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The Courting Lives of an Ageing Tennis Player: meet the creative team

“Tennis belongs to the individualistic past – a hero, or at most a pair of friends or lovers, against the world.”  (Jacques Barzun)

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What we’re raising funds for

Having successfully published our first book, Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player in 2021, we are now following this up with the book’s sequel, The Courting Lives of an Ageing Tennis Player,  which follows the trials and tribulations, the dreams and delusions of the central character, Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray of Kirkintilloch.

We’re building on the successful creative collaboration with our illustrator, Paul Warren, and further develop our audiences and readers and build a series of ‘Confessions’ books which simultaneously entertain and provoke audiences across the world.

One day, we’d like to see the books cross over to film or television: and we’d love it if you were part of that journey!

But we need financial support to turn our text and images into a professionally designed and produced high quality, full colour paperback book, utilising the services of our designers, Creative Triangle and their printing team.  Financial support will also enable us to promote the book to existing and new audiences and help catapault the books into an exciting new future!

If you’d like to invest in the project, please visit our Kickstarter crowdfunding page here.

There are plenty of rewards available, whether you want to invest just a fiver or push the boat out and name the launch of the book after yourself or your loved ones!

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The Courting Lives of an Ageing Tennis Player: launching on 1 February 2022

We’re delighted to let you know that the creative team that bought you Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player will be launching the sequel on 1 February!

Get ready for The Courting Lives of an Ageing Tennis Player!

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Court Life: one trial, many tribulations

Continued from Court Life: the best of enemies, the best of friends?

May it please your Lordship. Gentlemen of the Jury, it is my duty, which I am called upon to discharge with more pain than I have ever executed any professional duty in the course of my experience, to explain to you the facts, and to explain to you the law by which a capital offence is to be imputed to the prisoner at the bar.

Gentlemen, undoubtedly when any body contemplates such a wretch as that is, of so tender years, and recollects that he stands at this moment, one may certainly state on the brink of eternity, to be rescued from inevitable ruin only by your verdict; the sensation of such a person must be undoubtedly very painful.

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Court Life: it’s No Vacc for Novak!

Continued from Court Life: 100 Days

I am used to waiting.  I have waited a lot in the years leading up to my inauguration as Chairman of the club so am no stranger to the waiting game.  But after five hours of being perched on my head honcho cushion, without seeing a tremble of my tepee curtain became, as you can imagine, dear reader, a tad irksome.

Where are my people and why are they are taking so long? I muttered to myself as I perambulated around an ever decreasing circle on the floor of my teepee.  Do they not realise who has called them?  Do they not realise who I am?  Do they not know what is at stake?

Just at the moment I had come to the centre of my tepee with no-where else to perambulate, my mobile phone rang.  At last I thought, they have finally seen sense and are going to ingratiate themselves with their grovelling apologies.

“Hello!”  I snapped. “What’s taking you?  We have a lot of business ahead of us!  Setting up a a brand new regime doesn’t happen just by itself you know.”

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Emma Raducanu wins coveted BBC SPOTY 2021 Prize! What next? Emma for Prime Minister?

Our intrepid sports reporter Murry Andrews of the all new Liverpool Daily Post has recently inveigled himself into Emma Raducanu’s celebrations of her announcement as the BBC Sports Personality of the Year.

In an exclusive interview with Murray, Emma spills the beans on what it took to add this highly prized trophy to her modest trophy cabinet.

“So, Emma, how does it feel?” asks Andrew in a manner which will surely have all sports correspondents trembling in their trainers with its derring-do, “Sat on the veranda of your penthouse luxury suite on the Thames, clutching your SPOTY 2021 trophy in your right hand and your Wimbledon Singles Tournament Ladies “Did-Alright-For-A-Wild-Card” urn in the other?”

Clealry taken aback at the lazer like precision of Murray’s question, Emma soon composes herself.

“Well, Murray,” she starts, “what I see behind me, quaffing champagne and sippling endless supplies of Romanian Țuică are the highest of the highest of the glitterati and celeberati.

Tyson Furey has just furiously slammed his sailor’s dinghy into the wharf at the end of my garden and waved to me with a traditional maritime greeting of respect, the two fingered salute made famous by the one and only Winston Churchill whose grandson, Winston Winston Winston Churchill, dropped by not five minutes ago to collect the rent.

I feel some moments of sympathy for my unlucky rivals in this year’s SPOTY competition. Adam Peaty (who he?) is floating from guest to guest at my party, trying to persuade them that they really do know him.  That’s the problem with being a swimming champion I guess: all the Great British Public see is your begoggled bald head and shiny torso slithering eel-like through a swimming pool.  No wonder everyone professes ignorance when he tries to regale them with his long list of World records (yawn).

And who’s sat over there on the kitchen barstool in a huff, her legs going round and round furiously in vain but getting no-where? None other than Dame Sarah Storey.  You can take the girl off the bike, but you can’t take the bike out of the girl as Raheem Sterling reliably informed me when we shared a bowl of twiglets together.

Tom Daley has continued to do what he does best: knitting.  ‘Tis a wonder he made it this far in life, never mind in the cruel world of tiddly winks.

