Wimbledon: Murray Mania

IF you have noticed that the women in your life are more irritable and distracted than usual then don’t worry. It’s only Wimbledon and they’re all suffering from Murray Mania.

This condition involves hot flushes whenever the Scot is playing and palpitations whenever his adoring multitudes are lucky enough to see him change his shirt.

Other symptoms include breathlessness which lasts the whole time he remains in the competition and tears when he doesn’t.

There is no rhyme or reason for this female metamorphosis since Murray is no different from any other man women are likely to come across.

OK, maybe he can still see his feet when the rest of us can’t because our view is blocked by water retention and I grant you that he can still move without a zimmer frame, but that is no reason for our women to spurn us quite so cavalierly.

After due consideration, I’ve put the female race’s annual two week rejection of their lords – if not their masters – down to the fact that mere mortal men like ourselves are known quantities whereas Murray offers the allure of being mean, moody and unattainable.

But men will just have to get used to the fact that things won’t change and above all else avoid making things worse by trying to emulate women’s highland dreamboat.

Stalking down at breakfast and issuing peremptory demands for a bowl of porridge “and be quick about it” will generate the required speedy response, but you’ll end up wearing your porridge rather than eating it.

And definitely don’t try and smash any crockery in the style of Murray smashing his racket or there will be an Arctic-like response and a few clipped sentences about that vase being a gift from her mother.

Just leaves things be, pull up the mental drawbridge, get in a few beers and make sure you’ve got the number of the local takeaway.

Did I not mention food? Oh, in that case know that fending for yourself is a useful talent during Wimbledon unless you like sausages and custard followed by toad-in-the-crumble because it’s a real possibility that that’s what your partner may serve you.

Any suggestion of miff with her offering will be dismissed with: “Well Murray was in a tiebreak. Do your own meal next time!” followed by retirement to the TV.

This is clearly “Advantage woman” and that is usually followed by game, set and match because she can return any of your serves with ferocious interest.

So decide early that it just isn’t worth all the grief and book a couple of weeks away with the boys hitting the bars in Benidorm.

She won’t notice you’ve gone and, when you do return, to a house with the curtains drawn and flickering images of white-clad figures on the wall, she’ll probably say: “Oh, there you are. I thought you were down the garden.” You won’t be missed and you can’t compete.

 

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