The Scholar

I got a couple of wake up calls before the wake-up call.

I'd managed to get back to sleep after the mid morning nappy change.

The eldest girl woke up bright and early for her trip to optional school.

When it is compulsory on a Saturday morning, it has been a struggle to prise her out of bed. The day she doesn't have to to go she was awake 6.50am (without the aid of an alarm clock) and sitting in the kitchen doing drawings having fed herself with the Muesli left out by her beguiled father.

I took her to school as promised, came back and returned to my pyjamas for another 30 minutes or so of sleep before the rest of the troupe arose.

There were only seven children in the class so they joined another rag tag mob and whiled away the hours doing sums and the like.

Should have used the time to introduce the spawn to logic.

The School End of Term

There are horror stories and then there is the end of term party.

In essence a brilliant idea. The children can run around in the playground with all their mates. The parents bring along some food and everyone shares.

This coming a few weeks after the sleep-in means that there has been an enormous amount of bonding. I missed the sleep-in because I was too tired. No really.

The sleep-in came just after Roland Garros and besides I didn't want to get too up close and personal with people I only see in the mornings and evenings.

Perhaps I was being too British then. But I can loosen up for an end of term thang.

The girls got manically excited. Nigh on maniacal. But that's understandable. There's only one week to go before the end of term.

And since the whole end of term bash was due to wind down at 9.30pm. The teacher of the eldest told the class that school was optional on Saturday.

The teacher of the middle child told them she wasn't going to be there.

The misrule has kicked in.

Now given the chance to sleep in on Saturday, the eldest has decided that she wants to go to school. I have told her I'm exercising my option.

However in the interests of intra mural equity, I've said if she gets up, has her shower and feeds herself (the Muesli has been laid out), then she can wake me up five minutes before and I'll take her to school.

But here I am in the middle of the night paying the price of the early evening when they all run round on crisps and fizzy drinks.

The boy entered into the spirit. He charged off to a stand and came back mid way through a cup of an orange substance.

He went to bed relatively easily but rose at 3.30am to implement his pre motion motions.

This entailed walking around the flat, going from cot to bed to sofa. It ended up with him on all fours under the kitchen table making sounds like something from a tennis court at Roland Garros.

I almost expected a clenched fist at the end.

But when he tried to get back into bed, his mother summarily rejected him. Cue pappy with the nappy.

Well they're all sleeping and I am well and truly awake. Not even BBC World Service could get me back to my slumbers.

But am listening to Miles Davis's Bag's Groove and am feeling chilled.

I ought to try and get some sleep. Knowing my luck just as I drop off there'll be a tap on my shoulder and an expectant look.

You can't deny a child her education can you?

The Record Attempt III

I have noticed over the years that watching lots of men and women hitting a tennis ball has helped my game.

At least for a while.

So I was mightily impressed when I played tennis this morning. But then the habitual incompetence kicked in or was it fatigue? Or both?

Regularity is what's needed. The only sad thing about this morning's exploits was the location. It was indoors. Shame. Since outdoors it was a lovely, sunny day.

But it wasn't my club and I was the guest. The key thing was the participation.

Obviously at Wimbledon fewer players will be concerning themselves with participation.

One of those on the way home is Novak Djokovic. Tamed was he by the maverick Russian Marat Safin.

I've always liked Safin. He's got a gleam in his eye and is obviously a party boy.

One of my favoruite times in the Roland Garros press room was a Safin debriefing as to why he lost against some player.

Safin - hailed by Pete Sampras as the future of tennis back in 2000 - went on about the percentages of playing a certain shot a certain way and how there should technically be only one kind of shot coming back. But if the player starts to defy that logic, you say it's lucky or a fluke. Or even skill.

But not event the skilful, he explained should be able to override the logic for too long.

And when a journalist asked: "But why didn't you change the system?"

Safin replied: "Listen my friend, I live tennis....."

I've always liked that phrase.

I'm going to live some more tennis on Monday morning. Must remember to keep the focus
even if it is indoors.

The Record Attempt II

The papers were full of Roger Federer's wonderfulness as he dispatched Dominik Hrbaty in straight sets on Monday afternoon. Sterner tests await though.

