-2/10. Truly piss-poor, 'wouldn't be seen dead in it,' dreadful.
Sorry, Laura Robson (and good effort earlier by the way), but I couldn't give my full attention to cheering you on, love, because of having my eyes continually drawn to some lump of a woman line judge, squeezed - yes, squeezed, into some naff get-up that you'd expect to see at a Working Men's bowls club of a Sunday afternoon. Did someone think the addition of the white cap would make the whole ghastly striped-shirt charade look somehow trendy? Well all it does is make everybody look like they're eight months' gone. Even the men. And as for those House of Elliott reject skirts, don't even get me started. (We're back on the women now, in case there's any doubt.)
Why can't our annual tennis fest be like the other Grand Slam events and we can have our officials decked out in cool polo shirts, or tees, rather than this poncy 'bankers on a cruise' stuffed shirts brigade. Better still, get Vivienne Westwood to knock something up. Course it won't happen. Because this, my dears, is Wimbledon, blah, blah . . . years of tradition, blah, blah, crap.
Honestly, 2009's faux pas must be the least flattering officials' kit ever. If I'd been signed up as a line judge, I'd have started an all-out rebellion, trashed the gear and walked out, which would surely have been something of a comfort to the players, as I have enough trouble seeing whether the ball was in or out on the action replays, let alone in real time.
Hang on a sec. What with my dodgy eyesight, maybe I've done those outfits a disservice. Perhaps with my glasses on . . . up close . . . they'll look . . .
Nah, hideous.
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