But what about Wimbledon?

Skin still rashed up, but I'm not going to write about that because it's far too depressing.

Yesterday was the men's final at Roland Garros. Just as it has been for the last few years, it was a match between Rafa Nadal and Roger Federer. Just as it has been for the last few years, it resulted in a victory for Rafa Nadal. What makes it different this year, though, is the nature of the result.

6-1, 6-3, 6-0. Straight sets. Two trips to the bakery. Comprehensive. Embarrassing. Unbelievable.

Prior to the final, both players gave the usual soundbites. No, said Rafa, it wasn't certain that he'd win; yes, it was always a pleasure to play Federer, one of the greatest players of all time; yes, he'd play his best and that was all he could do. As for Federer, he'd never felt closer to taking that elusive RG title and he thought he now had the game to beat Nadal. No, his lack of form so far didn't worry him. This year, quoth he, would be his year. And, for what it's worth, other people - including the great Bjorn Borg - agreed with him.

6-1, 6-3, 6-0. 

The first time Roger has had a love set since 1999. 

It was a strange match to watch. There was a sense that you were watching something special, something historic, but for all the wrong reasons. As forehand after forehand sprayed wide, as volleys and drop shots failed to clear the net, it all felt like some tennis-themed Twilight Zone. This was Roger Federer - or looked like him - but where were his impossibly angled passing shots, the imperious net game? Where was the ballet tennis that has seen him reign supreme over the tennis world for the last few years? Remember, this is the guy who has been number one in the world since 2004. This is the guy who, during 2006 and 2007 seemed entirely unbeatable (unless it was a clay court and his opponent was Rafa).  What was this?

The truth is, of course, that this year Roger Federer has been a shadow of his former self. He lost to Mardy Fish and to Andy Roddick - which, for some people, has been the sign of a forthcoming apocalypse - and has been unable to find the form that he's enjoyed over the last few years. Glandular Fever has been blamed - apparently contracted prior to the Australian Open - but whatever the reason, he's failed to find perfection. 

Oh, there have been glimpses of his usual stunning play, but no more than that. His semi-final against Monfils at RG this year was perhaps the most telling: there were two Rogers out there. One of the Rogers was the dominating Roger, the unbeatable Roger. The other Roger couldn't hit the ball within the lines - or over the net - to save his life. Luckily the first Roger had more court-time than the latter, but it can't have felt like a good match and he can't have been happy when he sat down for a post-match analysis.

It's been easy to forget that, years ago, Roger Federer was considered a possible underachiever, somebody who had to sort out his mental demons if he were ever to hit his potential. His self-confidence was hard-won; that incredible aura of invincibility was a prize, not a right. In other words, this wasn't something that came naturally to him. He'd earned it.

So what now? As usual, he was positive in post-match presser, and claimed that it wouldn't affect his mental preparation for the grass court season; he is, he believes, still the favourite for Wimbledon. 

Well, yes. It'd be foolish to think that anybody else will be walking away the victor from SW19 in July. But, fool that I am, I can't help looking down the list of players... and seeing a few players that might just take the crown from the King.

Yuck. And also, ouch.

So the little bit of eczema I thought I had isn't eczema. It's dermatitis.

 

And the rash on my ear isn't eczema. It's impetigo.

Apparently.

I really should go and see the doctor more often. I'm on antibiotics and have to stay off work until the grossness clears up. 

But I'm a bit worried. I'm usually a healthy sort of person and this year I've had quite a few low-level annoyances. Not big dramatic illnesses - touch wood, thank goodness etc etc - but stupid little things. I'm not sure if fungal infections can stick around and cause chronic little things, but I'm beginning to think that could be the case.

Notice I'm not looking it up, though. Just thinking about it. At this stage it's an annoyance, nothing more.

Ooh, I've eaten too much.

Pound cake is good. Very good, especially when served with strawberries and cream.

Yes, I know it's decadent. But half-term is over in a few hours and I've got to do something to keep up my spirits.

I made the pound cake today, incidentally, not yesterday. But I have a very good excuse. Yesterday I was traumatised by an Evil Insect Incident. Afterwards I had to have a good long lie-down, so pound cake had to wait.

What was the incident? Oh, no doubt it'll seem trivial now. No doubt, it'll seem like a girly over-reaction, now. But yesterday...

...okay, it was a small thing. I'd decided to marinade some salmon in a sort of honeyandfresh gingerandchilli sort of sauce, which I'd make from scratch. I chucked the salmon into a dish, squeezed on a bit of olive oil, a bit of honey, a bit of soy sauce, a bit of sliced ginger. Then I grabbed a chilli pepper and cut in half. I had some idea of using half of it and keeping the other half until the next day.

As I cut into it, I noticed a dry sort of dusty stuff crumble out onto the chopping board. I didn't think too much of it - I've seen that before - but then I noticed movement.

Something moving.

In the chilli.

Already groaning with disgust, I looked closer. 

There it was! A wriggly little translucent ridged grub, trying to hide underneath the seed membrane.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I screamed. Yes. Actually screamed. High-pitched. Girly. You know the kind.

The chilli pepper went into the bin and then very quickly down the rubbish chute. No way was I keeping that little beastie anywhere within eyeshot. I threw away the other chillis I'd bought, just in case there was some kind of colony involved.

Still shuddering. Yuck.

I used dried chilli flakes instead. Just as good, actually. But I fear I'll never summon up the courage to cut open a fresh chilli pepper again.