Tennis at the 02

Above: a very blurry shot of Rafael Nadal warming up for his round robin match against Nikolai Davydenko.

One of the things that surprises most people about me is my obsession with watching tennis. I am as far from a typical fan as you can get. I've never played, I'm unfit, I have no interest in any other sports. But there is something about tennis that fascinates me enough to contemplate using up precious holiday to enjoy the Wimbledon fortnight in full.

I love in tennis because:

• two people enter only one person leaves. Unlike team sports the focus is on the individual to perform or not. There's no coaching, nothing to hide behind, just you vs the other person who blinks first
  
• the trappings. From the contrast between the cool old England lawns of Wimbledon to the hyped up, entertainment focused US Open tennis is played all over the world.
  
• the commentary. Putting aside the excellent Sue Barker where else could you hear the surreal rambling humour of Boris Becker, the hysterical yet incisive analysis of John McEnroe facing off against a series of slightly bemused brits like Andrew Castle and our very own Henman. Listening to experts talk about something they love it one of lives rare pleasures. My favourite moment, when even they are reduced to incoherent whoops. Sometimes a shot really is that good.
• the fans. Whether it's the union jack clad ladies, vocal aussies, to the wag in the crowd who shouts out 'come on Tim' even though Henman is long retired, I love them all
  
• everybody has their favourites. Like a soap opera whether you're a fan of a cool swiss, the amiable belgium, the fiery scot there's somebody to suit anybody.
  
• Anything can happen. Who would have thought Roger Federer would have begun the year in tears after being throughly thrashed at the Australian Open by Nadal. His dream of breaking records seeming further away that ever. But ended the year not only regaining his Wimbledon title (poor Roddick) but also winning Roland Garros, and completing a career slam, one of the few titles that eluded him.
  

So I was really excited when I heard the climax of the tour: the ATP World Tennis finals showcasing the best eight players was coming to the O2 arena. My parents and I booked tickets and earlier this week got to see this match Nadal vs Davydenko in one of the night sessions.

The tournament
I drove up straight after work and parked straight outside. I haven't been inside the O2 since it was the millenium dome. And everything from the large banners of the posters, flashing lights, to the plush practise courts seemed geared up to max up the pressure. The O2 arena is massive. Our seats were up in the nose bleeders, the players tiny figures below. Unlike the sedate genteel atmosphere of Wimbledon this was all flash and pizzazz. I loved the music played during the changeover, the video replays on the big screen, the darkness of the crowd during play, and the roar after every shot. Even the distracting flashing signs which signalled aces or break points were interesting.

However it was clear that the event had some logistical problems (even before Del Potro/Murray scoring fiasco). The first match (a doubles match) started at eight but when it finished at around 8.45 instead of bringing the earlier match forward there was a forty-five minute break until the players emerged on court. None of us were allowed to leave the interior of the arena. When the match finally started at 9.30pm, my parents were already nervously looking at their watches (they had to catch the last train home). During the second set tie break when it looked like it might go to a third set even I was wondering whether I would be able to stay instead of cheering the players on. Most people took the tube and would have faced the uncomfortable choice of leaving before the matched finished or staying and facing an expensive taxi ride home. I suggest next year they start the day matches at 1pm which will give them time to start the evening matches earlier. And everybody time to enjoy the evening.


The match
The tournament is round robin format. The two players in each group with the higher percentage of (games won-games lost) advance to the next stage. Nadal had lost his first match and had to beat Davydenko to have any chance of advancing.

Before the match I knew that Nadal's season had been blighted by injury and he was looking to end the season on a positive note. It was clear this was not the Nadal of old. He had shrunk in stature. He was easily frustrated and curiously passive. His shots lacked depth giving Davydenko time to create angles. It was Davydenko not Nadal who dominated from the back of the court. This has never been Nadal's service. It suits his game the least and at this time in the season after the rigours of the hard courts he rarely has much success.

None of this is to take away from Davydenko who played very well, rarely allowing Nadal a chance back into the match. I knew little about Davydenko before the match but it was clear he was in form and I wasn't surprised when he went on to win the tournament.

It wasn't a classic match by any means. But I enjoyed the second set a lot more than the first. And the chance to see Nadal play in person.

I disliked Nadal when he first appeared on the scene. I thought his personality must match his style: another brash boorish sportsman. But then I saw him play. And long before that sublime match at Wimbledon 2008: the best match of all time, I was a supporter.

