Its Sunday morning, its clear, bright and sunny. Its cool, but we’re happy with that. Us tennis players. Much nicer playing in cool than stinking, simmering, humidifying heat. The perfect day. The perfect morning. Tennis morning.

But I can’t play tennis. Banned. Grounded. Prevented. Not allowed.

Because although the surgeon who performed ‘the world’s biggest fucking injection ever given’ on the shoulder said that after a week I could play again, this was an opinion somewhat contradicted by the physiotherapist to whom said surgeon sent me. To be mended. And this bitch (can I say that? especially as she’s really lovely and amazingly good?? yeah, can and will), this bitch told me ‘NO’. No tennis. Which I can sort of understand. In the hierarchy of ‘things that really agitate shoulders’, very little compares to tennis. So I have to consider ‘the future’ and ‘the big picture’ and all the things I’ve so studiously ignored my whole life, I shall make this massive sacrifice and desist from the game I love to play. So that in a few weeks time (when its dull and rainy and grey and cold) I’ll be able to get out there again.

When I was young I didn’t think of the future. Nor how that present would be viewed in this future time. And I found the perfect picture to demonstrate that very fact. Whilst clearing out the study for the decorations imminently due (see; there’s lots of ‘fun things’ to do whilst not playing tennis).

I have no idea when this was taken. Nor where. But I was smoking a cigarette (remember those?) so that limits it to sometime between 1970 and 2012. I don’t think I was married then (so pre-1986) but Mel recognised one of the towels. And they say men and women are the same? What man would recognise a towel from 1985??? Or even from this morning when he put it down after his shower?

And a wife-beater. I love that. The item of clothing that, prior to finding this pic, I’d have sworn never to have worn, ever. Yet the evidence is plain for all to see. Me in a wife-beater. Not to mention the bandana. Please don’t mention the bandana. Nor the gerbil-hiding swimmers.

Je regret rien. Everyone should look like a gay icon at least once in their lives.

Spurs 0, Bournemouth 0, Arsenal 0, Middlesboro’ 0. What’s that all about? That’s real frustration. Grrrrrrrrrr.

Happy shoulder-resting Sunday

A xxxx