Oh, dear, for sadness. Roger Federer has been beaten in the quarter-final. That was the hurdle at which he fell in 2018, depriving me and Rachel of our hope of seeing him play in the semi-final and condemning us to an afternoon of exquisite tedium, mentioned here recently. This time it was sadder. He had a standing ovation when he came out to serve for what was likely to be the last time in the match (it was), but also fairly likely to be the last time Wimbledon will ever see him.

 

I have ribbed heroically on, and am well past half-way. However, it has occurred to me that with four days of possibly thrilling tennis yet to come, finishing the ribbing will not be much use. I can hardly re-group on wee Hamish’s Calcutta Cup vest while watching tennis. So I must ensure that I do finish the ribbing, and then just knit on until next week.

 

I continue to trudge around the garden daily, and to record step-counts with which you are all too familiar. 2264 today.

 

Comments & Miscellaneous

 

Jean, your story is tragic! But at least, if I understand you, you got to see the original broadcast? What glory!

 

I must have seen and heard much else on Kukla, Fran and Ollie, but what I remember is a sea chanty which came to mind on the last day of our cruise, when we saw a couple of minke whales. The sighting didn’t involve much excitement – grey shapes heaving very briefly out of the water. But I thought of Kukla, Fran and Ollie:

 

“Thar’s a whale,” the Captain shouted.

“Thar’s a whale on the starboard bow.”

“Thar she blows,” the Captain shouted.

“Goodness knows what we’re s’posed to do now.”