I like Federer, but I never backed him. His tennis is almost inhuman in it's perfection but he makes it look easy. With Nadal each stroke reveals the effort, the years of training, the will to succeed. He fights for every point. I've always liked the underdog (as much as somebody who is number two in the world can be an underdog;)). And watching him the other day reminded me of why I loved him. Even when he was match down you can see the effort being exerted, he always tried to create opportunities, never giving up. Watching Nadal reminded me of importance of effort even when you lose. Especially when you lose. Because its our losses, it's the times we find it hard that teach us more than unrelenting victory ever does.

Evernight and point of view

I know, I know, yet another vampire book. But Evernight by Claudia Gray has a twist on the genre that I think is quite interesting. To explain why I'm going to have to go into details, so if you haven't read the book yet, be warned. Here be spoilers...

I am a big fan of the twist when used well in young adult fiction (Nick in the end of the Demon's Lexicon by Sarah Rees Brennan, Clary and Jace's relationship in City of Ashes by Cassandra Clare). One of the greatest pleasures is rereading a book and discovering the trail of breadcrumbs leading up to the twist. Going from 'oh my god I didn't see this.' to 'how could it be anything else.' Like a magic eye painting where you can only see the witch, after the twist how could it be anything else but a horse?

Evernight is not one of those books. The big reveal halfway through the book is that Bianca, our heroine, is not an innocent ingénue but a born vampire who has known about her nature 'as soon as I was old enough to keep a secret.' So why then for the first 150 pages of the book are we the reader ignorant of information? Instead of the feeling of things clicking into place my reaction was WTF?

I went back and reread the first half of the book, knowing the reveal. And instead of the careful foreshadowing there was no way you could have guessed the twist. With the result that instead of adding something to the book it read more as the twist for the sake of the twist. And as a reader I felt betrayed and deliberately kept in the dark. This was not an unreliable narrator (Micah in Justine Larbaleisteir's Liar), the narrator was unreliable on only one point to create false suspense.

The main problem I have with this book is the point of view. I think if Gray had choose the third person, it could have worked. In the third person we have more distance from a character and they are better placed to hide things from us. The narrow confines of the first person point of view means that we, the reader, know what Bianca's knows. And if information is kept from the reader that the narrator would think about we feel betrayed and lied to.

It would have felt less like two different books glued together if Gray had hinted about the secret Bianca was keeping. That she was ashamed of her true nature and wanted to distinguish herself from the others who were different. Like a watered down version of Jessica (one of the best TV creations) in True Blood. Puberty is horrifying enough teenage girls made monstrous by their hormones without adding fangs, blood tears, and a regenerating hymen to mix.Or if she was in denial? Or even ignorant of her true nature?

It was shame becausse the suspense in the opening scene really worked for me but I never felt it was followed through into the book. Bianca dreams of the flower but it is never mentioned again. I guessed the Lucas=vampire hunter from the opening scene.

Another issues I had with the book was the Bianca/Lucas relationship. Bianca goes straight from interesting guy I met in the woods to Mine, Mine Mine, Mine. Now I was a teenage girl, I understand obsession, but apart from her vampire nature there isn't a big explanation for her sudden obsession with Lucas. Whatever criticisms you may have about Twilight Meyer puts the time in to develop Bella and Edwards relationship (boy does she ever, that is pretty much the singular plot until the baseball game and cat and mouse). As the book is told entirely from Bianca's point of view I spent most of the Lucas love scenes bored and wondering exactly why she was so obsessed with him, particularly when the far superior, and (less boring and pious) Balthazar is lurking in the background. Also I really didn't get what Lucas saw in her. There didn't feel a real connection between the characters. If you are going to go the well trodden route of slayer/ vampire romance (awh buffy you were awesome) you had better knock it out of the park.

I found the supporting characters: Patrice, Vic, Raquel far more interesting than either Lucas or Bianca.

It was a shame because these factors spoiled my enjoyment of the genuinely different things Gray is doing within the genre. The girl vampire is notoriously underdeveloped apart from Jessica and Pam in True Blood. I loved the fact that in the love scenes Bianca is the pursuer, she wants Lucas and she is not ashamed to admit.

What disappointed me most about this book was that it had so much potential. The female vampire. The frank depiction of female sexuality. The well-drawn cast of supporting characters. The awesome cover. The clever gothic opening. All of it unrealised.

