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Hawk Aye

The trail to Wimbledon this weekend has been made more problematic by London Underground deciding to launch remedial work on the District Line on a scale only previously undertaken by those clever people behind Edinburgh trams.

The elder diarist was thus advised by a tube operative that the best way to the Championships from Earls Court was to take the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow, fly to Glasgow and then on to Gatwick, take an overground train to Wimbledon, changing at Clapham Common, and then stroll to the ground. Pretty straightforward really.

There has been as much football talked about as tennis so far at this year's tournament, even if Andy Murray neatly tip-toed away from one fairly naked fishing exercise on the "Anyone but England" theme yesterday by launching into a fairly detailed technocratic breakdown of Roy Hodgson's 4-2-3-1 shape.

In 2006, David Nalbandian actually went as far as asking organisers to bring forward his quarter-final tie against Fernando Verdasco so that he could see Argentina's quarter-final with Germany, even if both parties ultimately lost out that day.

Home-based tennis hopefuls this year have been placing requests to have their matches played at the same time as England's last group game.

Football brings the world together, doesn't it? Novak Djokovic, a dyed-in-the-wool Serb, is rather unconvincing in his attempts to portray the entire Balkan brotherhood as united. Who is he supporting at this World Cup? "Well, Bosnia, Croatia, and Greece are the neighbouring countries that I'm fan of and try to support," he muttered.

Maria Sharapova remains rather nonplussed by all this football chat. In fact, at one of her press conferences this week she appeared to have got football confused with cricket. "I'm no expert in football," she said. "I'll tell you that straight off the bat."

Rummage note: the younger diarist caused a stooshie at security. His bag is so large a passing Sherpa - they're everywhere down here - nodded in undeniable respect. The guard was not so admiring. He delved so far into the bag only his feet were visible. The best he could come up with was a programme from the US Open 2009, a phone charger for a Nokia 3210 and a Panini sticker album missing only Frank McAvennie and Glenn Hoddle to complete the set.

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