Two men and a woman commentating on the Women's Final at Wimbledon for the BBC. Will it be two women and a man for the Men's Finals tomorrow? No, of course it won't. How can the BBC justify this blatant sexism? What possible reason can they give for choosing men when there are brilliant women available to do the job? It makes me sick, and angry. I'd love to grab Tony Hall - Lord Bloody Hall of Birkenhead - by his dangly bits and give them a good twist.
At least Serena won. And I went over the match in my mind as a distraction as I ushered at what must have been the most tedious event of the year. A local dancing school had hired the hall to show off their students, allegedly aged from 2 to 82. Well, there were plenty of tiny girls in a variety of costumes, muddling by on stage, bumping into each other, out of synch with the music, usually good for a laugh but not tonight, and a few fat middle aged women going through their paces, midriffs rolling to the beat, and occasionally there was something good. But mostly it was awful, mind-shatteringly dreadful. The Dorothy Parker quote "What fresh hell is this?" kept coming into my mind as yet another troupe of dancers took to the stage in a seamless flow. Dick sitting next to me was in agony, literally writhing in his seat with horror and occasionally whispering rude or funny comments in my ear as the mood took him. But we survived, and the Snape evening when we finally emerged into the dusk was calm, warm and clear. Beautiful.
Today the barley field has been full of Polish workers pulling up the last few pieces of rogue wheat. It's been hot, but they haven't paused in their work. Among them was my Icelandic friend, pale amongst the dark skins. I can't believe they are about to harvest. There is rain forecast for tonight and much of next week. Surely they'll wait until it's over?
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