You could be forgiven for forgetting about the 1982 tabloid furore around Cliff Richard and Sue Barker's romantic relationship. Pictures of them playing tennis together - and never doing very much else, seemingly - littered the gossip pages and even the news stories for a season or two, with lots of desperate "are they or aren't they shagging?" speculation as the thinly disguised subtext, similar to the press stories about the pandas in London Zoo. As I remember it (and I really should thoroughly research this, but you'll hopefully forgive me for not wanting to waste too much of my life away) Cliff Richard denied all the speculations, arguing that Barker was just helping him develop his tennis skills. Hmm. It didn't sound plausible to some, but let's face it, it was almost certainly true and the pair seem strangely distant and barely mention each other these days, akin to the kind of relationship commonly enjoyed between sports trainer and their ex-client rather than two lovers.
That clearly didn't stop the media and public from peeking behind the hedgerows and into the tennis courts, though, and this single taps into that strange fascination by imagining what the tennis might be a metaphor for. All the puffing, panting and groaning from the balls being hit perhaps being a substitute for something else?
These people had obviously put more thought into all this than I ever bothered to, and it's a very strange record indeed, taking whistled snippets of "Summer Holiday" at the start (without a songwriting credit, I notice) before leaning into what actually sounds like a very strange radio comedy sketch on 45. It was released on its own label, didn't sell in quantities which could even be described as miniscule, and made virtually zero impression on the public. Such is the fate of the novelty record that misfires and mistakes casual nosy interest for public obsession.
