I don’t know you, but I hate you

Posted on May 21, 2012 by Helena

OK I promise I won’t go on about the AMAZING Champions League victory on Saturday, I realise most of my readers are not obsessive Chelsea fans. But today is George Best’s birthday, so it would be rude not to mention football at all.
Even those of you who don’t follow football will have heard of George. He was the first celebrity footballer, a two-footed genius whose flamboyant lifestyle eventually got the better of him. This quote from the man himself sums him up: “I spent 90% of my money on women, drink and fast cars. The rest I wasted.”
No one minded that he was a playboy, because he had charm. It is incredible how much one can get away with if one has it. And how many people are sadly lacking in it. Just before the magazine closed down, we ran a feature by Anna Blundy, one of my favourite writers, called ‘I don’t know you, but I hate you.’ It was all about first impressions, and how we inexplicably hate some people on sight. Funnily enough I had the opposite happen the other day, I really liked someone on sight, quite an unusual experience. Especially as our sons were on opposing football teams.
Now that I am a stay at home mum I see a lot more of the school run and the school mums. I do think the ‘hate at first sight’ thing is most prevalent at the school gates. Why is this? Is it because we would all rather be having their nails done or lunching with a lover? Is it because we are all linked by the common denominator of children in the same school and somehow this common factor creates rivalry? Or maybe it’s just because, in the main, women don’t much like other women, or at least ones they don’t know? After all, they might be after their husbands. Or even worse, their lovers.
I would like to assure all the mothers at school that I am not a threat. I have yet to see anyone’s husband (apart from my own) that I want to end up in bed with.
Maybe I will try a charm offensive and smile at some of the grumpier ones today. In my post Champions League euphoria I am Miss Magnanimous. Or I could just send the driver to get the children and sit at home watching old youtube clips of George….

Women of a certain age

Posted on April 18, 2012 by Helena

There is a famous saying that women of a certain age discover either God or gardening. I would like to add a third discovery, every bit as all-encompassing and obsessive: Tennis.
I have loved tennis since I was a child. I was never much good at it, the only training I got was hitting a ball against a wall in a cow-shed, but I watched Wimbledon every year and was mad about Borg, followed by Agassi and Edberg.
Then when we moved here I rediscovered the game. But not in a sort of casual ‘oh I might play when I get the chance’ kind of a way, but an ‘ a day without tennis is like a day without bread’ kind of way, whereby I have panic attacks if I don’t have tennis planned on any given day. Four times a week is a bare minimum.
I am not alone. Which is lucky or I would have to find a cowshed to hit a ball in, and there are not many of those around here.
Happily for me there are plenty of other women who have been hit by the tennis bug and who are willing to play as often as possible. We discuss racquets, top-spin, the mental game and other essential topics.
I have been trying to work out what it is about tennis that makes it so compulsive. It is tough to define, but I think in part it is the mental aspect of the game. It is incredible how much difference it makes to the result if you are focused. As Boris Becker said: “Tennis is a psychological sport. You have to keep a clear head. That’s why I stopped playing.”

Maybe that’s why women of a certain age, with so much going on in their heads, take it up. To experience the sensation of thinking of nothing else but hitting a perfect cross-court backhand.

The best soap opera in the world

Posted on April 3, 2012 by Helena

No, I am not going to drone on about Downton Abbey again. The best soap opera in the world is football. I am utterly addicted to the progress (or lack of it) of Chelsea Football Club. And not just the performances on the field. If David Luiz gets a haircut, it is big news in our household. Luiz you have to understand, does have the MOST amazing hair and also looks like a character from a Mantegna painting, but I digress.

In the Chelsea soap opera so far this year we have had: The great white hope manager, AVB, in some ways (nationality) reminiscent of the best manager the club ever had (Jose) and who even worked with Jose, a fact that elevated him to practically God-like status without doing anything else at all. Of course said manager turns out to be utterly useless, dragging the club through one of its worst periods ever. Then we have had the gorgeous striker who can’t score. Fernando Torres, bought for £50 milllion, making him the most expensive striker in the world, and unable to hit the back of the net. Another sub-plot has been the battle of the old guard; the backbone of the team, Lampard, Terry and Drogba, and their future. Are they too old? Too powerful? Clearly AVB thought so. But in the end, they see him off much to the delight of fans all over the world.

