The English Rose Knows: Tennis
Ihave never really had my eye on the ball. More on Sampras’ shorts or Agassi’s shoulders. From a young age, my mother sent me off to lessons (“a social must and the whites look so divine”). Each game usually ended with my racket thrown to the floor in a frustration of failed forehands. Of course, my mother was right, the whites are pure chic and I’ve had to rally with many a boyfriend, but I now see the game as more of a spectator sport.
If you must play, opt for doubles then pick a strong partner. Follow his lead, feign passionate competitive spirit and serve a couple of aces (yes, I have at least perfected those). If all else fails, ply your competition with Pimms and watch their vision blur and footwork fail. Fifteen-love.
Off court is where I prefer to be. Ideally, Centre Court at Wimbledon (though any of the courts to find hot young talent). Stawberries and champagne from the first serve to the last volley. The elegant tennis whites endorsed by my mother are now adorned with hand-painted blossom in my silk summer dress of choice. Supersized sunglasses mean I can see the serves through the sunshine. They’ll also hide when my eye wanders off the ball to the ball boys. Game, set, match.
The English Rose x