There are much better young adults book out there, don't waste your time on this.

Jennifers Body and the feminist horror movie

I wanted to love Jennifer's body, I really did. It had a lot of things worked for it: the title, the horror-comedy premise, written by Diablo Cody (who I know infuriates a lot of people but I adore), starring Amanda Seyfriend aka the gone but never forgotten Lily Kane. But why was it such a hot mess?

First the casting, I love Amanda Seyfried but she was frankly miscast as the dowdy inassert Needy. Come on she's beautiful. Megan Fox was not as bad as I thought she would be in this role.
However Jennifer and Needy as frenemies has very little chemistry let along enough to justify the tacked on faux lesbian stylings. Adam Brody as the devil worshipping hipster was knock-it-out of the park amazing

But the main issue I had was with the shallow, poor plot. The scene in which Jennifer is sacrificed to the demon is genuinely frightening and horrifying scene. The parallels to sexual assault make it almost too awful to watch.

But then Jennifer starts killing innocent boys. Why after this traumatising incident does she not go after the people who did this to her. The film could have easily explained this away by giving her no memory of what had happened to her or some prohibition against taking down the boys. But there was no explanation as to why this hugely powerful creature would take her vengeance. This film tried to examine the nature of female friendship, teenage girl as demon, small town woes and as a result didn't really look in depth at anything.

I couldn't help but feel that inside this movie there was a far more interesting subversive film fighting to get out. The closing scene over the titles is admittedly awesome. I literally cheered as the blood splattered over the screen. Yes finally I thought, but by then it was far too late.

Frenemies

I am having a bit of drama with a sort of friend. I say sort of because she was once one of my best friends, and though we are no longer anything resembling close, we were BF4eva (heh) on and off for close to seven years. But I don't know what me and, let's call her Elasticgirl, are anymore.

The history
We haven't spoken, apart from one text, since a group night out at Christmas and that was grudgingly. Elasticgirl and I have always had our problems. I, and the vast majority of our mutual friends, have long moaned about the whiplash engendered from her dumping us for months while she wafted off with better friends. But her friendships never lasted she would come back drunkenly declaring that we were the best friends a girl could ever had. I got sick of being the back-up friend. The one to go back to when her other cooler friendships weren't working out (translation when they got sick of her bull and buggered off). She had very strict rules of friendship which I never seemed able to live up to. Which would be understandable if she operated under the same rules she judged others under. But behaviour that would have been unconsciable in others was fine if it was her. I realised that to Elasticgirl the rest of us were just handmaidens: Elasticgirl was the goddess. And god help you if you ever paused in your unadulterated worship.

There were other things: whenever we introduced new people into the group we were always having to explain her behaviour to them. Elasticgirl can be a bitch, and not always in an amusing Joan Collins way, but in a flat out rude way. But when people responded in kind she would get massively offended. Her skin was like tissue paper, fragile, easily bruised and torn.

I can't help think that a bit of this was our fault as a group. For accepting her as she was, for never challenging her. We let her know it was OK to treat us like that and so she did.

But the thing that really irritated me was the endless times she cancelled on me. Time after time with terse frankly rude text messages. No apologies, no offers to rearrange just 'I can't make it'. For example four new years in a row we would make plans and she would call up depressed on New Years Eve saying how she didn't want to go out. I'd spend hours on the phone trying to convince her for her to insist she wanted to stay in, only to find out the next day she had gone out with other friends.

So I grew petty, I stopped arranging things, cancelled on her once just to see if the friendship survived if I stopped making an effort.

It didn't.

Apart from a tense conversation in a restaurant our friendship died not with fireworks but with a mutual severing of contact.

The problem
Elasticgirl and I are part of a group of friends which means even if I wanted to excise her completely from my life I couldn't. We all live in different towns so mostly I see the friends I want to see one-on-one or in a couple of smaller groups so Elasticgirl and I rarely interact.

This weekend I was heading home so I texted BestestWestest and Shakiraboy to arrange a casual meet up. I've been a crappy friend to Shakiraboy recently and I was really looking to make it up to him. He asked if I had invited Theformerblonde which I hadn't so I texted to invite her. All well and good.

The Shakiraboy posted something on my facebook profile about how he was really looking forward to meeting up. I felt a little uneasy, but reasoned its no big secret. Then when I was talking to Tattoogril I realised in my absentminded way I had forgotten to invite her so I did. So this casual 'hey, I'm back home lets meet up.' snowballed into a big group meet-up sans Elasticgirl publicised on fb. Salt meet wound.

