Okay, so I'm exaggerating slightly.
It feels as if you should wake up to the blare of trumpets and the roll of drums. For a mad moment I thought that had happened but all it was that one of the kids was in the shower with Radio One turned way up. I mean, nothing happens. No apes, ivories or peacocks delivered by Royal Mail’s parcel force or, indeed, any other method, no red carpet in the street, no frenzied bursts of applause as I step forth, no aeroplane sky-writing overhead. The morning consists of informing random children that if they don’t shape themselves they’ll be late for school, making sandwiches, telling Gok Wan (fashion guru, youngest daughter and hair-straightener addict) that her hair is wonderful and can we please leave, clearing up the morning’s small deposits from the animal branch of the Gordon-Smith household and wondering What To Have For Tea. Basically, Life, Jim, and just as we know it.
Except As If By Magic is published; and complete strangers, who I don’t have to cook dinner for, I’m not related to and who do not have my hand in marriage are buying it and reading it. And I know it is being sold because the Amazon figures say as much. For thirteen quid and twenty-nine pence (who decides these price points?) with free postage chucked in, it can be yours. It sounds like the bargain of the year to me, and I’m not remotely biased. Honest.
Have you been watching Wimbledon? I must say, I’ve derived a huge amount of innocent amusement from listening to the commentators virtually praying for rain. It’s the new roof, you see. Yes, I know it cost quzillions of pounds and looks like something that Thunderbird One should pop out of, but it’s still a roof, for pete’s sake, and the way John McEnroe, David Mercer and John Lloyd et al have been going on about it, it’s as if the concept has just been invented. But, what with one thing and another, I’m sort of used to roofs. We’ve had one on our house for ever such a long time now and the neighbours – ruddy copycats! – have got them too.
Everyone got very exercised about The Roof Question during Andy Murray’s match and you can’t say the weather wasn’t trying. But, however much the skies lowered and the lightning forked down over Surbiton, those few square yards of turf in London SW20 remained unrained upon. It’s a big difference from the glory days of Harry Carpenter in the 1970’s when you’d actually turn on the telly to listen to Harry rhapsodise about the rain. It was incredible what he could find to say about rain. As it pooled and grew on the green covers, Harry, truly a man for all seasons – particularly wet ones – would hit his stride. “Covers still on the outside courts. Thousands of people, waiting, hoping against hope…” The cameras would close in on rain, then draw back as a particularly extravagant splash would fountain up. “There’s a drain down both sides of the courts where the rain can escape,” Harry would explain, apparently anxious for the fate of each individual drop. Then, in a burst of philosophy worthy of Marcus Aurileus (“Doth aught befall you? Fear not; it is all part of the great web.”) Harry would assure us, in face of all the evidence, that Brighter Weather Is Expected Soon. Come on! We know what an English June can do! The weather, rather like the English themselves, has a sense of humour and, exactly like taking an umbrella to a picnic Just In Case, the fact that someone’s nicked the roof from Tracey Island means that the sun will continue to shine with unabated fervour for the next week. I hope so, anyway. I don’t think John McEnroe could stand the excitement if they had to close the thing.
However, if they do, you could always curl up with a good book. Did I mention As If By Magic was published this week?
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