I was saddened at the news this week that the Wimbledon Open will not be played in June this year. Hopefully, the BBC will show us past highlights and I can pretend it is pre Centre Court having a splendid sliding roof when we were used to seeing previous years' games on TV because of the dreaded PLAY INTERRUPTED BY RAIN.
Today's scarf is from the Australian Open. I have visited that wonderful country but never saw Melbourne. The scarf is another of my charity shop finds. It shows the national flower which is the golden wattle.....I thought it was mimosa and imagined the delicate scent which I associate with the South of France. Wrong! I don't know the name of the white daisy. Maybe someone will tell me. I tried to reach the official Australian Open shop site today but got no answer.
My first memory of tennis was not the game itself, but smoking cinnamon sticks behind the tennis pavilion in a local park, aged nine. May I say, that put me off for life and I have never been a smoker! By ten, I went to boarding school and met Norma Seacy who became Wimbledon Junior Girls Champion the following July. My first tennis lesson was with her on the very poor quality grass court at our school boarding house. I made the Stirling High school team three years later, no big deal, but that year in the school magazine as well as the tennis team photo was one of Roy Erskine in either the rugby or cricket team. Roy is Andy Murray's grandpa.
But enough of me. I would like to dedicate today's scarf story to friends in Australia, Fiona and husband celebrating their Golden Wedding Anniversary this year, John the tennis coach living in my complex who set up our Whatsapp group which has created help for the less able like me during the corona virus crisis, the McKays, and an Australian lady called Margaret whom I met in the queue at Wimbledon.
We used to have Wimbledon business hospitality seats many moons ago, but for the past twenty years, I have queued on the former Wimbledon Park golf course and had enormous fun with other fans sitting on the grass, sharing our sarnies and picnic goodies whilst waiting for the queue to move. I met Margaret in the queue. She was passing through England on her way to America for a wedding and decided to try her luck for a late entry ticket. When we eventually got in, we spent the day together. I offered her a bed for the night as it was getting dark when we left. I live reasonably near the courts and she had a complicated journey by public transport to deepest Kent. She was a plucky lady, declined my offer and got to bed at some late hour, leaving for America the following day. We kept in touch for several years by email. I wonder if this might reach her. Have you checked on long lost friends lately?
In the meantime, I will get out my bottle of Pimms in June to celebrate a span of nearly seventy years of joyful Wimbledon visits. Do join me.
Which scarf tomorrow?
Busy Bee, Scarf Face!