Wimbledon,
knitting, sore hip. I’ll start with the hip.
Last week it was
x-rayed, you’ll remember, and then I had to make an appt to talk to a doctor by
telephone. That day was today, and our own doctor rang up (not just a stray
body from the practice). He said the hip is badly arthritic, no surprise, and
recommended surgery. It won’t get better by itself, he said. We considered the
possibility of going private, but his guess at what that might cost was really
rather too much for comfort, so he has put me forward for an NHS hip which might, these
days, mean waiting quite a while. My sister doesn’t think I’m a very good
project for surgery anyway.
But it’s dreadful
to think of hobbling on like this forever. I still enjoy cooking; getting
around the kitchen with a zimmer frame is very slow and very awkward. I made
some panzanella for my lunch today. It was delicious, but it took hours.
So that’s
something to think about.
The knitting has
inched forward. It doesn’t flow over the fingers like colour patterns of old. I
wondered if I’d be happier with a longer needle, at least until the next set of
decreases, so I’m trying that. EZ says somewhere I think that 24” long is all
you’ll ever need, and that’s what I was using, but it was a tight fit.
Wimbledon
continues very satisfying. The final Centre Court match today will be Andy
Murray against a man named Isner. In 2018, I think it must have been, Rachel
won the chance to buy Centre Court tickets for Men’s Semi-final day. I went
down to join her in the enjoyment of them. Isner was one of the players in the
first match. Nadal, I remember, was scheduled for the second match. But the
first one turned out to be an epic, history-making bore. It went to five sets,
and in those days there was no tie-break in fifth sets. It went on to a score
of something like 26-24. They’ve changed the rules as a result: nowadays we
have tie-breaks in the fifth set. But Rachel and I are unlikely ever to forgive
Mr Isner and Whoever-It-Was.