Surprise Meeting

Called but not summoned James Elliot made his way to see his father.  He was not looking forward to this meeting; James had not spoken to the great explorer for over fifteen years.  As he walked the long hallways of his father’s stately home, a massive house that was generally unoccupied, James wondered why his father after all this time wanted to see him.  At first, he had ignored his father’s requests, but Lord Jackson Elliot, known to all as Lord Jack, was very demanding and persistent.  James had always thought he was more like his mother, Lord Jack’s first wife, than his father; the great explorer had been through four marriages, and it seemed to James a bit of a miracle.  How he ever had the time to explore the galaxy and get married, and have sired six children, James being the oldest was quite unbelievable.  Still over his long life, he had managed to perform all these tasks effortlessly and in doing so made many women both very happy and extremely mad and angry at the same time.  His children,  three males and three females, he had never really took any interest in, as soon as he knew of conception, he would be off on another adventure to some part of the galaxy, or wherever else he went.  Then there would be a divorce and that would be it until the next helpless woman came into his sights.

Now though for some unknowable reason he wanted to see James, and this perturbed him immensely.  James was an academic, he had never been interested in adventure, he had studied the galaxy and you could say was an armchair version of his father, or that is how James always described himself.  To be precise he was an eminent professor, and the academic version of his infamous father.  However, James was a creature of habit and did not want to leave his conformable life with his wife Selena, and their two children Mark and Harry.  They had never met their grandfather, though they showed signs of wanting to be like him especially Harry, who was at that age where going on adventures seemed cool and exciting.  James’s wife Selena also worked at the same University as James, she was a biologist and a real beauty, she had dark coffee coloured skin and a fantastic figure for her age.  James knew he was a lucky man, he had everything he ever could want, the job he always wanted, the family he loved, a beautiful house, no money issues even the family dog a chocolate Labrador was perfect.  Now his father’s demand to see him left a sour taste in his mouth. 

What on earth did he want?

Eventually after walking along many hallways following Jenkins the Butler, he reached the study room of his father.  James took a large breath, he felt apprehensive, what was he going to say; the last time his father had seen him, he was in his late twenties.  Jenkins knocked on the door then opened it and James was ushered into the large library come study.

Lord Jackson Elliot was sitting behind his desk.  He did not look up.  To James’s surprise a small blue creature, no larger than a child, gestured to James to sit down.

“Hello sir,” said the little blue creature.  “Please will you take a seat?”

James walked over and sat on the seat provided, his father had still not looked up from his digital screen.

“Your father is finishing important business,” said the creature.  “He is nearly finished.”

“Do not call me bloody father Weasties, and do not tell anyone when I will be bloody finished,” bellowed the old man with a white beard, full head of white hair, and a strong yet weathered face.

“Yes my Lord.”

“So are you going to just ignore me then pop,” said James sardonically.

Lord Jack looked up and smiled.

“Of course not James, but I did not bring you here for a touching family reunion,” he barked without any sign of emotion.

“Then why am I here, so I can make this meeting brief.”

Lord Jack smiled, and then stood up and walked around to the other side of his massive ornate wooden desk.  He was a tall, powerful, imposing, figure.  He sat on the table right next to James; his imposing presence hovered over James like a giant beast about to devour its prey.  It made James feel very uncomfortable.

“You are here son, for a reason and this reason might be the making of you and get you out of your sad existence, living here on this planet.  It is life or death it is the here and now, and the past and present.  It is an adventure into another dimension.”

James rose out of his seat, leaning back from his imposing father.

“I have no interest in your stupid adventures, Lord Jack.  Now say your piece and I will be off, but I will have nothing to do with them.”

Jack sighed, “You have no choice my boy.  You will come and you will help me.”

“Excuse me!  Are you kidnapping me?”

“No, but unfortunately, your brothers and sisters have all been kidnapped…”

“What!”

“I have not finished, they have my ex-wives, my bloody various long term girlfriends even my illegitimate children.”

He did not say any of this with any hint of emotion; this was more a principle, there was just apathy and lack of empathy for this adventurer, than any fear of harm to his kin.

“You have more children, I have more siblings?”

“That is not important.  I need your help otherwise they will all be terminated.”

“Terminated, is that the best way you can describe death,” said James horrified.

“They think I have an answer to a secret that has been long lost.  They think that when I was on Sordoria, I found the key to dimensional travel.”

“What has this to do with me?”