There’s no getting away from it Murray: in order to win the most prestigious sports competition in the world, the Sports Personality Of The Year, on the world’s most prestigious broadcaster, one needs to have a bucket load of personality.

And that ladies and gentlemen, is why I, the Soon-to-be-Lady Emma Adele Laurie Blue Adkins of Auchtermuchty, have secured the prize in such emphatic style.

Now there is only one thing left to complete my universe.  Recognition of my achievements by my local club, which has, as you can imagine, been less than effusive in its praise in recent weeks. 

No matter.  The time is now right for the club secretary, Grace, to phone me and inform me that the club is ready to bestow the ultimate accolade upon me. 

The Chairwomanship.

At this point our intrepid reporter Murray Andrews was about to interrogate her political ambitions but he was unceremoniously shown the back door to Emma’s penthouse by her Ladyship’s security detail before he could hear whether she had designs on being the UK’s new Brexit Minister, the new Chief Medical Officer for England or even the next Prime Minister.

But dear reader, he will be back with all the news that is not yet fit to print.  See it all unravel here!

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“I put it all down to Lord Andrew!” Cameron Norrie bares his soul to Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray of Kirkintilloch.

 

Cameron Norrie, one of the best men’s tennis player in the world, produced one of the most predictable Masters 1000 triumphs in recent memory last night. From a set and a break deficit, Norrie recovered to comprehensively thrash Nikoloz Basilashvili and become the first British man to win the prestigious Indian Wells title. Ever.

In a NOP exclusive, Norrie gives a unique insight into his playing style and why he puts his entire success down to the hard wrought experience and wisdom of Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray of Kirkintilloch, currently being Pleasured by Her Majesty at a secret location somewhere in the depths of the Californian desert.

“When I was two years old, I used to watch the tennis on the TV and especially the guys like McEnroe, Borg and Nastase” confessed Norrie to Lord Andrew over a steaming mug of gruel.

“Round about Wimbledon time, my brother Decameron and I would play a kind of tennis out on our grandfather’s lawn. I would take on the role of John McEnroe and he would enact Jimmy Connors.  I would invariably win as I was two and he was just beginning to get to grips with being swaddled.  It was all done to the fact that I had a proper tennis racket and knew how to score properly.  He had nothing and knew even less.

As I’ve gotten older, it’s become clearer that proficiency in tennis is not all about age but all about who you know and what inspirational illustrated comic guide books on how to play tennis you can read before breakfast. Your book, Lord Andy, if I may call you that…?”

At this point, Lord Andrew JPGRM of Kirkintilloch nodded sagely, giving the young buck licence to bare his soul, prostrated at his master’s bare feet.

“Your book, Lord Andy, offered me a veritable cornucopia of playing tips and tricks which helped me deal with all sorts of opponents of all sorts of sizes and shapes, playing all kind of strange shots in the oddest of circumstances.  The Californian desert being one of them.

Part two showed me how to apply those skills and strategies to go on and win a major international tennis tournament.  Last night of all nights!”

At this point, Lord Andrew’s security advisor arrived and informed the visitor that his time was up and there could be no more advice and guidance from the oracle.  Cameron Norrie however refused to leave the company of Lord Andrew and protested vigorously at his imminent ejection.

“But I need some excellent advice on how to deal with the media interest and the furore around becoming an international tennis superstar and Sports Personality of the Year!  Which is surely mine now that Emma has disappeared in a Transylvanian smog of her own making?” shrieked Norrie as the security advisor doubled in size and number.”

Lord Andrew of Kirkintilloch took pity on the young tennis buck and offered him these words of peace and harmony.

“My book, Cameron, is for everyone who has suffered at the hands of pomposity or institutional inertia and feels that the traditional English values of fair play, a stiff upper lip and self-deprecation are lacking in many areas of our public life. 

With this in mind, part four offers some hard-fought wisdom about how to deal with the Machiavellian politics of the sports club and by extension our Great British society as a whole; something you have just witnessed firsthand. And for that ignominy, I am truly apologetic.  Ours is not to reason but just to sit back and take it on our substantial Roger Federer inspired chins.”

As Lord Andrew has shown many times before, Britain is not as ‘Great’ as it might like to think it is and the treatment of Cameron Norrie is yet another example of how mighty empires rise and fall.

You too can become an international tennis superstar and be inspired by Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray of Kirkintilloch by joining him in a rare attendance at Westfields Tennis Club at 21 Eastfield Rd, Leicester LE3 6FE on Thursday 21 October from  7pm.

“It’s never too late to leave your mark on the tennis court of life” as he sagely remarks here.

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My name is not Russell Crowe. Lord AJPGR Murray dispenses advice to Emma Raducanu.

My dear Emma,

To say I was hugely disappointed at your news this morning that you had fallen at the first fence of the BNP Paribas Open in Indiana Wells in such a miserable fashion would be an understatement.

I was devastated, distraught and filled with remorse that I was unable to guide you through those early baby steps outside the hustle and bustle of the Grand Slams.

I realised too late that I should accepted your request to be your coach once you had dispensed with the services of that previous no-hoper you employed. Tim did his tiny best I am sure but it should have been me on that aeroplane with you to California.