Which undoubtably is a dick move. I know, I know.

So, of course, she passive aggressively comments:

'Awww I am at work
Or would have loved an invite to see you all. Nevermind eh!'

And I am a loss as to how to respond. Because on the one hand, yes it is awkward that I invited everyone else but her.

But, and here's the rub, I didn't want her there. Whatever we are we are not friends anymore and I did not want that stilted awkwardness ruining my time with my real friends. Just because she is close with other members of the group doesn't mean that she gets an automatical invite when I'm hosting. You get an invite, by er, being my friend.

But there's no way I can say that to her without being a bitch.

I've learnt my lesson next time I will try and keep all events private and off facebook. But I spent seven years tiptoing around her neuroses and I don't fancy having to spend the rest of my life doing so. I'm sorry she's hurt. But its not my problem not anymore.

I don't hate her. I don't even dislike her (despite what this lengthly postmorton suggests). When I look at old photos I miss what we had, even as I know we will never get that back. I want her to do well. I want her to be happy. But I also would prefer it if she did that far, far away from me.

And this has been way too long and emo even for me. I've been thinking about whether I should even post this. It seems too personal to put out there. But I keep on thinking that when you break up with a guy there are accepted rituals. Ice-cream. Crying. Long, long conversations with friends. But when you break up with friend, who in some ways knows you better than any man ever could, there is no accepted outlet. And that's wrong.

Buzzing thoughts

Today I am mostly:

• Thinking about secrets in the age of the internet or How twitter helped reveal the truth. It was alarming when I checked the guardian homepage and saw an story saying very little beyond they had been "prevented from identifying the MP who has asked the question, what the question is, which minister might answer it, or where the question is to be found." Within an hour twitter users had identified the MP in question, the company, the sum-sucking Trafigura, and the report they were trying to bury: The injunction about reporting on questions asked in Parliament fell apart. As Bill Clinton once said 'never pick a fight with people who buy ink by the barrel'. However I find it so worrying that not only worries me that people are looking at this Or have I just been reading too many dystopian novels...

• For the last couple of weeks I have very slowly been working my way through Pandora's Star by Peter F Hamilton. Part of the reason I'm so slow is because I'm juggling so many things at the moment and the only time I have to read is in the ten minutes before I fall into a dreamless slumber. The Boy rarely reads so when he recommends a book I feel obligated to give it a go but I have to admit I am less than gripped. It seems that the things that interest him: concepts, science, vast and sprawling world-building, I find less than scintillating. For example he adores SG-1 and thought Atlantis was a little weak. Whereas I found SG-1 boring and repititive with too little ongoing mythology and dull characters Unlike Atlantis in which Rodney quite frankly rocked.
• Is it wrong that I find the fantastic Mr Fox very sexy. The Clooney appeals works whether he is furry or a silver fox geddit? Then again I had a big crush on the Beast. He gives her a library, so romantic!
• The death of the blackberries. It seems like blackberries have been and gone and autumn has barely started.
• Our flat like Mary Poppins is practically perfect in everyway. So even mentioning this makes me feel like a brat of the highest order but I hate our fridge. For the last couple of years my ire has been reserved for the washing machine aka the grand shrinker. It lurks waiting for me to feed it my nicest clothes before turning them the size of mini clothes. At first I thought it was my habit of only using one setting, but no it does it when the Boy master of the washing machine settings feeds my clothes to it too. But not when it's his laundry. I am beginning to suspect that my washing machine is a misogynist. Or that because the Boys clothes made out of titanium, or whatever indestructable force Boys clothes are made of, resist being eaten. Anyway, the fridge. We have an inbuilt mini fridge and freezer side by side. But the fridge has aspirations it longs to be a freezer so at the top taking up valuable freezing space is a freezer. Unpacking the shopping requires long hours of tetris honed skills. If we turn the milk sideways like this and stack the cheese. Items that are rounded: potatoes, cauliflowers, goats cheese ruin the pattern. It makes it really hard to see and plan meals. For the last month or so, with colleague Sara I've been trying to cut down on food bills in a eat my larder challenge. The lentils are gone, but I have enough beans to last until Judgement Day
• I've been dreaming of pieminister pies ever since Beth introduced me to them in a trip to Bristol. Amazing pastry goodness with succulent fillings. As if I needed anymore reasons to be jealous of Bristolians.
  
