WAGs and Wimbledon

The nearest I've come to a WAG, I suppose, is Grace Sheppard. Her late husband was the English cricket captain, David Sheppard, and as big a sports' celebrity in his day as they came. I'm sure WAGs as such didn't exist, and she certainly lived a very different lifestyle from the millionaire sportsmen of today. However she is familiar with handling media attention. She was visiting on Friday and together we watched the Murray v Nadal semi-final at Wimbledon. It gave quite a different perspective, not least as the camera zoomed in on different celebrities. Watching it in company with a former occupant of the royal box, you realised these 'celebs' were just ordinary people with normal affections. I felt it particularly when it focused a number of times on David Beckham and his young son, Brooklyn. I was impressed to see his engagement with the match; his applauding good play by both sides, and his sharing disappointment with his friend, young Andy - who by the way played well. It was in fact a very good game.

I think that's why I was so cross to hear the review of the papers on the Today programme next day, quoting the Sun headline, 'Is it the curse of Beckham?' Becks was there when Germany knocked out England and again when the Spaniard beat the Scot. Personally I found logic totally absent and morality equally so. A dad takes his son to enjoy watching some tennis together, and has a gratuitous and malicious headline and article created out of it. Actually Nadal played better and Germany played better.

We got to bed in the evening in time for me to hear an item on The World Tonight about the Dignitas facility for assisting suicide in Zurich ('the suicide factory', as David Morris used to call it). It was hung on the Swiss reviewing their suicide laws and the discovery of a load of ash-urns at the bottom of Lake Zurich. They interviewed Ludwig Minelli - who happily said he'd help anyone who wanted to commit suicide, and interestingly wouldn't reveal any details about how much money it made. Life seemed an entirely disposable commodity. "Just choose when to end it, and I'll do the rest." (The interview's about 25 minutes in.) Bit depressing listening last thing.

Three, two, one

The three deacons

Or should that be beacons? Signals of light bringing good news to a frightened dark nation. The one on the left in soft focus (caused by a finger-print on the lens - sorry) is Big Al, centre, and right are Jo and James, the dynamic duo, a real bargain at two for the price of one. In all 17 deacons were ordained in Guildford (deacon comes from the Greek for servant, in case you wanted to know). I don't know why they are told to dress up in those peculiar clothes; it really doesn't do anything for them. Personally I don't think it does anything for the credibility of the Church either. But it's true, it wasn't so long ago that I was dressed something like that. I just wish they'd change the rules soon. Sometimes being in a wheelchair has its advantages and yesterday I enjoyed them: parking right next to the Cathedral, and a prime position to see the ceremony. To be honest, I didn't find the building as impressive as some people. It's tall and big and uncluttered, but it just didn't do it for me, I'm afraid. Not like the hotch-potch of humanity with whom Jesus intended to replace the Temple building.

Well, it was a long day, and Jane who drove both ways was tired when we got back, but at least Federer and Roddick were kind enough to extend their epic struggle in the Finals so that we could watch a good chunk of it. It was appropriate that breaking the record was achieved at such a cost, but I did feel sorry for Andy Roddick who had given everything and come so close to winning. But the hard fact is there could only be one winner - and congratulations to Mr Federer, who did not give up.

Triple whammy

Well, I listened to the Lions today. Sounds as I was right: the Lions' pride (Get it?) restored. They fairly walloped the Springboks. On fact their total points in the Tests were more than South Africa's. I know that doesn't count, and it's only a game! More exciting than the Ladies' Final at Wimbledon which was happening at the same time. But I did see most of the Men's Doubles, which was a humdinger. By the way if you wanted to see the game of tennis being enjoyed to the full, the best was the old men, Bahrami and Leconte against Armitraj and Fitzgerald - it was sheer skill, good humour and entertainment. It was men playing for the love of the game. Sport.

Tomorrow, we're back to more solemn matters, but no less enjoyable, I hope. We're off at an early hour to see three friends being 'ordained' in Guildford Cathedral - three in one go, not bad! Ordained is like being made an NQT (newly qualified teacher) in the vicaring business. They're Alan, James and Jo - all of whom gave up perfectly good careers for this poorly paid vocation. Well, it must be - a vocation, mustn't it? And by the way, they aren't over 50 either. Which also proves my point, doesn't it?

MacTrebor mania

In case you're wondering whether I've been watching Wimbledon this year or not, I have to admit I have. I fell asleep one afternoon. There's something soothing about the pop-pop of the ball interrupted by the occasional squeak. The games I don't much like are those accompanied by chauvinistic hysteria in the stands. I've taken a self-denying ordinance not mention Robbie MacTrebor in my blog. So I'm sorry if you were hoping for it. I will not be moved.