Too late, too little: such are the risks facing eponymous tennis champions and their coaches and failure is a tough lesson to learn for both of us.

But never-mind Emma: now is not the time to crow or wallow in self doubt and recrimination.

We will return in style and I will make it my number one priority to be court-side with you (albeit via a Zoom call as my current location doesn’t allow for personal visits) on Monday morning to pick you up off the floor, put that determined little smile back on your chubby cheeks and get that forehand swishing again properly.

Indian Wells will be but a distant memory on Monday afternoon as we prepare for your next great challenge: Frinton on Sea Lawn Tennis Club in November.

 

More insights from Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray here.

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Mmm peachy. Lord AJPGR Murray confesses.

I’m not a little relieved that my impersonator has been reunited with his plimsolls over night.

The accusatory looks I was getting from my so called neighbours was all getting a bit too much.

“The scent of peach around your legs is a bit of a give away” remarked one local wag, as his dogs kept on sniffing sniffing sniffing around my nether regions.

Just cheap aftershave I explained, trying to shoo them away in the process. The dogs weren’ t listening though and it soon became clear that I would have to take drastic action.

Fetch! I threw my trainers over the railway crossing as the gates came down, hoping those infuriating hounds would leap on to the railway track about the same time that the 15.47 Liverpool train was passing.

Jump they did, fetch they did but true to British Rail form, the 15.47 was 2 minutes late and they were able to bring me back the trainers intact, albeit covered in a slime of dog slobber. I held them up, scrutinised them and held them to my nose. Mmm, still peachy.

I put them back on my feet and marvelled at their perfect fit. My impersonator had clearly done his homework. Quite how he had found out about my size 16 feet is anyone guess – and quite how he thinks he can get around a tennis court carrying those barges at the end of his legs is quite beyond me too but I have to admit, they felt comfortable, well worn in and clearly had many tales to tell about their owners trials and tribulations on the world’s tennis courts.

I luxuriated in them for a bit longer before reconciling myself to the fact that they would need to be returned to their rightful owner, even if he was unwilling to return the title of Wimbledon champion and Sports Personality of the Year to me.

Timing is everything I mused as I posted them through the outsize postbox on the front door of his bungalow. I rang the doorbell and scarpered away as fast as I could back home. I wasn’t in the mood to confront my imposter, even if his plimsolls reminded me of the Algarve.

More insights from Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray here.

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Imposter alert! Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray of Kirkintilloch puts the record straight.

The news that some two bit tennis player who calls himself ‘Andy Murray’ has had his wedding ring stolen whilst attached to his plimsolls has led to various accusations that yours truly is implicated in some way in this heinous crime.

I would like to assure my many fans that these rumours are unfounded, untrue and unnerving in the sense that they suggest that one’s private life is not as private as one would like it to be.

The proposition that I would somehow have the capability to track down the location of this so-called ‘Andy Murray’, then be the slightest bit interested in his plimsolls – even if they did reek of a rather pleasant peach like odour – or even be a bit remotely bothered by the wedding ring which was probably carelessly entwined around the aforesaid plimsoll laces without any consideration of the poor woman who had foolishly pledged her life to follow in his footsteps (I warned her, I really did) – is just plain ludicrous.

Quite where these spurious allegations have arisen is a complete mystery and unfortunately, given my current circumstances, somewhat difficult to contest.

But contest them I shall. And Mr. so-called ‘Andy Murray’ will regret the day he attempted to brief the paparazzi against yours truly. Mr ‘Murray’: je ne regret riens but you may well do very soon.

More insights from Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray here.

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Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray of Kirkintilloch speaks!

We’re delighted to inform our readers that far from disappearing downstream into the morning mists of the River Mersey all those years ago, the Mighty Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray of Kirkintilloch has resurfaced ready to share his wit and wisdom with all those who care to listen to his recent forays into the steaming cauldron that is International Tennis.

This weekend saw him pull off one of the most incredible achievements in living tennis memory: the complete and utter obliteration of his opponent in the Women’s Final of the US Open Tennis Championship in New York. Whilst not a man of many words, we managed to pin him down to say a few words for our readership.

Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you all. I can’t believe that this has ended in such a thrilling style, with so many decisive moments, nerve tingling decisions, and life changing choices.

Fergy was an incredible opponent this afternoon, but I agree with her when she says the best woman won (i.e. me).

So, congratulations to her for putting up such a spirited fight, and congratulations to me for pulling out all the stops and astounding everyone.

While now is not the time to crow, it is worth remembering those who fell at an early stage during the competition and for the valuable contribution blah… blah… blah… they have made to the upper echelons of the tennis fraternity.

Holding the trophy aloft will stay in my memory for the rest of my life and I would like to finally thank you all, my supporters, my coach, my advocates and my enemies for the encouragement you have given me or the motivation which has spurred me on to prove you all wrong. This year’s US Open has proven to me that anything is possible, with the right attitude, guts, determination, and fertile imagination.

My club, my tennis, my world, my gender, will never be the same again.

Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you.

Lord Andrew will be available for book signings, contracts and endorsements at the usual address.