So this morning I dragged myself into awakeness around 8:20am and tried to work out why the BBC was showing a repeat of Murray vs Isner instead of Roger's live match. It was only when I checked the AO site that I realised the evening matches started at half eight our time instead (they used to start at 7pm Australia time didn't they? Or not?) and I had to sit in bed and stare blankly at the internet to keep myself awake until the BBC interative coverage started and I could put it on. At which point I snuggled down in bed and spent about an hour attempting to watch tennis while mostly asleep. Thankfully Roger wasn't doing anything horribly stupid but I wouldn't say I actually watched most of the first two sets.
And then I fell asleep completely and woke up to Roger being asked by Jim Courier what he remembers about his first match with Lleyton and Roger admitting they were a. fourteen and b. he cheated. Essentially. Oh Roger you rebel you.
Possibly if I want to watch Murray tomorrow - and I do; I need to yell at the TV in hope of him winning - I should make it downstairs to the sofa. Yeah.
Not that falling asleep was a total loss; I had a bizarre dream that the Roger vs Lleyton match was taking place in my back garden in Wales which needless to say isn't big enough for a tennis court, never mind the entire Rod Laver Arena but by some TARDIS logic they'd fitted it in. I was watching and half-meandering around to be nosy and I found the showers and was amused that Roger had a massive bottle of custom-made shampoo. I was annoyed that I got chased out the showers by security before I found out how it smelled so I could be accurate in fic. Then after Roger won he had a hideously ugly suit to put on before he could talk to Courier; it was a black jacket covered in multi-coloured splashes of paint, a bright purple silk shirt and an orange tie. No trousers so I'm assuming he was going to wear it with his shorts. I told him it was so bad, it actually crossed the so-bad-it's-awesome line and he seemed somewhat offended; i was probably custom-made for him by the Prada elves or something. Then I offered Mirka a cup of tea because she was standing in my kitchen looking lost.
I don't know what's up with my subconscious sometimes. I won't even go into the part where we had to move to a concert hall for the next match (I assume they'd realised with some horror that they were playing in someone's tiny garden) and all the old WWE wrestlers (including Hornswoggle. Oh dear brain, really?) were there and they explained to me why tennis and wrestling were secretly the same thing. Sadly it was such thrilling reasoning that I can't remember it. Oh well.
I should watch tennis before falling asleep more often. Maybe next time I'll get to find out what flavour shampoo Roger uses.
~
On the downside, I've slept in again today and I meant to get up and apply for jobs and be a productive members of society. It's a little worrying how little I've done for two weeks. Okay, a lot worrying. All-night and all-morning tennis hasn't helped but... really. I need to be motivated and soon.
And then I fell asleep completely and woke up to Roger being asked by Jim Courier what he remembers about his first match with Lleyton and Roger admitting they were a. fourteen and b. he cheated. Essentially. Oh Roger you rebel you.
Possibly if I want to watch Murray tomorrow - and I do; I need to yell at the TV in hope of him winning - I should make it downstairs to the sofa. Yeah.
Not that falling asleep was a total loss; I had a bizarre dream that the Roger vs Lleyton match was taking place in my back garden in Wales which needless to say isn't big enough for a tennis court, never mind the entire Rod Laver Arena but by some TARDIS logic they'd fitted it in. I was watching and half-meandering around to be nosy and I found the showers and was amused that Roger had a massive bottle of custom-made shampoo. I was annoyed that I got chased out the showers by security before I found out how it smelled so I could be accurate in fic. Then after Roger won he had a hideously ugly suit to put on before he could talk to Courier; it was a black jacket covered in multi-coloured splashes of paint, a bright purple silk shirt and an orange tie. No trousers so I'm assuming he was going to wear it with his shorts. I told him it was so bad, it actually crossed the so-bad-it's-awesome line and he seemed somewhat offended; i was probably custom-made for him by the Prada elves or something. Then I offered Mirka a cup of tea because she was standing in my kitchen looking lost.
I don't know what's up with my subconscious sometimes. I won't even go into the part where we had to move to a concert hall for the next match (I assume they'd realised with some horror that they were playing in someone's tiny garden) and all the old WWE wrestlers (including Hornswoggle. Oh dear brain, really?) were there and they explained to me why tennis and wrestling were secretly the same thing. Sadly it was such thrilling reasoning that I can't remember it. Oh well.
I should watch tennis before falling asleep more often. Maybe next time I'll get to find out what flavour shampoo Roger uses.
~
On the downside, I've slept in again today and I meant to get up and apply for jobs and be a productive members of society. It's a little worrying how little I've done for two weeks. Okay, a lot worrying. All-night and all-morning tennis hasn't helped but... really. I need to be motivated and soon.
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