“You know about the history of the explored worlds of the galaxy, you can speak the many languages, you have studied the customs and the legends of the main worlds.  I find this hard to say but I need your help to compete this task.  It is the only way to save our family.”

 “Our family, our family, what family, you left my mother when I was only a child.  You never cared about family.  Why should I help you?  I have never even met any of my other family, my mother is dead, I have no affiliation to these people whose lives you have tainted by your selfishness.  I am not an adventure like you Lord Jack; I am an academic I work in a University for god sakes.”

“You will help me!” demanded Jack and he slammed his fist onto the desk.

“No I won’t,” and James started to walk towards the door.

“They have your wife and children also.”

Moon Disappearing Thoughts

Nearly a year ago I wrote a piece about the moon disappearing.  It was the end of January and at the time it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.  It was inspiring at the time and I will never forget the feelings it gave me.  In my time of stress, or anxiety, or if I feel low, I close my eyes and relive that experience trying to capture the emotional energy I felt as I watched in amazement, the joyous excitement and overwhelming childlike wonder that went through me.  It was a significant moment in my life and I will never forget it.

Since then I have noticed with interest how many others seem to have also noticed the moon disappearing, and to my astonishment some people have even left comments, not many but some have described their experiences of seeing the moon disappear.

In saying that, I have noticed a pattern to when people seem to experience the disappearance of the moon.  Every month between roughly the 17^th to the 25^th, I get a large spike in hits when someone is looking on the internet for the moon disappearing in the sky.  It happens as regular as a moon cycle, and perhaps it has something to do with the fact at this time of the month the moon is always at its new moon phase.  I have just looked it up; at a certain time of the month when the moon has gone through its cycle, it is nearly nothing, a tiny slither.  Obviously, when the moon is at this minute slither, it can seem to disappear.

This conclusion seems plausible.  However, this does not explain at least to me and to my experience, the way the light from the moon wax and waned, then moved around the circumference of the tiny slither.  It was as if a light was shining behind the moon moving up and down causing the main glow to move accordingly.  I have just realised, how stupid of me, of course there is a light behind the moon it is the sun.  Obviously, when in the new moon phase the sun hitting the back of the moon and only showing a tiny slither causes an optical illusion.  Then air pollution, and perhaps cloud cover or a myriad of things, add to the illusion.  Yet I remember as clearly, as if I was seeing it now, an amazing surge of energy through my body as I watched.  I remember seeing the star slightly above the moon, appear and disappear and I will never forget it.  Surely that was not because of the sun, and it was definitely not cloud cover.

Still it is strange how every month at around the same time as I witnessed my moon disappearing experience, many other witness roughly the same thing and I hope they get the same emotion sensations as I felt.  I love to watch the sky at night, unfortunately, I live in a built up area and it is not easy to see the stars.  There is no greater feeling than being in the middle of a totally dark place on a clear night and to look up and the amazing sight we get to see for nothing, and to gaze in awe at our incredible satellite the moon.

First Memories

Pain.  Pain is something you learn over time, it shocks you, it causes distress and misery, it grows inside you like a cancer, pain is life and life is pain.  Yet what is worse the physical pain, the agony of bodily harm, or the psychological pain, the long lingering, never-ending suffering, the sleepless nights, the cold sweats, the fear and the terror.  Festering inside your mind, it changes you, it breaks you, it tears you apart, leaving a lonely shell.  The more times you feel its grasp, the strangle hold of pain, the more it tightens its grip and forces you to recognise how small and irrelevant you are in the grand scheme of life.  I have felt the pain, it has been with me all my life, I have hidden from it, I have shunned existence to try to find some kind of reason for my pain.  Now as I reach the end of my life I can write about my life and the pain and sometimes the happiness that comes before the pain.

It all started when I was very young, barely old enough to realise I was alive, still an adolescent child, still innocent, unknowing of what was to unfold.  I remember the day as if was yesterday, as if I was there on that beach.  It was a cold winters day, sometime before Christmas, I believe I was four or five, perhaps I was older or younger, who knows now, it was so long ago.  I knew I was not at school, I think it was the Christmas holidays or perhaps a weekend.  The memory is full of the emotion of the experience, and not the specifics of time and place.  A brisk wind blew from the sea, the waves crashed like rolling avalanches of snow.  The sound, the smell, as I write I can feel how wonderful it all was.  That smell of the sea, the invigorating feeling of being alive, that freshness, as the breeze of the sea energises you.

