Having availed myself of an unanticipated and therefore unannounced break from civilisation, I am now back on deck, and thoroughly enchanted at the thought of writing about whatever meagre tennis remains in the US Summer.
I’m disappointed to note I missed Atlanta, since it is far and away my favourite ATP tournament conducted in the United States that week. Conversely, I’m pleased to note I missed Marcel Granollers recover from a disastrous first set in the Kitzbühel final, although perhaps it can more accurately be said that Juan Monaco somehow managed to lose after inflicting a first set bagel. I didn’t see it, so I can’t say for sure. Access to the internet was limited, and my keenness to make use of even that was more limited still. Sadly I missed Mikhail Youzhny winning Gstaad. With no way to know otherwise, I assume he was magnificent. Holidays, you may be sure, are a mixed bag.
This is especially true when you venture to a quaint beachside town in the middle of winter. Admittedly, winter in southern Australia is gentler than in, say, northern Norway. There are some pretty lighthouses, but no fjords to speak, and the sun makes an appearance from time to time. But it was still sufficiently cold and dreary to remind me that I prefer to be inside drinking wine than slogging along a frigid, sleet-scored coastline with an errant black Labrador. This theory was further proven when I attempted to re-instigate a running regime. Modest improvements in fitness were more than offset by a serious calf-injury. I am reassured that this is a common problem when unfit people try to run to far too soon. Unfortunately, it also lengthens the odds of my appearing on the current season of Dancing With The Stars. Other disqualifications include a strong aversion to sequins and my crippling lack of C-list celebrity. Luckily it has meant more time indoors with the wine. As I say, a mixed bag.
Anyway, I’m back now. You may rest assured that Youzhny’s triumphant month-long progress across North America will not go un-summarised.