The lighting is on the wall ...

... or, in more normal parlance, the writing is on the wall for my too-long-lasting dose of sunstroke. It took until late evening, but quite suddenly it dawned on me that I was feeling fully human again and that all the symptoms had finally cleared up. It's been a rotten feel-sorry-for-myself week, and I'm glad it's over.

In other news, I watched the finish of the amazing tennis match between John Isner and Nicolas Mahud. It took them another hour and five minutes, but finally things were decided, in Isner's favour, at a score of 70-68. I was glad to see a special presentation being made to both players and to the (excellent) umpire, but I didn't much fancy the way it was done. It really annoys me when television calls the shots at sporting events, and this annoyance was amplified by the presence of John Inverdale, the BBC anchor man, who is irritating at the best of times and was especially so on this occasion (his shepherding of the players down to the score board for a photo op was especially insensitive - especially for Nicolas Mahud, who I'm would have preferred to put his head down in the locker room - and then he compounded his errors by congratulating John Isner on having made it through to the third round rather than the second as was the actual case). But enough of the carping ... it really has been an extraordinary tussle, and it was wonderful to be able to watch so much of it ball by ball.

It was a bit of a nothing day apart from that. As I say, it was late evening by the time I felt back to my normal self, and the blip (my only shot of the day) dates from a quick trip to the local shop. It had been cloudy all day, but the sun fitfully broke through the clouds from 6.30 or so, and I quite liked the shadow patterns it was creating.