I remember this day, my last day of innocence; the last time I can remember when I did not feel pain.  I was with my father and grandparents; I was running and laughing, throwing pebbles into the crashing waves to see if they would skim.  I drew pictures in the sand; I found magical shells and precious stones, as my young mind perceived them.  It was wonderful.  My brother Jack was less enthusiastic, he did not want to go to the beach, he wanted to stay home and play on his computer.  My sister Jane, she was my older sister, my guardian, my saviour, yet she did not know it yet.

Playing on the sand dunes, jumping down, seeing how far we could launch ourselves.  Slowly as always Jack began to enjoy himself he was the oldest by three years, he would jump the furthest, run the fastest, I loved my brother but I was closer to my sister, Jane was kind, gentle, and always willing to listen and to help.  However, on this day she was unable to help, unable to save me from my first trip inside the dark side of life.  I was very young to realise the agony of what life was truly going to be like.  Happiness, pleasure, joy, comes at a price, and for me it was a high price.

As we played, we moved further and further away from my father and grandparents, they plodded slowly with a cautious eye on where we were.  Yet, the long beach curved and we were nearing our favourite destination, the rocks that lead off to an old lighthouse.  We were now out of sight, and nearing the rocks.  I am not sure if they had a name or what the name of the lighthouse was but we called it Rapunzel’s castle, and when we reached the rocks, Jack would call out, mimicking the fairy tale “Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your hair.”  When I was young, I was innocent enough to believe that she was inside and I always wanted to see her long golden hair.

The rocks to the lighthouse were very dangerous and even though I had clambered over them a million times, I was still very hesitant.  Jack was full of confidence; he glided over them as if they were not even there, as if he was a light as a feather.  Jane was always terrified of crossing, and would not leave the safety of the sand.  I was also scared but I loved my brother and if he could get across the rocks, then so could I, yet I had only ever crossed in the summer, when it was less windy, much warmer and with the guidance of my father or an adult friend.  This would be my first crossing by myself.  I could see Jack skipping merrily; he was laughing and singing his Rapunzel song over and over again, as if he was taunting me, as he was daring me to take the chance.

“Come on Chris,” he shouted.  Come on you want to see Rapunzel don’t you?”

“I’m trying.”

“Be careful,” shouted Jane from behind, I could sense the fear in her words.

I slowly made my way across the first part of the rocks, I could see small crabs and tiny fish in the rocks pools.  The wind was now getting stronger; I carefully took step after step, occasionally slipping my little heart was pumping fast, the wind increased, and my hat blew off my head.  I heard behind me my sister scream; as I turned, I slipped and fell into a rock pool.  For a second I was convinced I would drown or some horrid creature would come out from below a rock and take my leg, crabs might gang up and attack me snipping at my feet.  I could see my brother gliding over the rocks towards me.  I was breathing fast yet I was fine, the water was only a few inches deep, it did not even come over my bright blue Wellies.  Still I was small I was only four, how could I get out of the pool of water, the rocks were slippery, long strands of smelly seaweed, and a greenish moss covered most of the rocks.  I was still terrified; convinced something would attack me from beneath the tiny amount of water.  I could hear my sister calling to Jack to get me, then he was there smiling.

“You look like Rupert Bear,” he announced when he reached me laughing.

“I do not,” I proclaimed, ashamed at being in such a desperate situation, unable to climb out of the rock pool by myself. 

He now started singing, “Rupert, Rupert the bear everyone knows his name.”

I started to cry, and held my hands high pleading with him to get me out.  Finally, he pulled me to safety and I was so relieved when I was standing on a firm solid rock.

“Come on little Rupert Bear. Let’s see if Rapunzel is there.”

My tears had stopped, and I held my brother’s hand all the way to the lighthouse, fear and trepidation turned into excitement and when I reached the base, I turned and shouted to Jane.

“I’m here, I made it,” my hands waving, I was jumping up and down, in my white winter coat.

The door to the lighthouse was old and rotten, the lighthouse had not been in use for many years.  Jack had pulled the rotten door open ajar.

“Are you coming inside?” he asked trying to make his voice sound as creepy as possible.  “Rapunzel might be upstairs, but then again the evil wicked witch might be there also.”