On the field we have three major plots; the premier league, the Champions League and the FA Cup. For the Premier League, the question now is whether or not (because we cannot win it) we will even finish in the top four, meaning we can play in the Champions League next season. If we don’t “make it to Europe” as they call it, we lose clout when it comes to keeping and attracting top players, not to mention a lot of money. One option is to win the Champions League this year, which automatically qualifies us. But we have not even got to the semi-final yet (key game tomorrow) and if we do, we may face Barcelona. The FA Cup is the third plot-line. We face Tottenham (London arch rivals) in the semi-final. We have already booked our tickets to London in case we get to the final. That is one episode we need to see live.

The last episode was a joy to watch. We beat Aston Villa 4-2 and Torres ended a 24-hour Premier League goal drought by scoring. It was poetry. And incredibly dramatic. We were leading 2-0 before they equalised, then we scored twice in the last 15 minutes of the game. Tomorrow night we face Benfica in the quarter finals of the Champions League. We beat them 1-0 in the first leg so expectations are high.Then it’s the FA Cup semi-final.

There is no soap opera in the world that gives you the same levels of misery, joy, elation and frustration as following a football team does. The cast is a little bereft of female characters and there is little or no love interest (unless Ashley Cole gets back together with Cheryl), but you can’t have it all.

A Tiger in my gym

Posted on February 5, 2012 by Helena

A week ago today I spotted a rare and beautiful creature in my gym. Many women have sighted him before me, but it still felt very special. It was none other than the ‘casually sweaty Tiger Woods’ creature, former world number one golfer and reason that millions of women (and probably men) watch golf now, even though they had never heard of the game before he bounced on to the scene.

We had a deep and meaningful discussion. Me: “Hi Tiger, good luck today, I really hope you win.” Him: “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
He didn’t win, some English bloke no one has ever heard of did, but he played well, and cut a fine figure in his grey sweatshirt and grey shorts (not that I was gazing) with his two bodyguards (I want that job).

Sport seems to dominate my life at the moment. If I’m not spotting Tiger in the gym, I’m on the tennis court. I have become utterly obsessed with tennis. I play it, and then I read about it, at the moment I am going to bed with Rafa’s autobiography every night. Failing that I watch other people play it and then talk endlessly about it. “Can’t you just have an affair like every other women in town?” Rupert asked me the other night as I described my new serving motion.
As I write I see my ical alarm flashing ‘Man U at home’. It is almost time for Chelsea versus Man United. I have been in constant touch today with my old friend Floss who first introduced me to Chelsea when I was 17. She has two children (boys) whose middle names are Stamford and Gianfranco. If only Torres had been playing for us when Leonardo was born he might have been Fernando.

I think one of the things that is so compelling about sport is that it is truly unpredictable, well, apart from Chelsea’s bad form, but as Floss said today, we are delusionally optimistic. On the outside I am saying ‘of course we will lose’ while secretly hoping for a Torres hat-trick. But the point is, we have excitement and unforeseen outcomes, much like a soap opera, without having to sit through 15 hours of Season One. And the heroes are just as good looking, especially in their gym kit.

The new Lampard?

Posted on October 3, 2011 by Helena

Last week, in fact most weeks, was dominated by sport. First Leo became a class rep at school and proudly shared with us the suggestions he is going to make to improve the life of his classmates.

First up, change the astro-turf pitch to grass. Second, create a cover over the football pitch so you can play during the hot summer months.

“Do any of your suggestions,” I asked him, “not involve football?”

He thought for a moment and then said: “Good point.” I’m sure we will see some rugby and cricket suggestions too.

Last night we watched Chelsea v Bolton. Frank Lampard scored a hat-trick. There are few things that make Leo and I happier than Lampard playing well. For Leo he is an integral part of the Chelsea team he first fell in love with a few years ago, along with John Terry and Didier Drogba. For me, he represents a side of football that I love and that you rarely see nowadays.

