Who needs Big Brother when you've got Wimbledon? Instead of paying a pound to text some little slag out of the BB house, you can just sit back and watch the finest tennis players evict each other from the court. There's no drunken snogging, but they do have better legs. Just like Big Brother, I tend to ignore the spectacle for the first wee while until they filter out the rubbish, leaving the more interesting characters behind. After that I'm hooked for every episode, sneaking online at work to check the scores, staying up late; watching previews and highlights and rain delays. I was right there to the last broadcast when the Beeb did their usual grainy montage of the past two weeks. I curled up on the couch with misty eyes, smiling and nodding, "Ohh bless, I remember that bit. Oh wasn't that one marvellous. Oh classic shot. Happy days." A few highlights: Best Newcomer When Tim Henman lost in the second round, the hopes and expectations of a nation were dumped on Scottish sensation Andy Murray. Henmania was snuffed out at last, now the annual frenzied fortnight where Britain actually gives a shit about tennis shall be painfully known as "Andymonium". It will be interesting to see if the tabloids call him British when he wins and Scots when he loses, a la Russell Crowe who's Australian if he wins an Oscar and Kiwi if he clocks someone on the scone with a telephone. Best Commentator Jimmy Connors made a great addition to the BBC team with his intelligent commentary and boyish enthusiasm. He'd often let fly with a giddy "Wow!" or "Unbelieeeevable!" after a great shot. He had one of those wholesome, mild, Gee whiz Mom, your cookies sure taste great! all-American accents that makes you wish he was your dad. However the star of the show is still Boris Becker and his bleached echidna haircut. I love his inability to pronounce "Wimbledon" and his charming English, "Roddick just did not have the full horsepowers today". Best of all is how he nods, narrows his eyes and pouts ridiculously at the end of a big sentence. I sat in front of the telly for three nights trying to record this for you but still couldn't catch him at the right moment, which shows not only how sad I am but also my shithouse photography skills.
Best Match Maria Sharapova v Venus Williams in the Women's semi-final. Some people were put off by their constant grunting, some found it both hilarious and faintly arousing. Best Eye Candy I can't believe I used to have the hots for Pete Sampras and his All-Conquering Monobrow. I blame Cleo magazine and the Daily Telegraph. According to a Cleo article in the early 90s, statistically the most enduring relationships occur when the bloke is six years older than the girl. Then during the Australian Open, the Telegraph reported that Pistol Pete was six years older than me. Well they didn't phrase it exactly like that, but I was teenager and it was a long hot summer and I figured we were destined to be. I moved on a few years later upon noticing that Mark Philippoussis had better legs. But then I realised that he too had a monobrow, and was getting a bit fancy with his facial hair. Plus hooking up with Delta Goodrem was most off-putting. So I moved on to Roger Federer. Roger may not grunt, but he has great hair and cried when he won yesterday, even though he'd won twice before. Such sudden bursts of pent-up emotion are devastatingly attractive. Plus he is Swiss, so he would be efficient and tidy. But then again I do have a tops husband and he has that long term girlfriend who washes his clothes with the Special Laundry Powder during tournaments. He was also born in 1982, and it's just wrong to be perving on someone born in the 80s.