Good Day, Sunshine

Sonnet and the kids join me to Richmond Park on a sunny late afternoon so I can run repeats on the mile connector, which is a nice flat stretch in the middle of the park. While I am gone, they make friends and spend a good hour hunting for broken golf tees. A group sets up a cricket game nearby and I make sure we aren't too close to the "sticky wicket" (who the hell understands this game). The other sport going is tennis in neighboring Wimbledon yet somehow ages away. A couple of Brits get through the first round but it is Andy Murray we all want. At 22, he shows potential and many, including commentators Chris Evert and John McEnroe, pick him to go all the way. This assumes he can be Federa where he has a 6-2 advantage in games played. Not shabby. Murray is famously Scottish, which he shall remain should he crash out in the early rounds. At some point he becomes "British" (middle rounds) and finally a "Londoner" or "Our Andy" should he make it to the final. We have already forgotten Tim Henman who was a jolly good player, you see, but broke our hearts every time.

"Then we'd lie beneath the shady tree
I love her and she's loving me
She feels good, she knows she's looking fine
I'm so proud to know that she is mine.

Good Day Sunshine, Good Day Sunshine, Good Day Sunshine"
--Beatles