Sandwich fortnight...

Growing up in a racket sport crazed family meant that the annual arrival of Wimbledon was clearly pencilled in to the family calendar every year. For two weeks in early summer life revolved around the tennis matches being battled out in SW19. Family legend has it that in the days running up to the start of play, my mother would be busy in the kitchen preparing a mountain of sandwiches the likes of which were undreamed of when John Montague, 4th Earl of Sandwich, slapped some cheese between two bits of bread. All catering was cancelled during Wimbledon fortnight, the Rooke family being forced to slowly work it's way through this bread Himalaya for the duration of play.

Whether truth actually resembles history is still a matter of heated debate, but whatever the reality Wimbledon will forever be known to me as 'Sandwich Fortnight'. And for the record, I have made a couple of tactical calls to my dad this year to check he hasn't starved by the fourth round.

 

Aspriations were high from an early age...

Like the Rooke child she is, the supreme being has taken a very keen interest in the tennis during her first Wimbledon. So much so, it has been extraordinarily difficult to get her to bed at any semblance of a decent time since it began. She's taken to sitting in her little seat watching 'Today at Wimbledon' while Mummy and Daddy are nodding off on the sofa, and getting visibly upset when the days play is over. Oh well, at least its only a fortnight...and I for one am well conditioned to not having a hot meal during Wimbledon.

Tension is high with Murray in the 3rd round