Spec-tacular

A couple of weeks ago I read about a frankly ridiculous offer on glasses from a company called selectspecs. They were (and indeed still are) offering prescription glasses from as little as £8.50 including p&p. What was the catch?

Well, there isn't one. Okay, so there's a fairly limited range of frames to choose from but they're not all dreadful so I decided to snaffle up a couple of pairs while the offer lasted. At that price, even if they're just spares, it has to be worth it, I thought. So, using my glasses prescription (not the contact lens one, don't make that mistake) which I somehow still have, I ordered them, sat back and a week later they arrived.

So are they any good? Why not judge for yourself? First of all, here's me in my normal glasses.


Not really. They're my Real D 3D glasses that I got when I went to see Bolt. And even though I had to pay £1.50 extra for the privilege, taking them along to my next 3D film won't save me any money - the extra cost is for the technology in the cinema, not the glasses. Grrr.

Anyway, these are my normal ones.


These are the Judge Jules style ones. Too wacky?


And these the semi-rimless ones. They have pattern on the arms. Hmm.


So there you have it? Any winners? Or have I wasted £17?

The answer came the day after they arrived in the post when I got a reminder from my opticians. Time for a eye test. And guess what? My prescription has changed. Still, with contact lenses and three pairs of specs, I should be okay.

Wimbledone

THURSDAY
It's ladies' semi-finals day and it's those Williams sisters up against the Russians. Serena is on first against Elena Dementieva and it turns out to be a corker of a match which Serena wins 8-6 in the deciding set. Not that BBC automaton Sue Barker would dare show any emotion either way. Luckily, John McEnroe is on hand to provide wit, insight, passion and intelligence. He was a brilliant player but he's almost even better as a pundit. Venus then dumps world number one, Dinara Safina, out of the tournament in less than an hour.

FRIDAY
Anticipation rises as Federer takes on Tommy Haas. At 31, the German is the 'old man' of the tournament. This is five years younger than me. Start to feel positively ancient as it's pointed out that Roger is 27. Ugh. Then he wins in straight sets and it's time to see which Andy he'll meet in the final.

And lo and behold Roddick wins the first set! Then Murray breaks at the start of the next, wins it and it's level at one set all. Surely the Scot will turn on the magic now. But no! It's Andymonium as tiebreak specialist Roddick wins sets three and four 7-6, 7-6 and the dream is over. Gah! He's no better than Henman! Actually he is, and he'll probably come back stronger next year. He's better on hard courts anyway (he says knowledgeably).

SATURDAY
Here come the girls, girls, girls, girls. You know the song, the one commandeered by Boots for the TV ads. It's by Ernie K Dow, don't ya know. No, I hadn't heard of him either. Anyway, literally everyone on the BBC is predicting a Venus victory, which makes me nervous since I've put all my money/made a vague prediction that Serena will win the Williamsy final. Thankfully my sixth sense works a treat and the younger sister triumphs in two. Go me! And Serena I guess.

SUNDAY
Despite tonking Murray, no-one is giving Roddick much of a chance but he wins the first set and is just a point from winning the second when Lazarus Federer wrests it back from him and then takes the third. But A-Rod, as I've unaccountably started calling him, storms back to win the fourth and suddenly were into the decider and it is GAME ON.

I notice that Andrew Castle has been drafted in to commentate on the final, presumably because Johnny Mac has been seconded by an American broadcaster for the occasion. He's bland, slightly pompous and alongside Tim Henman pretty much completes the BBC's inoffensive line up in the box, with only Boris Becker left to make any interesting comments whatsoever.

With no tie break in the last set, it's just a question of who breaks the other's serve first and as yet, Federer hasn't managed to break my main man A-Rod once. It's getting really tense and then, at around 9-9 it suddenly gets quite boring. Whoever serves wins their game and only once every couple of games is there actually a rally of any note. But it's really, really tense and I can't leave it but it's also kind of dull. Should I stay or should I go now? I can't remember what The Clash decided either so decide to stay. Meanwhile, a caption appears saying that the news is being shown over on BBC2. Shortly afterwards, there's another saying Antiques Roadshow has started. I vaguely wonder what happens if the match goes on all night. Will breakfast TV be shifted as well?

