Good old Tim Henman, letting us all down again. Am I the only one who longs for the days when the entire nation rejoiced the moment Jeremy Bates got through to the second round?
And while I'm on the subject, is it just me, or does Roger Federer look like Quentin Tarantino?
Anyhoo, I returned from the meeting with my sister (who is far too tanned for her own good, and appears to be suffering from the delusion that British summers are akin to arctic winters. I knew we had problems when she started wrapping herself in a blanket and saying she couldn't wait to get back to Texas), to find that the Big Bad Wolf had blown brick dust down my chimney and all over my living room carpet. I cleaned it up last night and got the place looking shiny again, meaning I was particularly calm and relaxed when I got up this morning to find another pile of rubble strewn around my fireplace. Honestly, Santa Claus makes less mess. And at least he brings presents.
Talking of which, Big Sis was particularly pleased with the papier mache fruit I bought her in Brighton, and didn't once say "what the heck am I supposed to do with this?". She's also keen to book a couple of plane tickets so that Lisa and I can go and visit her in Dallas at the end of the year. An offer which Lisa was willing to consider "assuming nothing's gone horribly wrong by then". That's what I like, a bit of optimism.
Oh marvellous. My neighbour's just knocked on my door to tell me that the new chimney is finished, but that I should have my gas fire serviced before using it, because the builders have said there may be some debris in the flue, and we're all liable to die from carbon monoxide poisoning if I switch it on. I told him there's nothing to worry about - all the debris is on my living room carpet. He seemed quite happy with that.