Wimbledon, it seems, is here again. The greatest tennis tournament in the world, held in the heart of England and us Brits stand about as much chance as a fart in a wind tunnel of winning. Or even coming second, or third, or fourth, or… oh you know the rest.

Football. Likewise. We didn’t even make it through the qualifying rounds. What a bunch of absolute bumholes us English are at sport.

Fortunately I couldn’t give a raw prawn. Sport is only good for one thing. Yep, you guessed it. Chatting up boys. We may not win a single sporting event this year but if you’ve got a bit of savvy you can at least ensure that your love life scores (oh come on, how could I not use that pun!)

My personal route was to organize a sweepstake on the footy. I known chiff all about the bloomin game, but boy did it put me in a good light with the chaps in the office.

I wandered around, asking the lads to plunge their hands deep into my dish and pull out whenever they felt they’d clasped something exciting. What fun.

I’m not being sexist here, I do of course realize that girls like football too; the thing is I’m just not interested in pulling females.

The result with the boys was however, a resounding success. Once they’d picked out their team they whooped or moaned depending on whom they had drawn and within minutes there was chatter about where we should go to watch the games – of course being the organizer of the sweepstake I was instantly included in their plans (much to the chagrin of the other birds in our office). So over the past couple of weeks we’ve all been out watching the matches together and even my dumbass numpty of a brain has picked up enough sporting knowledge to keep my end up when flirting with a sports fan. My advice, if you, like me, know very little, is to nod along in agreement whenever you are clueless and simply chip in with the minor bits of information that you do know, when and only when, it is appropriate. If you are even an incey-wincey bit unsure it’s better to keep schtum than to bang on about the wrong thing and make a right tit of yourself.

The same applies to the tennis or indeed any other ridiculous pastime that involves a ball of some description. Pick up a smidgen of knowledge, park yourself at the centre of the event and watch those sporty-types flock. Oh and girls, if you’re stuck for something to say an innocent query about a man’s ‘skillful ball control’ is guaranteed to raise a smile.

Screw sport. We ladies have our own games, and when we play, we play to win.

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