I played tennis with a (really hot) girl I found on a London Tennis forum. She said that she hadn't played in a year and that really showed for the first 45 minutes or so: lots of shanks, balls sailed out, balls landed smack in the net, etc. I tend to play to my partner's level, i.e. if my partner plays well, I am likely to play well; if my partner plays like shit, I usually end up playing like shit too. As a result, for the first 45 minutes, I was a hot mess and was getting extremely irritated with myself.
Then she started playing better, and better, and better - and I started playing better too. The last 45 minutes were sheer awesomeness. I hit some incredible forehands and my backhand was on fire. Nothing feels better than a perfectly timed backhand because that is how much I love my favourite shot. I was also getting so tired that I was grunting on virtually every shot, which I only do when I'm experiencing a significant level of fatigue. It was an awesome work-out and a great end to the session. Loved it.
The girl was super funny and chatty. She was waiting for her friend, some Scottish (?) guy whom she liked, and she started telling me about him, and I stayed with her to wait for him to arrive. I found it interesting how open she was, as opposed to my usual reserved self; I could never start chatting about my private life to a near-stranger the way she did. She was really, really pretty too, to the point that I felt intimidated, which I hardly ever feel, especially not in London (if you know what I mean).
The guy that she liked was kind of tubby; totally not my type. Seemed nice though.
Now that London is finally getting warmer, I am beginning to miss the cooler temperatures. It's one thing complaining about the cold and having the option of escaping indoors where radiators are installed and working; it's another thing altogether complaining about the heat and the hot weather because 1) public transport in London is not equipped with air-conditioning; and 2) half the places in London are not equipped with air-conditioning. I took the tube to the tennis courts and I sweat more on the tube and waiting for my transfer at Bank station than I did while actually playing tennis. I wanted to die. It was so, so, so hot. I don't understand why TFL cannot install air-conditioning at the platforms and in the trains and just turn them on for like, two weeks a year. How difficult is that? I am going to avoid taking the tube as much as I can. I just cannot have a good day if I find myself drenched in sweat after 2 minutes of waiting for the train at the platform.
The point of this entry was really to write about this thing that I'm now going to write about. I was walking back to my hall after I got off the bus, still wearing my tennis skirt but with my Advantage Federer t-shirt over my tank top, and some guy in a passing car rolled down his window and yelled, "Sexy!" He could have been yelling at someone else; didn't really care. I then walked past a kebab place, outside which some random Middle Eastern-looking guy stood. As I past him, he looked at me and said, "Maria Sharapova."
I FUCKING BURST OUT LAUGHING. I literally kept walking and burst out laughing and continued laughing to myself for a good 20 seconds. The first thing that popped to my head was, "Not even the same ethnicity."
There are way too many weird people in London.
Watched the Wimbledon final before going to tennis. It made me miss the amazing Federer/Murray final from last year.
I don't care enough to comment on this year's final, so all I will say is that the last game, when Murray was serving for it, was amazing from both players. Too bad that Djokovic seems to be able to play his best when he's staring down defeat and literally has nothing to lose; for the rest of the match, he was clowning around like a first-time slam finalist. I don't care for either of them but wanted Murray to win it because Djokovic is so bad on grass (the number of times he slipped and fell in the match was tragic) that it would be a disgrace if he had another Wimbledon title.
Also don't care about Britain's first Wimbledon champion in 77 years after Fred Perry won it in 1930-something. Yay?