Lampard, who played his 350th game for Chelsea last night, comes from footballing stock – his father played for West Ham. His best friend is John Terry, the Chelsea and England captain. When he scored his hat-trick, he held up three fingers and looked to the sky, a gesture he has taken to since the sad death of his mother a couple of years ago. He is what I would call a proper bloke and you get the impression that his team is like his family, not just a place he earns lots of cash.

On the other end of the scale you have spoilt brats like Tevez, the Man City player who refused to play last week. Boys who are paid more than the GDP of some small countries and behave like divas. They take the soul out of the game and their teams. Say what you like about Abramovich, but he has kept the spirit of Chelsea alive, even if he has pumped millions into it.

It will be a terribly sad day when Frank (now 33) finally retires, but maybe there is a young boy out there watching, who loves Chelsea and longs to be the new Lampard? Just as soon as he’s sorted out the astro-turf issue.

Moustache? What moustache?

Posted on July 16, 2011 by Helena

When I was a little girl, we lived at a place called Home Farm, just outside Newbury in Berkshire. We rented part of a house on the farm. There was a lot to do in the English countryside; making houses with bails of straw, for example, and cycling around the lanes. But by far my favourite thing was hitting a tennis ball against a wall in one of the large barns. When the calves were there, they would watch if there was no food to eat, but otherwise I was alone.
I was mad about tennis even then. I collected a scrapbook of all the press clipping when Virginia Wade won Wimbledon in1977. I tried to get into the team at my school, Shaw House School for Girls. It was all going swimmingly until I told the captain, Agnes, how to deal with her facial hair problem. I’m not sure she thought she had a problem with facial hair and thus what could have been a celebrated school career was cruelly thwarted. I never even got to try out for the team.

This morning I was delighted to find that Leo has discovered the joys of hitting a ball against a wall. All the furniture downstairs was moved (it is too hot to hit outside) and there he was, blissfully practicing hie forehand and backhand. We even had a little rally together, us against the wall. The wall won of course, it always does.

I am happy to announce that in addition to the wall, Leo has discovered the joy of playing tennis (we have played every evening since we got back), watching tennis (when I was ill with food poisoning this weekend he lay on my bed with me and watched four hours of tennis clips on Youtube) and learning about tennis (we get lessons from a website called Fuzzy Yellow Balls), as well as talking about tennis at every given opportunity.

This is all ideal for me, because poor Rupert has had enough. “My last wife was obsessed with golf, and you’re obsessed with tennis. Can’t I just have a normal wife?” he complained yesterday as I was telling him of my plans for Leo’s tennis-playing future. Clearly he needs to win Wimbledon, as soon as possible, and my plan is to recruit Rafa as his coach once he retires (just in case you have forgotten what Rafa looks like, here’s his picture).

So as long as Leo stays keen, I will always have someone to talk to, and I won’t ever have to hit a ball against a wall again. Once he starts school again in September I will also impress on him the importance of telling the school captain how fetching his moustache is.

Another grand day

Posted on July 3, 2011 by Helena

OK so I know I said in the last blog that it’s amazing how little you can get done on holiday, but after a week in Europe I’m amazed at what we have actually achieved.
Yesterday we drove from Pezenas to Rome (I use the term ‘we’ loosely, I drove about 40 minutes of the ten hours. Prior to that we had packed all of this and more into a week:
Swimming naked in a river
Playing badminton in my underwear (is that progress?)
Playing tennis (by said river). Several times.
Shopping in Zara (in Geneva and Annecy)
Watching masses of Wimbledon
Staying with good friends Norrie and Mary
Staying with good friends Simon and Julie (and Julie, I dedicate today’s picture to you)
Staying with good friends Jean-Claude and Alex (Jean-Claude of wine-making fame whose wine is in Love in a Warm Climate)
Staying with my seemingly ageless in-laws
Playing tennis on a clay-court in Pezenas
Reading almost half a book
Eating my first plate of proper Italian pasta in Lucca
Seeing my lovely mother and Swedish cousins I have not met since I was a child

And today of course is the Mens’ Wimbledon Final, so how better to end this blog than with a gorgeous picture of the 2011 champion (we hope).

