Our evenings this week have been mainly dominated by activities relating to balls. Stop sniggering at the back there.
I’ve completely lost any sliver of interest I may have had in the football, ever since Turkey got knocked out. I had them in the work sweepstake, you see. Historically, I’ve done very well out of work sweepstakes, having won quite a bit of cash and an MP3 player (remember those?) in previous years.
This time I almost pulled Wales out of the work sweepstake. Sneaked a look (it was my colleagues’ fault for not folding the bits of paper tightly enough) and thought “nah” and deftly put it back. Well done me. I ended up with Turkey, but had been keeping an eye on Wales, you know, to torture myself over what might have been.
So now that the football is nearly done, we’ve been turning our attention to Wimbledon. Let me be clear, I did not excel in sports at school. My notion of exercise was rapidly turning the pages of a gripping novel. So, it will come as no surprise that my knowledge of tennis is somewhat limited.
Last night, I decided enough was enough and I asked my husband to explain tennis scoring to me. The conversation went like this:
Me: So what do those numbers in the corner of the screen mean?
Him: It’s the games and the sets.
Me: What’s a game? How does that differ from a set?
Him: Well, one’s a game, and the other’s a set, geddit?
Me: Yes *shaking my head*
Him: <Diligently explains high level overview of tennis scoring with not a trace of mansplaining>
Me: So what’s a game, and what’s a match?
Him: I have just explained this.
Me: So what are those numbers? I don’t understand this ‘first to six’ thing.
<this goes on for some time>
Him: So when it’s 40-all,it goes to Advantage.
Me: I don’t understand. He scored a point! He should win this set. Or game. Not just get a pesky advantage.
Him: It’s just the rules.
Me: Murray’s shirt looks too tight for him, doesn’t it?
Him: I want a divorce.
I don’t think we’ll be trying to watch any cricket together any time soon.