A few mistakes start to creep into to A-Rod's game and then, inevitably, the Fed breaks his serve, and with it his heart to win 16-14. He looks even smugger than normal while poor old Andy Roddick is struggling manfully to hold back the tears. It's genuinely moving to see him so upset and I'm fairly sure I wasn't mistaken in that the cheer that went up around Centre Court for him when he was introduced as runner-up was way louder than it was for Roger as winner. Did they really like him more or is it just a classic response from a british crowsd, always cheering on the underdog? Either way, this epic final is a fitting way to end a great fortnight.

POST SCRIPT
I've just realised that Wimbledon is, famously, in SW19. I live in SW14, which is only five away! How cool is that? The question is, five what?

Socks

I don't understand socks. Don't get me wrong, I know what they're for. I just don't understand what happens to them after I've taken them off.

So this is my sock story. I hope you're sitting down. This is likely to rock the foundations of your very soul. Shortly after moving into my current house I washed some clothes. Some men do do this and willingly, believe it or not. On pairing up my socks after they'd dried, I found two odd ones. Not similar shades of navy blue (and I've got a lot of those, it's very confusing) but one black and one pale blue. Here they are, in fact.


But I didn't panic. Oh no. I've been here before. Sometimes my aim when throwing socks into the laundry basket isn't always spot on. And sometimes they got lost in the whites. It's a crazy world in there. The missing socks will turn up next time, I thought to myself.

But they didn't. I checked all my pillow cases. Nothing. I asked my housemates. They looked at me funny. I even tried to remove the rubber rim from the washing machine to see if they had got trapped in there somehow. I've heard this rumour but I could barely move it. I know the washing machine moves faster than me but even so. That rubber shall not be moved.

Anyway, after several months of inactivity in the odd sock department I decided to throw them away. It pained me because I hate waste, even if they're just a pair of old socks. So that was it, they were gone.

Except they weren't. Because the next time I did a wash, there they were again! Or were they? They looked the same but were they possibly the missing 'pair' I'd been looking for all this time. The problem is, my bin is next to my laundry basket so maybe my aim hadn't improved and instead of throwing them into the bin, they'd gone in the basket. Or maybe I had binned them and these had been hiding somewhere all this time. I'll never know now. Maybe I'll just start wearing them as a pair. I might as well.

Midweek sport special

I was going to wait until Sunday before doing another Wimbledon update but so much has been happening it seems churlish not to ramble on some more when everyone has reacted so postively to my last post. What's that? Oh.

MONDAY
Massive news as it rains a little bit and the powers that be decide to shut the roof on Centre Court for the first time EVER. Yowser. It's definitely more exciting than the Safina match and probably more exciting than the Murray match which follows it but not as sweaty palm inducingly tense. I thought Andy was the man, that those heart-stopping Henman-style rollercoaster days were over. But no. Still, it did give the TV producer plenty of time to find suitable eye candy although perhaps the slo-mo bouncing boobs wouldn't have been to everyone's taste.

TUESDAY
Although the ladies' fourth round matches were also played on Monday, they're playing again in the quarters today. All the usual suspects get through and a Williams sisters final looks odds on for the second year in a row which is kind of dull but fair enough, since they're clearly the best on grass by a mile. I can't help thinking that their father, Richard, is a bit sinister. Not sure why.

Other than that it's all doubles with people you've never heard of, and the girls' tournament. This is actually a little bit interesting as Britain's Laura Robson, 15, is the defending champion. She gets through comfortably with an on-court maturity beyond her years. Reassuringly, she interviews like a 15-year-old, or at least how I expect a 15-year-old tennis player to be. Confident but a bit giggly.