Middle Class no more

Posted on June 19, 2011 by Helena

OK, so I would have preferred him to become a tennis player, but it seems that if he is destined for sporting greatness Leo will be a footballer. But it will not be an easy journey. I just thought that people were born with amazing talent (which he clearly is!) and then became rich and famous.

Apparently not, according to a brilliant book I am reading called ‘Bounce – How Champions Are Made’ all about the secrets of success. It’s all about the ’10,000 hours’ Matthew Syed the author says. Even Mozart, who is considered a child prodigy, had had 6,500 hours of music practice by the time he was 10. So it wasn’t the fact that he was incredibly talented that made him so brilliant, but rather his father pestering him to play musical instruments all day every day. In fact he didn’t start composing his best work until he was in his twenties, by which time he had notched up the golden 10,000 hours.

I discussed the whole sporting greatness thing with Jamie, a friend of mine who is in sports management. “Leo doesn’t stand a chance,” he told me. “You’re far too middle class and nice. Middle class kids don’t become sporting superstars.” He has a point. Look at the way Agassi became the tennis player he was. His father made him hit 2,500 balls A DAY. The Williams sister were in full-time training by the time they were three. And Tiger Woods could hole a put before he could walk properly. Am I prepared to go to such extremes in order to make sure Leo is the new Lampard? In any case, it’s probably too late by now. He’s already seven, so over the hill by these standards.

Still, I am prepared to make some efforts. Today at work my friend Katie told me about how Beckham had a tyre in his garden which he used to kick a football through. When he had got it through 100 times he would go in for his tea. I told Leo about this, whose little eyes lit up. “I’ve got just the perfect thing mummy,” he said scurrying off to come back a minute later with my Pilates ring. So we have rigged it up and he has already got the ball through four times.

Only another 96 to go……middle-class, moi?

Celebrity sweating

Posted on June 9, 2011 by Helena

Twitter, facebook and all that is all very well, but if you really want to know what’s going on, read the Daily Mail. That’s how I found out, literally seconds ago, that John Terry (Chelsea and England Captain) is here in Abu Dhabi, staying at the Emirates Palace Hotel.

There are pictures of him and his family frolicking on the beach, which is totally empty, despite the presence of a premier league player. Funny that as it’s about 50 degrees Celsius today and I can barely walk from my car door to my front door without breaking into a hideous sweat.

These pics are clearly staged. After his Giggs-like behaviour last year, he wants to make it clear all is well in the Terry household. Does he really think we’re stupid enough to fall for that? And also, why has he picked Abu Dhabi? I’m amazed he found a paparazzi brave enough to join them on the beach in this heat and humidity.

Anyway, my point is this – how do I get him to meet Leo, spot the talent of the young man and sign him up for the Chelsea Academy? Hang out on the beach with the young footballer and his favourite (blue) football I guess. If only it weren’t so hot……

Retirement plans

Posted on May 17, 2011 by Helena

Rupes and I were discussing football managers this morning, like you do…. Obviously changes are being planned at Chelsea, yet again. One of the reasons we are lagging behind Man U is that we lack the consistency they have achieved in part by holding on to the same manager for 25 years. WE have had six in eight years.

I asked Rupes if he thought Sir Alex might retire now he has overtaken Liverpool’s premier league record of 18 wins.

“To do what?” he replied. “He loves it.”

He has a point. Which got me thinking about our retirement. Of course with everyone living to be about 100 and five children between us, we probably won’t retire until we are 80. But when it happens, there is at least one thing I really want to do. I want to follow the clay-court tennis season from Monaco to Barcelona to Madrid to Rome and then Paris. Can you imagine a more perfect trip? Think of the food, the wine, the shopping, and of course the tennis.

The only downside is Rafa, of course, will no longer be playing. But perhaps his son will?