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It’s Wimbledon fortnight and I’ve been glued to the screen watching the proceedings and listening to various smashes, thwacks and volleys, and those silly grunts and shrieks which must drain the player’s energy.

These annual events really provide a means of measuring my progress, however. I’ve followed the commentary better and better each year, but this year I’ve really noticed that I’m recognising who is doing the commentating, following on from my recent post on building up that memory bank.

I’ve heard a lot of John McEnroe this week, and then this afternoon I heard a different voice and asked my Dad, with whom I was watching the match, “Is that Boris Becker?” Dad swivelled round and gave me a funny look, and said it was. He’s 90 today and it seems that my question was a little spontaneous present for him.

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