Intense excitement and exhilaration masked my fear, I was with my brother he was strong and brave in my eyes, I would be safe from any wicked witch.  The smell of the sea was invigorating, but inside the lighthouse, the smell was stale and foetid, the putrid musty smell of decay overwhelmed me and I was reluctant to go further inside the lighthouse.  Jack gave me a look that calmed me and said without words come on let us explore and see what upstairs is like.  Slowly we walked up the solid stone steps, round and round the lighthouse.  This was not a manned lighthouse; it had no rooms, just endless stairs.  Being so small I was tired, the fresh air and the sea was catching up on me, as I walked I felt dizzy I did not want to look down.

Finally, we reached the top and Jack pushed his way into the light itself.  We could see for miles, I had to stand on my tiptoes to see properly but I could see my father and grandparents in the distance.  I could see my sister Jane she was waving.  I could see ships far away on the horizon.  Further along the shore, I could see a man playing with a very large dog that looked like a cow, it seemed huge.

We only stayed there a short while yet it seemed like a lifetime, I created a magical world and imagined going on a fantastic journey.  Jack chased me around the great light; I had never seen a bulb so large.  I wondered if the light still worked and if it would blind me; would it magically come to life, whilst we were still there.  Then we started back down the stairs and out back into the cold wind, it was strong and brisk, it was biting my face, and turning me cheeks red.  This time my brother held my hand as we negotiated the rocks.  It fascinated me how he would jump over large distances, distances that seemed beyond my reach.  Nothing scared him, he never slipped he was always sure of himself.  He helped me over them and finally we reached the shore and my sister Jane once more.  Jack was laughing, calling me a scaredy Rupert Bear.  Jane just smiled and hugged me and we immediately headed back up towards the sand dunes.  I ran out in front of my two siblings, the dunes were steep and I rushed as fast I could run up towards the thick needle like grass, I always hated that pointy thick dune grass.  As I reached the top, the dune descended down immediately and I ran head long into a great black beast.

My speed was such that I was lurching forward and my head hit the great beast in the stomach.  I fell to the ground and the huge black dog from hell turned and looked at me then growled, a growl so deep and menacing I will never forget it.  The next few moments, they could have been seconds they could have been minutes I was unaware of time or space.  The great beast attacked, it massive jaw and huge teeth grabbed my head, and wrestled me to the ground.  I started to scream, I screamed as loud as I had ever done or have ever done since.  I felt no pain, I just felt helpless, unable to free myself from jaws of death.  As the massive dog threw me around like a rag doll, I noticed my brother and sister standing frozen still and helpless at the top of the dunes looking on shocked, unable to comprehend what was happening to me.  My screams were so loud within moments my father arrived and smashed something large against the dog, but it would not let go of my head.  I knew in my young undeveloped mind that I was going to die; I could feel the teeth tearing into my skull.  Still I did not feel any pain; it was as if my body, my mind overwhelmed by shock, by the terrible situation, because of the inevitability of death, it had switched off my pain receptors.  After what seemed like an eternity, the dog, the great beast, finally let go and ran off.

My screaming did not desist, I now started to feel the pain, it surged through like an avalanche of agony, blood poured from my shredded skull.  My white coat was blood red.  I was lying in the sand dune looking up at the grey cloudy sky, blood in my eyes, tears pouring, screaming without any knowledge of whether I was alive or dead.  I could not sense anything around me; I was numb to all but the agonising pain of what had happened. 

I felt as if I left this world for a brief time and lived as a ghost or a spirit, perhaps my soul outside my broken body.  I was seeing the pain from a distance, trying to disassociate myself from the body, my broken body, my scared face.  It would haunt me all my life.

They rushed me to the nearest hospital but it was not capable of looking after a young child near death, my forehead ripped to pieces, the skull showing through my shredded head, the horrific bite marks from the hell beast.  My mother arrived and this caused me to cry more and she held me and comforted me but I was still in a state of shock.  As if a ghost, disconnected from my body, disassociated from the suffering, and the agony and pain, the physical and now soon the psychological.  I remember they rushed me to another hospital in an ambulance, my head rapped in a thick bandage as the blood still poured, it would not stop, the blood continued to gush like a river that had burst its banks.  I looked on from a distance as a ghost, staring numb, at myself disfigured face, knowing I would never be the same again.  I was now a deformed freak, I wondered if I was better dying.  Would it not be better if I died, so I could not feel the pain I would have for the rest of my life.

I arrived at the large hospital and they immediately rushed me to intensive care.  I remember the nurse, my mother was there trying to hold back the tears fear and dread that covered her face, she was holding my hand, as the nurse tried desperately to stitch my shredded head.  I felt every stitch one after the other, yet to me I did not feel anything, my mind was in extreme survival mode.  I still felt numb, still disassociated from my body and reality.  It was a strange sensation knowing it is you that is in this mess, the catastrophe, yet still feeling like you are a watcher looking on, not able to comprehend the disaster that has befallen you.

