Our biscuit today comes from South West Nineteen
where the tennis that fills our screen can be seen.
Beside the head office of Lidl UK
We can watch the contestants at play.
It’s a chocolate caramel shortcake,
Ideal between sets or a tense tie-break.
Wimbledon reaches its second week
and most of the famous seeds have lost out.
The trophy is there for Andy to seek.
We hope he gives that Serb a clout.
He’s yet to face his old foe Djokevic,
But we’re sure he’ll beat the son of a bitch*.
Fancied Federer, knock- kneed Nadal,
both favourites, at first hurdles fell.
Slipping Sharapova, disputing every call,
grunting grimly, could hardly return a ball.
The lanky Russian created such a racket.
It turned out she couldn’t really hack it.
Between Maria and Serena, there’s no love lost,
Miss Williams held the first advantage,
but despite her strength and courage,
she found so soon and to her cost
that when it comes to a final booming serve,
surely and serenely, you should hold your nerve.
Across the net the ball flies to and fro
The rally starts to pick up pace
When the match is tight, the deuces flow.
We like the player who can lose with grace,
Just like almost every wretched Brit.
No- one has the skill, the balls, the grit.
Even lovely Laura let us down.
That only leaves old Andy, with his frown.
Fred Perry won the last men’s British ace.
Murray, we all hope will finally save face.
He’s still on course to fulfil his dream
To become, like this biscuit, simply supreme
We like you really, Novak,
and can say for a fact
that Anita thinks you such a dish
that for no other would she wish,
and though you too can truly play,for a tricksy rhyme all else gives way