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Just this week I tried to introduce my grandmother to some of the wonders of 21st century fitness technology by taking my Nintendo console round to her place and introducing her to Wii Fit. Sadly, it failed to spark her interest; what did however, was Wii tennis, but it also had the unintended consequence of causing me to joke I would be making her the subject of an accident compensation claim.
As she has done for the past half-century or so, my grandmother has spent the best part of her midsummer sitting in front of the television, drinking Pimm's and watching the Wimbledon tennis championships. She is an avid and excitable Roger Federer fan and endlessly likes to share with anyone who will listen her admiration of his "gracefulness" and "charm". Even home hope Andy Murray can't supplant the place the great Fed holds in her heart.
So, after she expressed interest in playing Wii tennis, it came as little to surprise me that she should like her avatar to be none other than her beloved Swiss champion. What did come as a surprise though was the sheer venom, energy and aptitude with which she took to the game; there was practically no bedding-in period.
Within about five minutes she was taking furious and unnecessarily large swings across the sitting room. Suddenly she'd turned from a mild-mannered and arthritis-afflicted lady gardener of a certain age to a convincing, albeit unsuitably clad, body double for the greatest tennis player of all time. I was amazed that, with no previous experience of any form of computer gaming, she was able to immediately assimilate all the skills and proprioception necessary - well, almost.
Midway through the second set of our third Murray-Federer encounter, our head-to-head record was 2 to 1 in her favour, she lashed out for a killer forehand only to hit her display cabinet with the Wii controller, causing the whole thing to teeter teasingly and my grandmother to desperately exclaim, "The Clarice Cliff! Noooooo!".
Fortunately, the cabinet had been merely humouring us, perhaps even warning us that disturbing the usual suburban quietude was flirting with disaster. Thinking this, I suggested that we might finish up before the whole thing ended up in an accident compensation claim, but my grandmother would have none of it, telling me that Federer at least deserved the chance to draw level with that "charmless Scot".
Unfortunately, only three games later, the came did have to be called of as I, Andy Murray, had to medically retire with a "work injury", sustained when Granny Federer hit me above the eye with the Wii stick. "Had enough?" she said. "I'll take it that you forfeit the match and the series."
Reluctant to be drawn into another point, let alone another match, I simply assented, lest we became embroiled in a long and serious accident compensation claim.