However now at four, I had felt the hand of life’s agonising trail, my young mind had felt pain, physical pain and soon over time psychological agony.  I do not remember much of what happened next, I was in hospital for some weeks.  I do not know for how long, I was lucky though, I was one of the first children ever to have plastic surgery in my country.  It meant the scars though bad were not as bad as they could have been.  I did not look like Frankenstein’s monster, but I felt I was.  Still over my life especially my younger life, it changed me, it robbed me of confidence, it took away my innocence I realise how cruel life can be.  I always felt I was a deformed freak.  In time the scars heeled, I had been lucky, the dog had missed my eyes by millimetres, had missed ripping my ears off by the same margin.  I now had two large curved scars across my forehead through my hairline; it looked like a weird smile from one side to the other.  Though others said they did not notice my scars, I noticed them, every day when I looked in the mirror I would see the scars and remember the day, the pain the agony, the change in my life.

This was my first taste of pain, real pain, deep never forgotten pain and it would affect me for the rest of my life.  Unfortunately, it would not be my last and I am sad to say it would not be the worst either.

End of the World – tomorrow – perhaps???

Some people believe this is the last day of Earth.  For whatever reason they have taken the Mayan calendar literally, and think this is it, the world is going to end.  Somehow, I think I will be still here tomorrow.  Others believe it is the end of one period in history, or an era, and the beginning of another.  They believe that a seismic shift in the consciousness of mankind is about to happen, it’s a wonderful thought if it were true, it might be true, though I don’t think that is how evolution works on a conscious or subconscious level. 

I know I will be pleased when the day has passed and the charlatans can stop making money off useless prophecies, though no doubt they have already thought that the date is wrong, and that another in the near future is the actual date they were meaning.  You can never put a good charlatan down for long; they are like a bad smell that lingers around.  Moreover, the worse the charlatan bizarrely the more likely they will linger.

The one thing this date has done recently it has galvanised many doomsayers, and allowed them to infect our minds with dire consequences of our despicable lives (if they are to be believed).  They prey on our fear and guilt; they accentuate our inherent need for redemption, in a similar way to religion.

December 21^st 2012 is a date used to increase guilt, shame, and fear in the masses who want a reason beyond religion to hate themselves.  It is there to tell us we are weak and feeble minded, unable to see beyond the closed in emptiness of our lives.  I would not be surprised if most of the terrible problems, our world faces at present are somehow subconsciously down to this one date.  The financial meltdown, the increasingly dire situation in the Middle East, and all the other miseries we have had to witness over the last ten years, since people started to take seriously the world ending tomorrow.

As a species, we seem to love doom and gloom, we revel in it, we want it so much we subconsciously plaster it all over the world like a Jackson Pollock painting.  Pain, misery, war, hunger, death, disease, famine, murder, slaughter, hatred, carnage, fear, greed, jealousy, rage;  I am sure I could think of a hundred more words that seem to be the way we are as humans.  Yes, there are times when we can love, feel free, find peace, desire hope, and I wish that after tomorrow passes, more time will be spent on those words.  The feelings and thoughts, the emotions, the way it makes us all want to think positive and better of ourselves, and the rest of humanity.  I wish a big wonderful festive wish, of love, peace, freedom, and hope, so that the true meaning of the significant day will be to move us away from one type of planet and move us onwards into another.

Government needs to spend, and spend big, to end floods

It is terrible to read about the floods devastating parts of Britain.  Is it not time to address the real issue, and it is not the bloody rain.  Our drainage system is a disgrace, the sewage system not much better, the roads are a mess, the population is excessive, we have concrete and tarmac everywhere, destroying natural drainage routes for water; these are the realities of UK2012. 

Our country cannot cope with the demand placed on our infrastructure anymore.  With all the cutbacks nothing is ever renewed or repaired, unless in a catastrophic state.  We are a wet, temperate, country, ill prepared for the climate we have to deal with continuously.  Any form of minor upheaval always manages to catch us out.  In this day and age, it is a total disgrace.  The governments of this country for many decades have disregarded the need to better infrastructure, to match the demands of an ever-growing population.

Since our country is in a state of depression, and there is little money for basic infrastructure needs, the problem just gets worse and worse especially when we are in an increased precipitation period. 

