You young people are always blaming your jelly bellies on the lockdown. Look at me, I’m 82 (of course, like many pretty women, I lie about my age) and I’ve never been so sporty — that too, in the most competitive sports. I’ve been fitness-obsessed these last few weeks — toned abs and biceps and triceps! Every single day, morning and evening. I am so proud of myself. Come over for coffee, and when the grandkids are out of the room, I can show you the really impressive ones. You can admire them too.
Now, I’m learning tennis. It started with French Open, then Wimbledon. I’ve been practising the moves to perfection. Look, I move my thumb for Men’s Singles and index finger for Ladies’ and two last fingers bring on Doubles. If the grandkids whine for the remote, I sit on it and giggle when they hunt around. Don’t ask me the players’ names, my memory isn’t what it used to be, and so many lovas and movas, cics and pacs (‘ Daadiji , stop talking about six packs,’ my grandkids scold, silly things!) — Slovakia, Slovenia, Melania… all so super fit! See, I recorded the highest jumps. Should I replay them in slow motion? And that Djoker-boy is always hugging the grass, God bless him. What about these stunning 19-year-olds? My grandkids should be inspired. All they do is eat chips and watch NFL because they want to do college in America. They are doing research on the culture, very good, very good.
Cricket, of course, I’ve grown up with and know so well that I only wake up when someone shouts ‘Wicket!’ or ‘Wicked!’ or maybe even ‘Biscuit!’ My hearing isn’t what it used to be, you know. I don’t know why they make these poor cricketers sweat in the scorching sun in long pants. I wrote so many letters to ICC volunteering to design their sportswear. I will go to training sessions to do measuring and fit-outs, I offered. See how these footballers dress? Very well-ventilated! Sometimes they fall and scrape their knees, poor things, I wonder how their mothers watch without crying. I wrote to Euro Cup organisers too, volunteering to give first-aid, when they get thigh muscle and stomach muscle pulls and all.
Anyway, now someone is shouting ‘Goal!’ or ‘Goat!’ or ‘Foul!’ or ‘Bowl’? Of pakodas I hope, not that zero-calorie kweenowaa — tastes like horse feed! ‘ Daadiji !’ they are complaining, ‘we can’t replay that jump for the third time, you must try not to fall asleep.’
Where Jane De Suza, the author of Happily Never After, talks about the week’s quirks, quacks and hacks
