Well, what a full day's tennissss we had on our first day.
But I started the day in a raging mood with a dollop of baying to the moon thrown in to boot. I'd had some trouble on Tuesday with the "playback" mode on my new camera, ie. it didn't play back any pictures, but on Wednesday, I'd lost the whole LCD view function and it seemed like the whole thing had jammed. As it was a day when I wanted my new camera the most, I was totally fed up. Then the driver of the No. 100 bus decided that instead of parking correctly as he should do so that those at the front of the queue could get on first, he parked in the middle, so it was another meleé to get on. At least we got a seat though. On arrival at Monte Carlo and after we'd bought lunch, I got a text from my Mum about [my dog] Rose (who I'd been thinking a lot about and missing), and that made me *wail*. So I'd run the gamut of emotions before we'd even started.
But we made our way to Rafa's practice court and within 10 minutes ... there he was! Biggest hug of the day had to go to Rafan, who let me borrow her newest of cameras so that I at least could get some pictures on my SD card and I'm really grateful that she did.
Rafa was in one of his grumpy practice moods. As Rafan and I were of the first to arrive, we plonked ourselves right behind Rafa's chair. Its fabulous to be so close to him because he's literally feet away from you, close enough even to touch ... but the downside is that you really only get pictures of the back of his head or his neck. But when it looks like it does in the picture above with those loveable curls ... who cares? And when it gets wet and sweaty so much so that you can see the little beads running down it (see below), well ... *thud*
Rafa did his usual training drills and his partner was Stakhovsky. Seems that anyone who speaks out publicly in support of him ends up being "rewarded" with practice. I wouldn't say that Rafa was hitting particularly hard, and I wouldn't say that he was enjoying himself much. When Toni was talking to him, you could pick out the names of other players, or "player" I should say - Djokovic - but he was only on there for an hour before he was off on his way.
So we left to meet up with the VB girls for a bit of a gossip and then Rafan and I went to look round the stands. She was already a bit laden down before we'd even entered the Club. Simply because she'd picked up a free Tennis mag, a paper containing the day before's news, a local paper, the Order of Play and then she bought a programme. I ended up buying a Rafa t-shirt, the one where he is all pixilated, but I figured it would feel nice to have Rafa on my chest ;) With it came a free poster, so when the woman at the till said "do you want a poster?", Rafan answered, "YESSS!!" and then the silly bint said to me, "Do you want a Rafa or Roger poster?" I'd just bought a Rafa t-shirt what sort of poster do you think I want!! But then Rafan asked if she could have one too anyway.
As we walked away in search of the Tennis magazine stand that Rafan had spent a fortune in last year, she thought cos one poster looked red and another blue, that we might have been given a Rafa AND a Roggie poster. So I told her to look and to get rid of it, now! if it was a Roggie one ... but it turned out they were just the same. :D
So we found the Tennis magazine store and if you bought 17 magazines, you ended up with 37 free posters ... so guess who did? *whistle* Next we found ourselves upon a picture stall, you know the framed type with autographs and the like, and do you remember how Rafan swopped numbers with the lovely Victor in Cordoba cos she wanted that R-A-F-A picture well, there he was again and straight away he recognised us. He greeted me with a lovely open, warm European kiss and he greeted Rafan by calling her Susan ... He said he still had the picture that she liked and that he would sell it to her for €95. She reminded him it was €75 in Cordoba, and he said she could have it at the same price. What a salesman ... *roll*
It was then lunchtime, and although Djokovic was due on court, we decided we'd go in and eat it there as he could possibly put his opponent away in an hour, and to trek up to the practice area to come back again is a bit of a schlep. So whilst the PoD did his thing, I hoped that me chomping on a baguette and crunching my curleo crisps things might put him off ... it didn't, but it wound up the Feddie Mother Theresas sitting next to me, so that was good enough. Whilst the PoD's scoreline seemed easy enough that day, he had to play several deuce points and took over an hour and half. He wasn't on top form either yet. What made me laugh very hard though, was that after the match, the on-court interviewer welcomed him to his "home tournament".
And so ... it was Rafatime! It wasn't vintage by any stretch of the imagination, and Rafa was knocked on his heels on a few occasions by aggressive play and big, flat hitting by Niemanunmanumm, but he's still not good enough to give Rafa some real difficultly.
One mildly disturbing thing happened again though, and that was Rafa's inability to serve out a match. How many times has this happened now? What on earth was going around his head? Worrying ...
But he was through and all done in front of another legend as Bjorn Borg was also watching there on that day.
As the wind got up it swirled around and got colder and colder, to such an extent that Rafan wished she'd had a scarf. Then she remembered her Spanish flag and promptly tied it round her neck to help her keep warm. This was during the doubles and the funny thing was that lovely Mo came out to watch and sat in the players' box which wasn't too far from us, and his and Rafan's flirt game continued as he beckoned over to her and did the *shiver* motion. That Mo ... he's such a card.
Speaking of the doubles, well the highlight was being treated to lovely, soxy Fer. It was a fairly good match, and I was just a bit gutted that the Spanish boys lost, seeing as they had breaks, but it ended up with a Champions tie break. Towards the end of it, Fer took his cap off, poured water all over his head, shook it, and brushed the wet hair back. I wasn't quick enough to capture in on camera. Sadly, Fer and partner lost the tie breaker after we were cheering them loudly on. Because a final word on that match ... Llodra. What an odious twonk he is.
This time he didn't have some "sensitive" woman to blame, or an over zealous journalist putting out so-called nonsense on Twitter. He smashed a racquet in anger when he lost a game. Within minutes, he'd angrily smashed another one. He got a warning for racquet abuse, but even though he is responsible for his behaviour and the umpire applied the rules with a warning, Llodra started with a tirade against little Mohammed. And it wasn't a short tirade, it took the length of the change over, and so Mohammed would have none of it and deducted a point. Lovely Mo in the box wagged his finger at such behaviour, and Llodra wouldn't even shake the umpire's hand when it ended. And then he let him have another gobful as he was leaving. Twonk.
So it was time to go and Rafan and I went to the Ladies before making our trek back to Nice. And both of us stared in the mirror and said a hearty "hello" to the two scarecrows looking right back at us. I had mascara down my face and my hair having been blown to death looked like a rats nest. I also had a lovely red burnt circle on my chest. Rafan had a forehead that is as bright red as beacon. Gorgeous. Whoever said watching tennis was glamorous??
Another packed day awaited us on Thursday, and by the way ... I pushed an LCD button on my camera and it started working again. Good job, because the pictures I took that day with Rafan's were so lovely, she needed it back!
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