Passive action

It struck me as ironic today that so many people in this country would be spending the afternoon and evening, like me, sprawled in front of the television watching extremely fit people playing first tennis and later football while - not like me - stuffing their faces with snacks and beer and taking not one step of exercise the whole time.

These are my feet in front of the moment Andy Murray clutched the trophy at the conclusion of the Men's Singles at Wimbledon. I am sitting in what feels like a furniture store, with the dining room table in the window and sundry extra chairs crammed into odd corners. It did, however, mean that we didn't miss one moment of either sport as we were able to eat first lunch and then dinner without abandoning the telly. I'm telling myself that it's like living in a holiday house where such things are possible.

And in my own defence can I say that between the tennis and the football we went out for a very brisk walk in the grey dampness of the afternoon's end?