Well, as you know we had a little Rafateer gathering this weekend. Rafan and I pitched up in London town first on Friday, and she arrived before me to take our room at the hotel. I knew something was up as she text to me say that I would need oxygen to get to our room, and was she ever right. Whereas last year we were on the ground floor, this year we had been put into the attic room along with the scullery maids and a vacuum cleaner called “Henry”, and after taking the EIGHTY steps over FIVE floors, I finally collapsed on my bed and nearly sliced myself in pieces in my hurry to turn the fan on as a means to recover.
Within 10 minutes of meeting each other, Rafan and I were already :boxing: however, she did come to my rescue when I visited our bathroom which wasn’t big enough to swing the proverbial =cat in. As I didn’t feel there was room for the door to open inwards, my addled brain told me that it must slide somehow, so I tried to slide and then to pull and push ... but to no avail ... and then my mild claustrophobia kicked in as I screamed “I CAN’T OPEN THE DOOR!! ” so she came running to let me out. But with this panic, the journey, the beastly Southern precipitation (that we never see sight of in Manchester) and the sweat pouring off me as I made that hideous climb, my hair resembled that of a poodle, so I thought I’d better bring out the old hairdryer in an attempt to straighten it ... only to find there was no mirror ... anywhere. So Rafan told me to blow dry my hair “... from memory”. :erm:
We then headed off into town for the first of the afternoon’s activities ... a trip to the Tate Modern. We had hoped that the lovely Princess Catherine’s wedding dress might be on show somewhere, but as that is not until July, I cunningly found out that a stunning retrospective exhibition was on display at the TM of my favourite artist’s work – the Catalan painter Joan (as in Juan) Miro (as in Mee-ro) ... not Joan (as in Joan) Miro (as in Myrow) ... as Rafan said. :doh: So the poor lamb had to cough up £15.00 for the privilege as I ooh’ed and aah’ed my way round it ... and she later admitted that she couldn’t even understand the explanations to the paintings, never mind the paintings themselves. :laughing: She did, however, like “Dog Barking at the Moon” ... because it actually looked like ... a dog barking at the moon. (Note to self ... any future bossy itineraries that include trips to art galleries need to be labelled [optional] for the other philistine Rafateers ... :run: )
As we were going to the theatre that evening, we left the gallery to schlep it over to Theatreland and to find somewhere near The Garrick to have some tea. By this time, it was chucking it down – hard - but Rafan somehow managed to safely route march us completely round several blocks in the pouring rain when a simple direct route was to be had. :doh: As I have a total aversion to restaurant chains (unless they are Carluccio’s, cos I like them) ... we had dinner in a little Italian restaurant, where Rafan ordered the best meal and promptly scoffed it in one, and I had food :envy:
We then crossed the road to be massively entertained by “Pygmalion” ... a fantastic production featuring Rupert Everett as Henry Higgins, Kara Tointon as Eliza and there was also fellow Dame :courtesy: Diane Rigg as Mrs Higgins, and Irene from Eastenders was the Housekeeper. It was fab-u-lous and I would heartily recommend it to anyone. After scoffing ice cream back in the restaurant, we made our journey home and off into our pit.
I was then up on Saturday morning with the Larks, as Larky Lark Rafan and I were heading off to Wimbers for [hopefully] a bit of Rafa-action. It was a hellish over-land, under-land, oversea journey as engineering works were taking place on the underground to Wimbledon the weekend before the Championships. Go figure. We arrived just before 9 am (although we had taken no breakfast at the hotel – too early – Rafan had said that we could have something in the Village when we got there, but then deduced it would be 8.30 am therefore “no time” ... so we ate doughy croissants and drank coffee on the train.)
Sadly, a very weak sounding Womble called me whilst we were waiting to say that she had been persistently ill for 12 hours and just couldn’t make it. Get well soon, Womble, such a shame, and we really missed you. We then spotted this figure coming down the hill ... Toni!! ... in his dark shades and looking mighty fine (down, Wooffs). We both said “morning Toni!” as he went past and he smiled and acknowledged us, and then I said “Good luck”, and he turned to say “thank you”. :swoon:
There were some blokes waiting outside the gate when we arrived ... and sometimes you just KNOW that someone is just not right, that something is just ... wrong ... and they stood out like a sore thumb. And this is a difficult thing. We went up to the club obviously to see if we could meet Rafa for an autograph and a photo before he enters the gate to the ground, just as we did last year. However, we do try to do this either in or outside the public arena where as a tennis player, he’s off to ply his trade. Last year, Toni and Rafa came down a different hill and from where we saw Toni this year, we knew that they must have moved back to the old house that they’ve rented before. Now we know exactly where that house is, (as its in the public domain), but we try to leave private Rafa alone, stay where we are, and only ask him for his autograph and stuff when he’s about to enter the Club. It is each to their own, but it wasn’t really very nice seeing him hassled by these men asking him to sign one thing after the other as he left his house and all way down the hill to the gate, and we know full well its only to flog it for a few quid on Ebay afterwards. They are NOT real fans, and I am GLAD one got arrested (which we found out later that one did). None of the players deserve being treated like that.