WEDNESDAY
It's quarter-final day for the men and Roger Federer is up against Croatian giant Ivo Karlovic. He's 6'7" tall. Now that's tall. He's also a bit good at serving, as John Lloyd, BBC analyst keeps mentioning. God he's dull. Not only does he have remarkably little insight for a former tennis pro but he also sounds a bit like Cliff Richard which can never, ever be a good thing.

Rog wins in straight sets and then, brilliantly, so does our man Murray. It suddenly occurs to me that I've agreed to go to a recording of a new TV show on Sunday when actually, I might want to watch the in-form Scot do battle with Fed. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. He still has all-American Andy Roddick to conquer on Friday yet.

Meanwhile, young Robson has a back injury and loses 8-6 in the deciding set to 'crash' out, as some headline writers will no doubt have it. She'll also be 'brave', 'plucky' and/or 'the future of British tennis' depending on which newspaper you read in the morning.

For what it's worth, and from what I've seen so far, I predict Serena and Roger will be champions. Shh, don't tell Andy.

Transformers, eat your heart out

Today I'm just linking to a friend's blog because I can't be bothered to find the original bit of video. And besides, he found it so credit where credit's due, I reckon.

All I can say is that it's an incredibly clever ad and it's at times like these that I am really pleased that I am totally ignorant of how this sort of thing is done. It's magic!

Here it is. Now tell me you're honestly not impressed.

This week at Wimbledon

When I expressed excitement at the tennis starting at Wimbledon this week, a friend commented "you could always watch something more interesting than tennis... like paint dry or grass grow." As I pointed out though, the beauty of tennis is that you can get to see all three things at once.

MONDAY
Coverage begins on the BBC at midday. Lots of talk about the new retractable roof on the rebuilt Centre Court. Sue Barker seems unsure whether they want it to rain so they can show it off or stay sunny so they don't have to. Perhaps she's worried Cliff Richard will be out of a job either way.

TUESDAY
Britain's (i.e. Scotland's) Andy Murray is in action so naturally John McEnroe is called in to discuss his chances of winning the tournament. Not his first round match, but the whole thing. Nothing like a bit of perspective eh? Meanwhile, the Brits who are still in the tournament (i.e. those who haven't played yet) are under the spotlight. Will the plucky underdogs get through? Er, no. Well, Murray makes it through but he was never an underdog. So does Elena Baltacha but she's clearly Russian anyway with a name like that.

WEDNESDAY
Media now obsessed with the women grunting at Wimbers. Women players, I mean. Not just random women in the crowd. Is it really necessary? Is it off-putting to opponents? And why don't men do it? Meanwhile, the inquest has been launched into why oh why our tennis players are chumps and not champs. Sports Minister Gerry Sutcliffe comes over all school teacherly saying he's "tired of the excuses" from the Lawn Tennis Association, complaining that they were given loads of money so they should do better. Yeah, well, so were the banks.

THURSDAY
There's a distinct lack of attention being paid to Romanian teenager Simona Halep. Okay, so she's not actually at Wimbledon but how about being a bit more inclusive?! She's clearly very talented.

FRIDAY
The 'Federer Express' continues to impress, as does Serena Williams in the ladies. Have you seen her though? She really is a powerful young lady. Good lord. Slightly scary but also just a little bit exciting. Ahem.

SATURDAY
Excitement is building, but not because Murraymania growing by the day but because IT MIGHT RAIN AND THE ROOF MIGHT BE USED! Obsessed with the weather? Us? Get outta town. Thunder and lightning is in evidence as as the Flying Scotsman comes to Centre Court but aside from a few sprinkles, the June weather holds firm. As does 'our' Andy, who suddenly looks really, really good. Not only that but on his Twitter page, he shows a sharp wit with his tennis player snack names: Ryvita Gerulaitis, Lleyton Chewit, Egg Rusedski, Juan Carlos Ferrero Rocher.

"The next station is Oval..."