• Also I've been writing my new WIP progress novel about a teen detective who only tells the truth, investigating the apparent suicide of her former best friend (phew) I'm:
  
• 
  
  15457 / 70000 words. 22% done! Yay me
  

Links-a-plenty Thursdays

A list of the things I found interesting this week in no particular order

• After the rather depressing previous week filled with (Oh Whoopi why?) there have been a slew of awesome posts including Kate Harding in the Salon reminding us that Polanski raped a child, Jim Hines defunking the Polanski apologists and this article in the Guardian about the backlash on Hollywood from their support of Polanski which managed to do the unthinkable. This quote from the awesome Harding made me laugh "Who knew being disgusted with Roman Polanski would turn out to be the ever-elusive common ground between rightwing dudes and liberal feminists?"
• The eternal optimists and article on the probation service
• The pilot for the new Stargate Universe series. I liked: the updated camera-work and visual look and feel. Will be interested to see how they keep the drama dynamic given they have a fixed number of actors (unless it turns into aliens of the week) and resources.
• My colleague had a book of photos printed from Blurb of her travels throughout America. Beautiful photos. I've been wondering what to do with our travel photos for ages. This seems like the perfect solution.
  

Conversations in my sleep

Apparently I talk in my sleep. I rarely remember this because, I'm asleep when it happens. The Boy just holds me until I stop babbling and fall back to sleep

I woke up this morning filled with righteous ire because the Boy had been talking all night.

Me:*smugly* Hah, I'm not the only one who talks in my sleep
The Boy: You started it!

Last night, according to him, we had this conversation:

Me: *grabbing his arm* I thought you were dead
The Boy: Mmmh
Me: But its OK... you were just a spider
TB: Huh?
Me: *lapses back into spider filled dreams*

Whereas last night, according to me, the Boy said:

The Boy: *normal voice* When you call your sister does she answer or does she hang up?
Me: Ugh
The Boy: *satisfaction dripping from every word* Thought so

I want his dreams.
Or at the very least I want to remember mine. Dead people turning into spiders, sounds interesting...

You were my sun

Taken from a meme that's going around:

Put your mp3 player/itunes/whatever on shuffle, make the first lines of the first twenty songs into a poem, and use the first line of the next song as the title.

You were my sun

You are my angel
I’ve got no strings to hold me down
Tiptoe down
Rumour spreadin’ a-round in that Texas town

Lambeth you’ve never seen
Leave me alone
Nothing is so good it lasts eternally
Four letter word just to get me along

All through the park past China town gate
I see a bad moon rising
What have we done with innocence?
So you wanna know me now?

Free – is all that she could bleed
Beauty queen of only eighteen
Its all the same, only the names will change
Do you have the time

If I was a rich girl
Will drive you mad
Loving you isn’t the right thing to do
I want to live with the Cinnamon Girl

My story is much too sad to be told
Somebody somewhere turns off the lights
I’m coming out, I’m coming
What are you going to do with all that junk?

Times have changed
Every breath you take
Your cheatin’ heart will tell on you
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

I kind of like it particularly this stanza:
All through the park past China town gate
I see a bad moon rising
What have we done with innocence?
So you wanna know me now?

Emerging from hibernation to say...

you have to go and to Dr Horrible's Sing-along blog and watch the webepisodes. It's no Once More with Feeling but it is very very good. Can't wait for part 3.

Just finishing reading the Host. Much prefer Meyer when she's not writing about shiny, shiny vamps. And even though I love sci this 'sci fi thats for people who don't like scifi was very enjoyable. I still can't put my finger on what makes her books so compulsively readable despite their flaws. They are so addictive.

Messing about on the river

All in all I had quite a good weekend. I spent most of Saturday lying back home in the garden being pounced on by Buffy (our male cat) and nuzzled by Lucy (our girl cat). The highlight of the day was when we went on a walk by the ruins. Its one of the most beautiful tranquil spots and it always restores my spirits. I clambered up the old ewe tree and laughed when my eldest sister got stuck.

Today I met up with Ros in Richmond and we went on a boat trip down the Thames to Kingston. The weather was perfect hot with a slight breeze stupidly I forget to pack sunblock so my nose is very pink indeed. The whole boat heard our views on a variety of subjects, poor them.

Despite a rather sad start this turned out to be a pretty blissful weekend and I feel very relaxed, if not a little pink.