But by the time Rafa came to Rafan though, I could see his mood change because a simple “Good morning, Rafa” to him makes all the difference, and I said the same and minded my manners and I’m very pleased to say that he signed my USO picture so I now have the trio of pics of last year’s Slams signed. There was absolutely no chance of a photo this year, but it was lovely that he still stopped for us. Thank you Rafa. Poor old Denz who came down on Saturday morning just missed him though.
But you forget readers, just how tall he is, so slim, but those men excepted, he looked relaxed and tanned, even if he was probably a bit fed up to have to get up so early in the morning :whistle: Other people we saw were Dimples in a car as he was taken to the car park ... but they must have just dumped him there to practise as we didn’t see him come out. :D We also saw Tomas Berdych ... so that was Rafan’s quota of squeezes sorted out. Which reminds me ... She was gutted that she didn’t have anything that she could ask Sod to sign ... and then she started to get uppity with me because I said that I REFUSED to take a picture of her with him. Good job then that he was left in the car park ...
The surprise of the day was one Andy Roddick. I’ve seen him play before, but then again up close ... he’s so very tall and without the sweat rolling off him and his cap, his oversized shirt and the constant twiddle and tweaking that goes on in his man area ... he is actually verrrry handsome (in that American, preppy kind of way). So we wished him “Good Luck” and he was so polite and well mannered, looking back at us to thank us and stuff.
He is my new *squeeze* :D
Anyhow ... it was then time to hot foot it (via the bus, cos Denz and I are sensible), into the Village where we eventually went to the one restaurant chain (Carluccio’s) that I like, and we met up with Pearl and Mrs L. Of course there was plenty of chat about Rafa and his chances for Wimbers and we were obviously, thoughtful, meaningful and well balanced as we also discussed his potential opponents and their chances. :cough:
After a much needed rest, we then got changed although unlike our Nice apartment, privacy went out of the window and I had to change my pants behind a wardrobe door amongst cries from Rafan to Denz when she entered the room of, “Don’t look! The Dame is changing her pants” ... so Denz politely covered her eyes, only Rafan said that she swore she had just seen a possum. :erm:
And then we ended the day in El Cambio de Tercio ... never expecting Rafa of course, because he doesn’t seem to go there during Wimbledon – unless Shakira is in town, of course, and [sadly] the only eye candy in there was Nicoooooo ... who still looks age 15 when he’s away from the court. No Feli this year :wails: I must say though that the food there is absolutely fabulous ... Rafan and I had some steak thing on fig mash with purple sauce ... Denz had the Devil’s food that is fish ... and then Denz continued with the Devil’s food theme and had some hideous desert with WHITE CHOCOLATE :vomit: that she also coerced Rafan into eating.
I had another glass of wine. “Quelle surprise” was all that cheeky pair could say.
And so we then made our way back to the hotel, and back up the E.I.G.H.T.Y. bl**dy stairs again when Denz then promptly fell over the vacuum cleaner called “Henry” ... (OK, I made that last bit up. ;). And after yet another early start ... here we are all back home and ready for the start of Wimbers tomorrow.
Its exhausting being a Rafateer :laughing: ... but VAMOS RAFA!!!! and thanks to all the Rafateers for making our fun so special, whether it be at our gatherings or those that gather on our thread on 606v2 ... or you guys that read this blog here. I am having some experiences that until all of this is all over, I probably won’t appreciate it as much as I think I do. Its fabulous.
And tomorrow, our lovely Rafa takes to the Centre Court – as Champion – to open the 2011 Championships. And I cannot wait ...
Rafan and I will be there at the Championships on Friday ... so stay tuned here for my reports. VAMOS RAFA !!!
