Need something to read whilst you’re waiting in that queue in SW19? Or a little light reading for that holiday just around the corner?
Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player is the must-go-to humorous guidebook about dreams, disappointments, failures and triumphs; a satirical mid-life-crisis handbook for everyone who has never quite fulfilled their fantasies on the tennis court, or anywhere else – and is now available on audiobook!
The ‘Sporting Confessions’ series offers some rare insights and humour into what it is to be an athlete at the top of their game. Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player is the first book in a quartet of books which follow our hero, Lord Andy John Paul George Ringo Murray of Kirkintilloch through the Tennis Grand Slams around the world, in Melbourne, at Roland Garros in Paris, and finally, Lord Andy’s journey to immortality is told through the Fantastic Confabulations of an Ageing Tennis Player at Flushing Meadows in America.
‘Forget Sports Personality of the Year, because ‘Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player’ wins my Sports Hero of the Decade! In a world where fame sometimes sleazily schmoozes with ability, Nick Owens’ salvos slyly obliterate the pretensions afflicting grand spectacle. Written with cheery lunacy, the rollercoaster of crazy is a joy and a credit to serving both a fine read and a smashing volley, earning a final score of everything-to-love.’ (Rick Hoegberg, writer)
“The idea of an epic battle between the common man and the forces, trying to keep them at bay is always a winner with me. Nick’s brilliant balance between humour and tragedy had me cheering for Lord Andrew whilst at the same time wishing he could find someone, anyone, to just sit down with for a serious talk over a cup of tea … Iparticularly enjoyed recreating a well known – and cringeworthy – interview with a certain political leader on the BBC!”
From: Julian Pilkington-Sterne, Acting Assistant Deputy Director of Narrative Clay-Court Interpretation To: Anyone still emotionally solvent after Day One Time and Place: Roland-Garros, Sunday 24 May 2026
Who would have thunk it, but the French Open has begun, and I have been charged with the responsibility of providing you, our dearest of readers, with up to date daily reports of the thrills and spills that make up our most favourite of clay-court tournaments.
Day One flew by and already the clay has behaved less like a sporting surface and more like a committee meeting with weather.
But what about our very own Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray of Kirkintilloch I hear you all ask indignantly?
You can hear all about his challenge for the Franch Grand Slam in part one of our audiobook Les Conquêtes Normandes d’un Tennisman Vieillissant! here:
Elsewhere, the first major incident was the removal of Taylor Fritz, seeded seventh, by fellow American wildcard Nishesh Basavareddy, who won 7-6(5), 7-6(5), 6-7(9), 6-1. Fritz briefly appeared to have staged one of those muscular American recoveries after saving a match point in the third-set tiebreak, but Basavareddy regrouped magnificently and administered the fourth set as if chairing a disciplinary panel. It was his first top-10 win and, one suspects, a substantial inconvenience to several draw projections.
Meanwhile, Novak Djokovic, now apparently less tennis player than recurring institution, survived an early ambush from Frenchman Giovanni Mpetshi Perricard, who took the first set and briefly made Chatrier sound like a municipal uprising. Djokovic then remembered he was Djokovic and won 5-7, 7-5, 6-1, 6-4, progressing to face Valentin Royer. This was also Djokovic’s record-breaking 82nd men’s singles Grand Slam appearance, surpassing Roger Federer, which he treated, naturally, as merely another administrative formality.
In British matters, the afternoon was divided into tragedy and resurrection. Emma Raducanu lost to Argentina’s Solana Sierra, 6-0, 7-6(4) — a scoreline which began as a collapse, became briefly a resistance movement, and ended as a reminder that second-set gallantry does not, by itself, constitute a tournament campaign.
Then, in a much more stirring development, Fran Jones produced a fine comeback to beat former Roland-Garros semi-finalist Beatriz Haddad Maia, 1-6, 7-6(4), 6-2. This was Jones’s first Grand Slam main-draw win, achieved after losing the first set in a manner that would have caused lesser departments to cancel the meeting and reconvene in September.