I could have written that. Last year's beaten finalist, Rafael Nadal, went through to round two today, also in straight sets.

It seemed appropriate to reuse for Tuesday's bulletins a little chunk of the Bjorn Borg address to the media at Roland Garros a few weeks ago.

It was about Nadal being vulnerable in the first few rounds at Wimbledon. I thought that would be better than the one where Borg says: "I think Sunday's final (Roland Garros) will be really close."

About as close as the moon Bjorn.

I must not hold terrible punditry against him. It could happen to anyone.

There was a horde of journalism students from San Diego roaming through the newsroom today here at la Maison de la Radio. I saw the head honcho chatting to them and then they disappeared.

Imagine my surprise when I went down to the studio and had to wade through a sea of tyros.

It seemed odd having to deliver my bulletin with real people there before me.

I didn't look into the whites of their eyes.

Well my voice didn't quaver and I resisted the temptation to correct the presenter who introduced me incorrectly. Maybe she had wilted under the pressure.

Take these things in your stride, say I.

But it is taxing because trying to follow Wimbledon on TV is difficult.

The station Sport+ seems to be the only one carrying anything and it has offered some matches which can't yet give me insight.

I could of course subscribe to the video highlights channel at Wimbledon and watch the matches live.

It's not that expensive but I bridle at the idea of paying to see something that should be out there for free.

Besides I have other things to do on my day off like take the children to the doctor so they can be certified as vaguely healthy for next year's round of extra-curricular activites.

Moreover crouching over my laptop to watch tennis would probably mash up my neck and not help my all-action game at all.

But perhaps it is the way to introduce it to the brood. This being the younger tech friendly generation. They might really go for viewing the game on a computer.

And probably end up playing it there.

The Record Attempt I

Imagine that. It's a bit like London buses: you wait for ages for one to come along and then 37 appear.

It's deluge time. Not only is there Euro 2008 but Wimbledon has started.

It was a strenuous weekend. There was la fête de la musique on Saturday, so after a trip to see the chateau at Vaux-le- Vicomte we came back for and strolled around the canal looking for some music to listen to.

There were bands playing but to abuse a phrase much beloved of Mr Spock in Star Trek: "It's not music as we know or understand it."

Bur the girls seemed happy. Ah happy.

As it was the longest day - already? - I thought it churlish to try and get them into bed too early. It panned out. By the time I did get them moving towards their slumbers, I had enough time to watch the embers of the Dutch assault on Euro 2008. The spry Russians were tearing into the tiring Dutch.

Ooh I never saw that one.

Sunday after a day in the country at a friend's birthday party, I returned from delivering the hire car and getting the children into bed to see the crucial bits of Italy v Spain.

Oh how we love a penalty shoot out especially if you haven't been watching the game. Drama, tension, agony. And that's just putting the children to bed.

So Spain reign. Is this a forewarning of Wimbledon glory?

Who's to say. Rafael Nadal opens his campaign on Tuesday bidding to become the first man to win Roland Garros and Wimbledon back-to-back since Bjorn Borg in 1980.

Federer, going for a record sixth straight title, has stopped him twice before. Can he halt him again or will it be someone else? I can't live the anguish of ignorance.

Perhaps I exaggerate a bit. Actually quite a lot.

No football till the Turkey v Germay semi final on Wednesday. Can the tennis fill the void?

The Strike II

We're all back and booming at the radio station. It doesn't feel any different. But why should I expect that?

It was a good strike for me.

The German footballers are back and booming. Clearly their players had something of a strike during the match against Croatia which they lost. They were all on message during the quarter final against Portugal and won.

So the Germans into a semi final. What a surprise.

You want someone new to win. The Turks say.

As for someone new winning. The draw was made at Wimbledon today. All round super hero Roger Federer is due to meet the rising young gun slinger Novak Djokovic in the semis.

Everyone has got a theory on who will win. Bjorn Borg winner of five Wimbledon titles was holding forth at the French Open - which he won six times - and said that Rafael Nadal would win Wimbledon if he survived the first two or three rounds.