Within 10 minutes of meeting each other, Rafan and I were already :boxing: however, she did come to my rescue when I visited our bathroom which wasn’t big enough to swing the proverbial =cat in. As I didn’t feel there was room for the door to open inwards, my addled brain told me that it must slide somehow, so I tried to slide and then to pull and push ... but to no avail ... and then my mild claustrophobia kicked in as I screamed “I CAN’T OPEN THE DOOR!! ” so she came running to let me out. But with this panic, the journey, the beastly Southern precipitation (that we never see sight of in Manchester) and the sweat pouring off me as I made that hideous climb, my hair resembled that of a poodle, so I thought I’d better bring out the old hairdryer in an attempt to straighten it ... only to find there was no mirror ... anywhere. So Rafan told me to blow dry my hair “... from memory”. :erm:
We then headed off into town for the first of the afternoon’s activities ... a trip to the Tate Modern. We had hoped that the lovely Princess Catherine’s wedding dress might be on show somewhere, but as that is not until July, I cunningly found out that a stunning retrospective exhibition was on display at the TM of my favourite artist’s work – the Catalan painter Joan (as in Juan) Miro (as in Mee-ro) ... not Joan (as in Joan) Miro (as in Myrow) ... as Rafan said. :doh: So the poor lamb had to cough up £15.00 for the privilege as I ooh’ed and aah’ed my way round it ... and she later admitted that she couldn’t even understand the explanations to the paintings, never mind the paintings themselves. :laughing: She did, however, like “Dog Barking at the Moon” ... because it actually looked like ... a dog barking at the moon. (Note to self ... any future bossy itineraries that include trips to art galleries need to be labelled [optional] for the other philistine Rafateers ... :run: )
As we were going to the theatre that evening, we left the gallery to schlep it over to Theatreland and to find somewhere near The Garrick to have some tea. By this time, it was chucking it down – hard - but Rafan somehow managed to safely route march us completely round several blocks in the pouring rain when a simple direct route was to be had. :doh: As I have a total aversion to restaurant chains (unless they are Carluccio’s, cos I like them) ... we had dinner in a little Italian restaurant, where Rafan ordered the best meal and promptly scoffed it in one, and I had food :envy:
We then crossed the road to be massively entertained by “Pygmalion” ... a fantastic production featuring Rupert Everett as Henry Higgins, Kara Tointon as Eliza and there was also fellow Dame :courtesy: Diane Rigg as Mrs Higgins, and Irene from Eastenders was the Housekeeper. It was fab-u-lous and I would heartily recommend it to anyone. After scoffing ice cream back in the restaurant, we made our journey home and off into our pit.
I was then up on Saturday morning with the Larks, as Larky Lark Rafan and I were heading off to Wimbers for [hopefully] a bit of Rafa-action. It was a hellish over-land, under-land, oversea journey as engineering works were taking place on the underground to Wimbledon the weekend before the Championships. Go figure. We arrived just before 9 am (although we had taken no breakfast at the hotel – too early – Rafan had said that we could have something in the Village when we got there, but then deduced it would be 8.30 am therefore “no time” ... so we ate doughy croissants and drank coffee on the train.)
Sadly, a very weak sounding Womble called me whilst we were waiting to say that she had been persistently ill for 12 hours and just couldn’t make it. Get well soon, Womble, such a shame, and we really missed you. We then spotted this figure coming down the hill ... Toni!! ... in his dark shades and looking mighty fine (down, Wooffs). We both said “morning Toni!” as he went past and he smiled and acknowledged us, and then I said “Good luck”, and he turned to say “thank you”. :swoon:
There were some blokes waiting outside the gate when we arrived ... and sometimes you just KNOW that someone is just not right, that something is just ... wrong ... and they stood out like a sore thumb. And this is a difficult thing. We went up to the club obviously to see if we could meet Rafa for an autograph and a photo before he enters the gate to the ground, just as we did last year. However, we do try to do this either in or outside the public arena where as a tennis player, he’s off to ply his trade. Last year, Toni and Rafa came down a different hill and from where we saw Toni this year, we knew that they must have moved back to the old house that they’ve rented before. Now we know exactly where that house is, (as its in the public domain), but we try to leave private Rafa alone, stay where we are, and only ask him for his autograph and stuff when he’s about to enter the Club. It is each to their own, but it wasn’t really very nice seeing him hassled by these men asking him to sign one thing after the other as he left his house and all way down the hill to the gate, and we know full well its only to flog it for a few quid on Ebay afterwards. They are NOT real fans, and I am GLAD one got arrested (which we found out later that one did). None of the players deserve being treated like that.
But by the time Rafa came to Rafan though, I could see his mood change because a simple “Good morning, Rafa” to him makes all the difference, and I said the same and minded my manners and I’m very pleased to say that he signed my USO picture so I now have the trio of pics of last year’s Slams signed. There was absolutely no chance of a photo this year, but it was lovely that he still stopped for us. Thank you Rafa. Poor old Denz who came down on Saturday morning just missed him though.
But you forget readers, just how tall he is, so slim, but those men excepted, he looked relaxed and tanned, even if he was probably a bit fed up to have to get up so early in the morning :whistle: Other people we saw were Dimples in a car as he was taken to the car park ... but they must have just dumped him there to practise as we didn’t see him come out. :D We also saw Tomas Berdych ... so that was Rafan’s quota of squeezes sorted out. Which reminds me ... She was gutted that she didn’t have anything that she could ask Sod to sign ... and then she started to get uppity with me because I said that I REFUSED to take a picture of her with him. Good job then that he was left in the car park ...
The surprise of the day was one Andy Roddick. I’ve seen him play before, but then again up close ... he’s so very tall and without the sweat rolling off him and his cap, his oversized shirt and the constant twiddle and tweaking that goes on in his man area ... he is actually verrrry handsome (in that American, preppy kind of way). So we wished him “Good Luck” and he was so polite and well mannered, looking back at us to thank us and stuff.
He is my new *squeeze*
And so we then made our way back to the hotel, and back up the E.I.G.H.T.Y. bl**dy stairs again when Denz then promptly fell over the vacuum cleaner called “Henry” ... (OK, I made that last bit up. ;). And after yet another early start ... here we are all back home and ready for the start of Wimbers tomorrow.
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