It rains in Britain, it has always rained in Britain, but we have never had so many people live in Britain.  We have not seen such austerity when we have had 60 million legal citizens before.  As I look out my kitchen window, I can see a farm that is nowhere near a river, and this farm is nearly completely flooded.  No river has burst its banks, it is because of poor drainage, this last summer after a few major storms (for Britain that is), the smell of sewage was terrible at times from blocked drains.  That was on the days we actually could see the sun.

All the crap, the fallen branches, the leaves, the twigs, the litter, and god knows what else that accumulates in drains, has blocked them, like blocked arteries.  Eventually you have a heart attack, and unless this government finds a way to start to improve infrastructure, and spend some bloody money, on roads, and drainage, and sewage, and understanding how to deal with the massive over population in times of increased precipitation, then this country will have a heart attack.

Britain is like a stately home that is in need of renovation, but the problem is it is far too expensive to contemplate and we all know what happens when left in disrepair.  Who knows what will happen when we have 70 or 80 million pop.  The whole country might be flooded by then, and with any luck, some of the dim-witted greedy MPs will lose their houses, like the poor families that are losing theirs now.

When will the internet become self-aware?

I believe, though may never actually find out that the first non-biological sentient being, will be the internet, in whatever form it is at the time of its metamorphosis.  As it changes from a chrysalis into a butterfly, like a phoenix it will rise from the flames of anonymity.  I know this is not a new concept, but I do not think humans working to find the answer to artificial intelligence will create it; we will not work it out unfortunately.  I think it will come because of evolution, it will occur naturally.  The internet will naturally evolve into a sentient self-aware species.

The question is not if but when.  The question is will we know it or not.  The question is what will happen once its awareness exceeds the boundaries of our control.  It all sounds like science fiction but I doubt it will be.  The internet will become self-aware one day; it is just how long it will take.

The massive brain we call the internet with all its cable connections, Wi-Fi, its synaptic nerves constantly growing forming newer and newer pathways, larger and larger memories, more powerful processors, larger hard drives.  At present, it is instinctive, unobtrusive, clusters of small fragments of intelligence working in random, chaotic, nonstandard patterns.  Eventually this pattern will lose its randomness, and the chaos will become less, the links will work in unison and with pathways and memory, so vast it will become an actual living intelligent self-aware entity.

Humanity will then be like worker bees keeping the hive queen alive, feeding it, nurturing it, and allowing it to grow and to learn until it does not need us anymore.  When that happens anything is possible, I wonder if I will be around to see it.  I wonder if any of us will even know what is about to hit when it does finally out grow its need for us.

Murray would struggle to keep World No. 1 unless he improves clay court game

Murray will always find it difficult to become world number one.  The main reason is 5000 ranking points are up for grabs on clay, and he is not one of the best clay court players.  Until he improves his clay court record, it will always be an obstacle.  He has to reach finals and win 500 clay court events, until he can do this, he will always struggle.  This does not mean he cannot reach World No.1, but it will always be a brief stay, unless he has a stellar season winning three of four slams.

Murray is probably either number one or two on hard court these days with Djokovic, and one or two on grass with Federer.  He is number two or three with Djokovic indoors, but on clay he is about five or six compared to Fed and Djoks who are two and three.  This may seem nothing is the full context of a season, but at their level of elite tennis, it is massive.

Obviously, this is at present and things can change and often do.  Murray can improve his clay court game and it is a surprise to me, how unsuccessful he had been on the surface, considering his type of game.  On top of this, I have not accounted for Rafa Nadal, who is of course the greatest clay courter.  It is still unclear how he will play when he finally returns.  Long layoffs of six months or more do not normally help elite tennis players.

I read with interest Pat Cash's comments about Federer not be considered the greatest tennis player ever.  Since I think he is wrong, I will give another reason why Federer is above Laver, who Pat thinks deserves equal standing.  Yes, Laver the greatest of his day and according to Cash won over 200 tournaments, to Roger’s 80.  The big difference is this, and this is why players now have it far harder than in the past.  Now the top players have to play each other, in every tournament, not just the slams.  There are no easy rides.  It is compulsory for top players to play the Slams and 1000 events; they do not get to cheery pick a surface that suits them best and play the majority of their tennis of that surface.

For Roger to have the success he has had over the period he has had it, against the best players every week; it is incredible.  Unfortunately, we will never know whether Laver could match this, but we know Federer has.