White Balls and Greens

I had intended to devote this blog to the orgasmic squealing and grunting that accompanies women's tennis nowadays but Taki, writing in the Spectator (Slob's Paradise, 2nd July) has done the job for me.

It was quite a weekend what with Live8, Lions rugby (ouch!), Wimbledon finals and the one day England versus Australia match at Lords. Having attended the terrific cricket match and (as always) done my liver no good on the Saturday, I spent a quieter Sunday mowing grass, keeping half an eye on the tennis on TV and catching up on the newspapers. In fact the only outing from home all day was to Petersfield where the wife needed to buy a particular Tomato & Chilli Jam from the Farmers Market which occupies the main square in the town once a month.

Now I like a good market and this one was clearly punching the local Tesco and Waitrose stores on the nose. The fruit and vegetables looked as if they came from a different planet with proper lettuces and some of the best strawberries I have ever eaten. Freshly picked flowers looked great without preservatives and cellophane wrappers. Stalls were selling a rich selection of English cheeses, a splendid range of English wines and, on stalls selling organic meats, sensible snacks like hog roast or locally reared roast beef in baps. Amongst our impulse purchases were a watercress quiche (delicious), freshly baked bread, and a splendid cheese peppered with sun-dried tomato and herbs. Mindful of the amount of booze I had already consumed in the past 48 hours I steered clear of the display of local beers, but my overall impression was that this was getting closer and closer to the marvellous French markets. All we need are some stalls selling live ducklings and piglets, and we are virtually there – all with our own home-grown produce. Wonderful!

Back on a sporting theme the Open Championship at St Andrews draws near and it will be the fourth consecutive St Andrews Open that I have attended. Nick Faldo (and his awful winner’s acceptance speech) in 1990, John Daly in 1995 when Constantino Rocca so nearly brought home the bacon for Europe, and Tiger Woods in 2000 all bring back great memories. I haven’t placed any bets as at 3 – 1 the odds are just too short on Tiger and I’m pretty certain that he’ll be up there on the leaderboard. But I have got my old set of clubs out of the cupboard and have taken the first tentative steps to try and remind myself how the game is played. In storm conditions I had an entire driving range to myself yesterday. This was quite fortunate as I seemed to belt balls in every direction apart from directly ahead. Oh well, I’ll try again today and see if I can straighten myself out a bit.