Elsewhere, Alexander Zverev, seeded second, moved through with the minimum of fuss, defeating Benjamin Bonzi6-3, 6-4, 6-2. There was very little drama here, which is always suspicious at Roland-Garros, but one must occasionally accept competence where it presents itself.
The women’s draw contributed a properly operatic upset when Hailey Baptiste beat former champion Barbora Krejcikova6-7(7), 7-6(6), 6-2, saving match points along the way. This was less a tennis match than a three-act escape from a locked filing cabinet.
Marta Kostyuk also advanced, beating Oksana Selekhmeteva6-2, 6-3, under deeply emotional circumstances after learning of a missile strike near her family’s home in Ukraine. It was, by all accounts, one of the day’s most human moments: sport continuing, but not pretending the world outside the court had politely disappeared.
Among the younger forces, Mirra Andreeva beat Fiona Ferro6-3, 6-3, while João Fonseca advanced past Luka Pavlovic7-6(6), 6-4, 6-2, accompanied by what Roland-Garros described as a carnival atmosphere. Translation: Brazil has arrived, brought drums, and has no intention of using its indoor voice.
There were also heat-related difficulties, with temperatures around 33°C, retirements, and the usual Parisian sense that everyone was playing not only their opponent but also a terracotta casserole dish.
Day One has delivered the essentials: a top seed fell, Djokovic survived, Raducanu departed, Fran Jones rose, Baptiste escaped, Zverev behaved efficiently, and the clay began whispering to the ambitious. In short: Roland-Garros is open for business, the stationery is already on fire, and nobody should trust a two-set lead, a wildcard or a French crowd after dusk.
A gloriously absurd tennis adventure in which Andy Murray — or rather Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray of Kirkintilloch — sets his sights on Roland Garros.
Finally some peace. I asked Eleanor if I could work with Alex next week as he seems a calm kind of guy. Julian said something about “mentorship diversity.” He is strange, but not unkind. He just lives in his own movie. When I left, he waved too long. I pretended not to see. I remembered the old TV show, Srodne duše, which the Brits adapted into something called Blind Date. Ours was a match better version, with Ana Mihajlovski being a super hostess with the mostess. She is my heroine. Cilla Black? Who she? Alex, on the other hand is a different proposition… I think I need to find out more.
Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player 2026 Calendar
A 12 page, A4 calendar with images drawn from the Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player by Nick Owen and illustrations by Paul Warren.
He found me on the stairs. I was eating quietly. He told me stories about Helvetica and some tennis club. I said he talks too much. He looked wounded. I almost felt bad, but then he started explaining fonts again. Maybe English people are lonely in offices. In Serbia, we just drink coffee and ignore each other. Easier.
Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player: the Hoodie Collection
Thoughtfully designed hoodies which celebrate the Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player — subtle, comfortable, and perfect for readers who know that ambition often outruns ability.
Wear it as a quiet nod to the humour, persistence, and good-natured absurdity of the Ageing Tennis Player world.
A revelation: Maja eats lunch alone in the stairwell. I found her there (purely by chance) and tried to engage her with tales of my early marketing campaigns – the Helvetica Incident, the Wimbledon Bookstall Disaster, all sprung to mind.
She nodded once, then said, “You talk too much.” Directness! Refreshing honesty, though I suspect English is her second language and nuance gets lost. Still, her eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary when I mentioned Novak. I’ve begun to imagine us collaborating on a cross-European marketing strategy: “From Belgrade to Beeston — Publishing Without Borders.” Must write that down.
Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player
“I don’t like your attitude!” snaps “Serena Williams” as we square up over the club’s dubious grass courts. But I am “Andy Murray”, the greatest tennis GOAT ever, no really I am and you “Serena” are blocking me from my ultimate goal: chairman of our local club.
A riotously funny illustrated comic guidebook about obsession, ageing, sporting fantasy and the gap between imagination and reality.
Follow a man of a certain age — self-styled as “Andy Murray” — on his spirited, surreal journey through dreams of Wimbledon glory, club politics, and the absurdities of success that never quite arrives. The first in the Confessions series.