When I was a kid, my uncle used to take me to see Surrey play cricket quite regularly. But what with one thing and a whole slew of others, I haven't been to see any live cricket for many years. Luckily, I have a friend, Chris, whose brother-in-law (is that right?) is Jimmy Ormond, Surrey cricketer. Jimmy is perhaps most famous for a comment he made in one of his two Test appearances for England.

On reaching the crease to bat, Australian Mark Waugh said to him: "Mate, what are you doing out here? There's no way you're good enough to play for England." In a reference to Mark's more successful cricketing brother Steve, Jimmy replied: "Maybe not, but at least I'm the best player in my own family."


Anyway, Jimmy kindly got a few of us some complimetary tickets to last night's Twenty20 match between Surrey and Essex. For those not in the know, Twenty20 is the shortest and quickest form of the game, with just 20 overs per side. This usually results in plenty of fours, sixes and/or wickets so a fun couple of hours is usually likely.


On this occasion, it was Essex who had most of the fun, with opening batsmen Cook and Pettini scoring 187 between them, after which Surrey were skittled out for a mere 126. One of the highlights came towards the end of Surrey's innings, when three Essex players chased down a ball to save it from reaching the boundary and ended up falling over, Keystone Cops stylee. Neil proclaimed it to be worth the price of admission alone, before someone pointed out we'd got in for free.

Towards the end of this non-contest, the crowd took to doing Mexican waves to entertain themselves and latterly stacking plastic beer cups, and although this happened on the other side of the ground, I manage to pick it up with my super-duper lens (thanks Ruthie!), as you should be able to make out below. It's the long silvery snake in the middle.


All in all, a thoroughly fine evening's entertainment in some beautiful June sunshine. Nice one boys.

Hormones made me do it

I'm sure you've been there. You're out and about with a bloke and he's talking and then suddenly he stops and stares, usually with his mouth open. You can pretty much guarantee this is because a gorgeous girl has just walked by, especially in the summer. I can imagine that if you're this bloke's wife or girlfriend, it can be a bit annoying, to say the least. But finally there is proof for us poor oglers that it's a chemical reaction and not pure lechery at work.

Last week a study (which irritatingly I can't find now) revealed that when men see a beautiful woman, their mind goes a bit wobbly for some time afterwards. Anyone who's halfway observant, male or female would be able to tell you this but now there's 'science' to back it up. Well, I for one am glad about this because I think men got a bit of a raw deal in this department.

When women get clucky and coo over babies, that's fine because it's natural and that's what women are here for when it comes right down to it, right? To make babies. And that's a wonderful and noble thing. It's beautiful. And it's true, it is. But let's get one thing straight. This isn't some great act of conscious goodness, some form of incredible altruism. It's hormones, pure and simple. But if men so much as look at a woman, they're filthy perverts. And yet why are men here? To make babies.

Now, I'm not suggesting for a moment that men should be given carte blanche to shout out 'Phwoar!' or 'Get 'em out, love!' to any passing females, far from it. Such men are ignorant, boorish and unpleasant. I just think a little bit of understanding of the concept of being distracted by beauty would go a long way to easing relations between men and women. Because just as it is impossible for a man to know how a woman feels on seeing a baby that makes her 'want one', there is no way that a woman can understand the effect the sight of a beautiful (or even just plain sexy, we all have our own ideas in this area) woman can have on a man.

In his brutally honest and fascinating book Millions Of Women Are Waiting To Meet You, Sean Thomas does his best to describe how he feels. He refers to it as

"that eerie sensation when you witness someone truly beautiful: that strange and sad feeling; that doomy vertigo."

He also recounts the experience of Camille Paglia, a lesbian writer, who once had an injection of testosterone for a medical complaint and on walking out into the streets of Manhattan looked at a pretty young girl and

"felt this sudden crippling urge, this desperate sad lungingness, this feebleness. Then, and only then, did she understand the power of male desire, which is of course a function of the power of female beauty."

Call it being dumbstruck in the presence of beauty, call it lust, call it what you will, the effect is the same. So next time you berate your man, try to remember it doesn't make him a bad person - it's just his hormones.