So, that time of year is upon us again.

The smack of felt covered rubber on tightly pulled strings, one of your healthy five a day hideously drowned in cream, the sexual grunts of attractive men and women as they pound swiftly backwards and forwards on a… yes, Wimbledon is here.

The All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club once again hosts what is arguably the most prestigious tennis competition of the Grand Slams, possibly because it’s the oldest having been around since 1877. Coincidentally, that was the last time a Brit won anything there (joking).

Know the score…

• A tennis match is scored thus – 15, 30, 40, game. If the opposing player has no score, he remains at ‘love’ (tennis speak for zero, arseholes).
• The first player to reach 6 games (with a 2 game lead), takes the set.
• Tennis matches are either a 3 or 5 set format, so the player must win by two or three sets respectively to take the match.
• If the games remain tied, the set goes to a tie-break and the first player to take a two point lead after six points.

Are you getting this? If you don’t know, just look it up online.

New balls please…

This phrase *guffaw* is uttered after the sixth game *snigger*, when the old balls *chuckle* are removed and a new set of cool balls *titter* are introduced into the game. Oh dear. *wipes tears from eyes*

Did you know? – ‘New balls please’ goes back to Roman times, and refers to the hideous practice of ‘Gonad Trading’ that was finally outlawed by Billy Ocean masquerading as The Pope in 1986.

Strawberries and cream

Just think, if Wimbledon took place in winter, we’d all be eating shepherd’s pie and cream! But we’re not. So for that at least, let’s all be grateful.
The strawberries MUST be British. They must be.
You wouldn’t go on holiday to Spain and eat nothing but English fry ups would you? Oh.
It’s just one of those things you have to do, strawberries at Wimbledon is like a Guinness in Ireland, or a savage beating in Manchester.
The peak of strawberry growing season happens during the world famous tennis fortnight, it’s like they fucking planned it or something as a way to spin more money out of people.
Did you know? – Approximately 28,000 kilos of strawberries are eaten during the fortnight. By one man. His name is Geoff ‘The Strawberry’ Banyard.

Getting angry at the British players…

The last British man to win Wimbledon was Fred Perry in 1936.
The last British woman to win Wimbledon was Virginia Wade in 1977.

This is why we get angry at the players we have now, and it is the birthright of every Brit to do so. We’ve been waiting a long time for some glory, our national football teams suck balls (they’d probably do a better job of sucking footballs than kicking them), we NEED to do well in another sport, but it seems we are destined to forever remain bridesmaids…and this affects us badly.
With every good volley, ace, point and set win, we leap from our seats punching a victory fist in the air.
With every miss, or worse, double fault, we have already virtually ended their careers for them. It helps to shout criticism and offer technical advice from our armchairs, because we obviously know more about how to play tennis than these people who’ve trained diligently every day of their lives since the age of three.
Here are some useful phrases you can use during matches featuring the home grown ‘talent’:

“You fucking DONKEY Murray!”
“The only Grand Slam this prick will ever win is against a door!”
“That thing in your hand is for hitting the ball, not waving at it!”
“Sponsored by fucking Superglue. MOVE you stupid fucktard!”
“Oh why wasn’t I born Swiss??”

Thinking back to the glory days of Jo Durie and Jeremy Bates is also required.
Although they never actually did anything of note, we just tend to glory-amplify and rose tint our athletes because the cold hard truth hurts.
We got breathtakingly close with Tim Henman (COME ON TIM!!…*sigh*), but even then we were denied. Now British/Scottish (depending on whether he wins/loses) personality black hole Andy Murray carries the expectation of the weary nation on his shoulders.
You’d think we’d have learnt by now.

Did you know? – The British are utter shit at tennis. You did? Ah yes, of course, carry on.

What to do if it rains and THIS happens:

First of all, you MUST NOT panic. We’ve survived two World Wars, we can certainly survive Cliff Richard singing.

REMAIN VIGILANT. If the BBC cameras start showing clouds in the sky, and you then see that the Wimbledon groundskeeper has come out and is speaking into his walkie-talkie, there may be imminent danger of a Cliff attack. The following instructions are for your own protection:

1. Take some canned goods and a good supply of water to your basement (if you have one), garden shed, under the stairs, just anywhere you wouldn’t naturally find a television set.
2. A radio will be useful, to keep you informed of what the weather is currently doing. However, avoid Radio 2 at all costs as they WILL play recordings of Cliff singing during the news report.
3. For entertainment purposes, a book of word searches, Sudoku or crosswords is useful. A handheld gaming device will keep children occupied.
4. Unplug your telephone and switch all mobiles off. You don’t want to run the risk of your mother, aunt, or grandmother calling to tell you ‘Cliff is singing at Wimbledon’. You will then be obliged to watch so she can discuss it with you at your next get together, THAT’S LIKE LIVING THROUGH IT TWICE.
5. Be aware that even after the event, the BBC will show clips of it ad nauseum. Try to change channels whenever matches cut back to Sue Barker in the studio, or if they start a highlights reel. Similarly, if you hear the words “…but the rain didn’t dampen spirits for long..” and you can’t find your remote control, don’t hesitate, run from the fucking room screaming at the top of your voice. Don’t stop until you’re at the bottom of the garden, or minimum safe distance.

I hope it won’t come to this. But at least now you’ll know what to do if it does. Please print out these instructions, laminate them, and have every family member learn them by heart – they could save your life.
I’ll be praying that you stay safe from harm, and that we’ll all see each other again on the other side.
I love you.

Did you know? – Cliff Richard’s real name is Harry Webb. ‘Cliff’ and ‘Webb’ are hints at his rather interesting yet secret past. His father was a giant spider from Brazil, and his mother was a human female. They mated on a cliff edge (eh? eh?) and the lanky arachnid-like singer was the result. Cliff can not only sing badly, he can also walk up walls and wrap a dead fly in gossamer in under 3 seconds so he can feast on it later. Sexy bastard.

Anyone for tennis?

Once it’s all over don’t buy a racket, balls and tennis whites. Trust me, you’ll play it for a week then lose interest when something else comes along.

A large supermarket chain who will remain unnamed, are already selling tennis equipment at fabulously low prices, the swines. Don’t fall for it. Distract yourself with a tennis computer game instead, much easier, you won’t even break a sweat!

Did you know? – I had an almond croissant this morning for my breakfast. It was slightly dry.

So there we have it. The next two weeks belong to Wimbledon, and hopefully this gentle diatribe will help you get more out of it.

Hey…you know what? I bet if you and I were playing at Wimbledon right now, the score would be love, baby. *wink*
What are you gagging for?? That was adorable!

Oh just fuck off and watch the tennis.

– Chrissy