Friday, 2 September 2011

Sunshine - Moonlight - Good Times

Last weekend was characterised by the triumph of English Summertime plans over vile weather. Well, almost.

On Saturday a friendly rounders tournament had been organised on Clapham Common by the (surprisingly militant) boyfriend of my Fashion Icon friend Fi.  Embarrassingly keen for any competitive sporting event, I dashed from Old Man Squash in Pimlico with my squash scalps - only to find that torrential rain had hit.
Sportsman's Diet
However, social rounders players are hardcore and absolutely not to be deterred by rain. Or only a little deterred. Fine - we hid in the pub for two hours until Fi's boyfriend had fully 'tested the ground' by practising skidding stops in orange shorts. 

As the rain died down we acquired sugary provisions to prep ourselves. Fi pimped me out to a team by making bold promises about my rounders skills that I knew I'd be unable to fulfil.

In fact, my incompetence was only intensified by my enthusiasm. The same seemed true of my very enthusiastic adoptive team. We didn't do very well.

Fearsome Opponent

When we'd been trounced by (yet another) lot - this group resplendent in tribal headgear - my rounders career seemed over. But then, another (better) team was short of a player. With the pragmatic attitude of an Andy Murray fan at Wimbledon, I forgot my loyalty in an instant, and switched sides.

I'm not sure if my charlatan behaviour was rewarded or exposed by the fact that my newly-adopted team won the whole thing. The fact that we finished the tournament at all (by this time it was dark and subterfuge rewarded) was a victory of commitment over clouds. No so my team-hopping, true. I have no excuse other than ... I do like to win at sports.

Persisting with the outdoor theme next day, I found myself in Marylebone for an al fresco feast at the house of Blondie and Mr Blondie. So bourgeois are these two that they actually have a Real Garden. No need for a fictional outdoor space there, as at our Pad.

As we arranged brunch things in said Garden, their Aussie flatmate had us pose for natural English tea party pics [including - but not limited to - Kate + Blondie pouring tea; expressions of interest as tea is poured; advanced plate reorganisation]. When the first drops of rain started to fall moments later the patriotic embarrassment was intense. 

Pressing on regardless with summer-specific fun, Mr Blondie unleashed the barbeque to set fire to some halloumi and an unlucky tea towel, while inside we gorged on spinach and small cakes. Separately.

Mr Blondie was to appear on Sky later probably to discuss Sally Bercow, on whom I suspect he has a secret, extremely well-repressed crush. He paced the room, making calls to producers and taxis and tweeting emotionally.

'What I want to know is why you never write about us in your blog?' demanded Blondie, from one side of their expansive capitalist sofa. (This is a sofa that knows nothing of DFS. It's probably padded with dead duck.) 'Way more interesting things happen when I'm around. We went to a ball once! And look at today: I made eggs with spinach in!' 

Everyone else agreed. We praised the eggs. And then we sat in our own squalor for the rest of the day.

No comments:

Post a Comment