June 8, 2009
English Manners
Unnerving though it was to watch a loony dash onto the court during the second set of the men’s final at the French Open yesterday, all’s well that ended well, and Roger Federer took it in stride, observing after the fact that “he had not felt threatened in the past by spotlight-seeking interlopers“.
“I remember the English guy [who stormed the court at the 2006 Wimbledon quarterfinal] was actually quite funny. He looked at me and goes, ‘I’m so sorry I have to do this.’ I was like, O.K., just don’t touch me, you know.”
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21 Responses to “English Manners”
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I know he asked that he not be touched. He is after all Swiss. I always assume that they’d rather not be touched by anyone other than another Swiss person and then only reluctantly.
Oh, I don’t like Federer and didn’t like Sampras either. They did all seem to lack any real emotion – or am I being harsh?
The last Swiss women I wasn’t in contact with seemed to betray that same sensibility, Phil.
I mean, they never join in. They hide all our money, refuse to fight, suggest they are good at first aid, are unnaturally tidy and use three languages belonging to others and none of their own. I’m not sure of the last fact, they may have their own language I guess, but, it would be like them to not share it with us.
Of course, I have never been there.
I was there. It was clinically clean. The buildings were blandly beautiful. I was in St. Gallen, with is north east. I cannot comment on the rest of the country. The trains were efficient. The homes were spacious and lovely. Still felt maybe a bit like where you might go after you die. Not much happening.
Amanda Mae, you can be our Swiss expert.
It is so easy and so fun to to have sport at the expense of the Swiss. That’s why I do it. That’s why I did it.
Amanda, did anyone yodel?
No. There was no yodelling. There was a big lake, and someone ate ice cream as they walked around. A girl was wearing a motorcycle jacket, and her name was Chava. Later, I would lose my favourite lipstick on the smoking car of the train. The german army was on leave, and there was the most beautiful men I’ve seen in my life wandering every train station. I was 16 and felt as if there was nothing I could do about it all.
Damn, Amanda Mae! It sounds like you were almost sucked in by beautiful Swiss (if you’ll pardon the expression) who saved you?
Listen, when a friend of mine was a teenager, she went to Switzerland as an exchange student, where she lived with a family who ran an inn near Lake Como, and they put her to work eight hours a day as a kind of servant — without pay — at the inn.
How do you like that?
Who saved me from the Swiss? Well, my return flight from Rome saved me. I had to get back to the states. I was travelling with my grandmother and my other 16 year old friend. I have no idea why my parents let me do that. My grandmother would wander off at the Vatican and we barely found her again.
I told a bunch of Swiss kids we’d play soccer with them and we never went back to find them. I took a bunch of pictures of various bits of moulding around the town of St. Gallen which had this astoundingly beautiful library. We got lost in the mountains, she said she was taking us on a 15 minute hike and we ended up at this insane lake, and had some warm cokes in bottles. that was all this place sold, though my memory is that we found them and drank them, as if the place was abandoned. That can’t possibly be true, we must have purchased them.
Amanda Mae, I am just glad that you did not wind up an indentured servant to some cold and calculating family of Swiss innkeepers. Hell, you might still be there.
I love the way you tell stories, Amanda Mae. I could listen to you all day. (Another good thing from clusterflockstock–I can now hear what’s written.)
Ditto, Cindy, re: Amanda Mae’s way with a story.
If I can make my way to Chicago to see her later this month, I will stamp my feet and whirl about and chant, “More stories! Amanda Mae! More stories! Amanda Mae! More stories! Amanda Mae!”
(Can you even imagine a Swiss person doing such a thing?)
Of course not. Nobody will ever confuse Sheila Ryan or Amanda Mae Meynke with a Swiss Miss.
Sheila! Let us see one another next Friday, the 19th. Is this amenable? I will tell you all my Swiss stories, although I am mostly out. Anyone else for Chicago clusterflocktails?
Drinks in Chicago on Juneteenth. Would that I could be there!
I may have to muster up some ringers, Amanda Mae.
Juneteenth. Indeed.
Ringers. Not floaters.
I would love to have flocktails in Chicago! Never been there.
I have a friend who is also not a Swiss miss. She is a Miss Wiss.