by Last month a team which, for marketing purposes, has “New Zealand” in its name, won some weird hybrid sailing–cycling event in Bermuda (!), part of which is called the Louis Vuitton (!) Cup. Undoubtedly millions of Kiwis took the marketing bait and got right into it, unable to take their eyes off every tack and gybe and pedal, even though very few of them could spell or pronounce Louis Vuitton.
Yesterday the Lions tour concluded. I didn’t watch that either but it seemed altogether more wholesome than the Battle of the Bermuda Triangle. Nobody deserved to lose and nobody did lose. How fantastic is that? I find it a little odd that so many people can’t accept draws in sport. In a timed sport, a draw is always a possibility, and I don’t see the problem with that. Why is it so vital to crown a winner by any means possible? Of course there are exceptions: in a knockout competition somebody has to be knocked out, and some sports are structured so that a draw is impossible, such as…
Ah yes, tennis. Isn’t it great to be watching Wimbledon again in the daytime and in summer? And filling in a drawsheet with all the winners and losers and (partial) scores. The men’s draw has been intriguing, the women’s fascinating, and while the commentary on Eurosport has been lightweight at best and simply awful at worst, it’s been great to see all these new players in action.
Dad had an exhibition last week; he’s had shows at that gallery since the mid-eighties, only the gallery is no longer in St Ives but somewhere out in the wops. He sold three paintings (out of thirty) on the night and has sold a fourth since then. I remember when there’d be three paintings unsold on the night. It ain’t like the old days. Dad was lucky to be born when he was. Without the opportunity to pursue his passion, I dread to think what might have become of him.
For me, work is frustratingly sporadic right now. In the height of summer, people’s minds are elsewhere.