The soothsayer also said Federer would push Nadal close in the Roland Garros final. Well the following day we all witnessed a Federer catastrophe - a straight sets loss - which did nothing for Borg's clairvoyance.

Well if you set yourself up on the pundit's pedestal, you're going to get it wrong once or twice.

But anyone who'd been watching Nadal and Federer at the French would have known that Nadal was the likely lad.

My theory is that I'll have to see who looks more likely.

The Guardian football podcast pundit Sid Lowe, who's based in Spain, says the Spanish are nervous because they're playing Italy in the quarter finals at Euro 2008.

This is their worst nightmare because the Italians always find a way to beat the Spanish, he asserted.

So far the Spanish have been going great guns and the Italians only scraped through because the Roumanian's fluffed a penalty chance and the French were utterly abject in the final group game.

The Italians can't be that bad again whereas the Spanish are due a dodgy performance.

The same for the Dutch who've been destroying all foes in their path.

What would have been the odds two weeks ago on a Russia v Croatia final?

That would have been a good bet. But I'm not a betting man.

And rightly so, I need to save my pennies.

We could be all out on the street fairly soon.

The Strike

In these football obsessed times, it might be assumed that this will be another incursion in 4-4-2. But no. It's real social beef on this occasion.

I am a striker for industrial action courses through my veins. I am bonded with thousands of other audio visual workers protesting against brutal plans to demolish our public funded brotherhood.

Well one man's reconfiguration is another accountant's annual bonus. So who's to know the truth of these issues? But at the heart of all the unrest are plans to scale down the language services at Radio France International and pump the cash into the France 24 TV station.

Somewhere there must be a logic but if you are at one of the threatened language services, this doesn't make you entirely happy.

There was a part of me that did not want to take this kind of trip during a big sporting occasion like the Euro 2008. My conspiracy theory is that it was called for June 18 as it would mean no one would have to report on France's abject failure at Euro 2008.

Yes the French team went out in a blaze of collective incompetence that perhaps is a metaphor for the proposed reconstruction of the audio visual world. But that's me veering to 4-3-3 territory.

How often have I toyed with the macro/microcosm? How often have I found signs on the ground? How often have I been proved right?

Well, while walking the streets today with one of my brood, I bumped into Manu - the wife of one of my mates. She was on the way to the Conservatoire with one of her brood who takes guitar lessons there. Though in a hurry, we still had the chance to say don't see you for months and then twice in two days. I'm on strike you see. My how we chuckled.

And off she went as I stood at the street corner to decide between Le Sporting or L'Atmosphere. Where to take the mid morning coffee. These are the visceral dilemmas of this debutant striker.

I opted for Le Sporting as the sun was beating down onto the terrace at L'Atmosphere and being a family man I could not have the children glazed. The father might be being braised by cruel, soulless capitalist forces, but the bairns shall survive.

Then while eldest child was reading her library book I phoned a woman whom we'd all got to know while she, her husband and son were staying in Paris last year.

Actually her son had bitten the boy in the park.

"Rachel, you sound busy..."

"We're just leaving..."

"To go out?"

"No for the airport...."

I established that her flat was within yards of Le Sporting, so while husband went out to look for taxi, I caught up with her, saw her boy and when I was joined by the rest of my brood, up they all went for a quick tour of the new flat.

When hubby returned with a taxi, I helped with the loading of the suitcases. Toil, honest sweat - these are the core values of the striver.

The point of relating this interlude?

When we left Le Sporting we bumped into Manu - don't see you for months now three times in two days?

This time there was time to chat.

And what else is there to talk about other than the defeat?

Well I said at least France got to the last 16 before their non performance. England didn't have the capacity to be humiliated at the tournament.

Manu said it would be great if the Turks won.

????

"Well Sarkozy doesn't want them to join Europe....."

That lass is on another track of radical subversion. But then she is a doctor.

I'm not bound by the Hippocratic Oath so the rebel in me now wants the Turks to win.

The audio visual world may be on the verge of devastation but the boss of it all may yet be thwarted.

Even if it is only by irony.