reacts to the victory, not a close-up of some leech in the players box who wouldn’t be with him if he was a road-sweeper. 
Which leads nicely onto..

3.
Judy Murray. JUDY chuffing MURRAY. Her son is the greatest individual sportsman GB has ever had and her contribution to his success was popping him out in the first place. The way the BBC obsess about her you’d think she’d knitted his abilities, rather than sat back and watched while he dedicated twenty years of his life to backbreaking, soul-destroying, body-wrecking physical exertion and breakdown-inducing mental strengthening. I think he’s superb, and I’d love to support him, but I can’t go through another fortnight of seeing his mums old-mans-scrotum of a neck on display every time he wins another point. 

4.
The noises that players make when they hit the ball have now got so ridiculously loud and bizarre that it’s distracting to the point of distressing. The soundtrack to Williams vs. Kerber was like a really bad 1970s porn flick played in really slow motion (and with rippling applause edited in every couple of minutes.) 
Which leads nicely onto..

5.
The women’s outfits, that used to give me so much pleasure, have now got so ridiculously revealing that it’s not even titillating anymore. It’s such an all-out fleshfest that the only thing we haven’t seen is VulvaCam.  (which would, presumably, be available on the Red Button.) More is not always better, ladies. Show us your ankles, rather than half your innards. I now hark for a return to the days when a flash of a bit of calf would give me a little rush of raciness, so until female players turn up in something resembling a Victorian bathing costume, I’m out.

RC 13-7-16