Tennis was abandoned this morning, before it started. Even though it was dry; the main and usually sole criteria for tennis playage round here, the winds were so strong that, although not totally ‘unplayable’, reduces playable to miserable. Cos balls swirling round is horrible and frustrating. And all because of storm Ciara. Why they had to pick a silly name for a ‘c-word’ I don’t know. Is it Ki-ara or Si-ara? They could have just used ‘Clive’. Colin. Cevin.

And as I ventured over to see Lila and Joey, I think ‘blustery’ was the word I’d use. Along with ‘horrible’ and ‘bollocks’. But still dry-ish, just sort of damp wind, nothing more. Then I came home, same again, having picked up all my local shop stuff. But forgetting the newspaper which wasn’t delivered this morning. Grrrrrr. So I popped my jacket back on and popped round to the shop, just a, quite literally, 2-minute pop away. Picked up the paper. And stepped out into Armageddon.

WTF??? The air was solid with water. Diagonal, hard, massive lumps of rain. I’m fine, I had my faithful Spurs hat. Ok, its wool, but how wet can it get in 2 minutes? The answer to which is the superlative of your choice. Mine is ‘totally fucking’. Along with my jacket (showerproof, not deluge-proof), my sweatshirt underneath, my trousers and even, best of all, my underpants. Only clean on last Tuesday but now ruined with soakage. Fortunately I’d had the presence of mind to bury the newspaper under all my layers before stepping into Hell, so Mel can read ‘YOU’ magazine when she comes in. As if nothing had happened. As if her devoted husband hadn’t risked life, limb and drowning to get the fucking thing. I HOPE SHE ENJOYS IT!!!!

Lila is fine. Joey is great. I arrived and Lila was at the window. Saw me and started jumping up and down waving her arms. A lot of people did this during my Elephant Man days and people who know me tend to do it anyway, just before running away as fast as they possibly can. But Lila’s reaction was pure. Was real. Was just Lila. In its most distilled form.

Saw a play last night. Ooooooh. A musical. Aaaahhhhhh. At the really sweet (but horrendously uncomfortable) Park Theatre in Finsbury Park. Called ‘Rags; the musical’ its the tale of Jewish migrants into America in the… 1920s? 30s?? And their plight. Set to music. Good music. And it was highly entertaining. Very funny. Tragic at times. Jolly at others. And at about 30 quid a ticket represents fantastic theatrical value. When to see any musical in the West End will cost upwards of 120 quid.

It was timed perfectly for people to watch the end of the rugby and get there in plenty of time. And watch it we did. And enjoyed England’s glorious, if brutal, win against the Scots. Who used to be the ‘Auld enemy’ but have promoted to the new one as well. Lucky we stuffed ‘em.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx