London Love Story

Wombling my way round Wimbledon

July 2, 2014

Last Saturday I went to Wimbledon. For the third time. Do I care about tennis? No, not really. I’m not a very sporty girl. But I love going to Wimbledon.

My husband is so keen on anything with balls it’s surprising he’s not homosexual. He spends all weekend flicking channels between football, rugby, cricket, tennis, hockey, anything at all really. He’ll even get into motor racing and darts if there is no ball-based competition to be found. Because he’s so happy to watch other people exercise he puts in for the Wimbledon ticket ballot every year. We’ve been successful twice. We managed to beg tickets through a friend of a friend another year. He also does the queuing for ground passes thing after work quite often during the tournament – something I’ve never bothered with because I don’t care for queuing. Please don’t take my British passport away for admitting that.

This year we received Court 1 tickets for last Saturday. It all looked promising. And then Saturday arrived and waged a war upon the dry and comfortable and sod all tennis was played. My feet got wet, and I am seldom happy when I have drenched tootsies.

To be fair, we have been remarkably lucky when it comes to Wimbledon weather in the past. We’ve always been given tickets for bright, sunshiney days. Oh well. At least this year’s photographs were a little different.

Let’s go through my day. Mark was eager to get there as early as possible just in case he missed anything. A rooster crowing or something important like that. I stalled him. I needed to paint my nails in Wimbledon colours. I’m pretty sure we left the house at least a half hour later than he wanted. Thank god, because when we arrived it was drizzling and everything looked like this:

DSC_0002 Guard

I did not need to spend any more time than necessary standing around in drizzle. So we a reconnaissance tour, just to see if anything had changed or become radically interesting.

DSC_0006 Grass


Time for brunch. As much as I wanted the strawberries and cream, it just wasn’t the time or the temperature for maximum enjoyment. So we were left with a choice between hotdogs or pizza. Of course. Those old stalwarts of traditional British cuisine. Ahem. Having had pizza last year we decided to branch out with hotdogs.

DSC_0018 Strawberries DSC_0032 hotdogs

The great thing about eating hotdogs in the rain at Wimbledon is the rich folks drinking rosé looking down at you from the restaurant above. Very poetic.

DSC_0043 Rose

Time for a photo of ME! Just to prove I’m not making all this up:

DSC_0048 Frankie

See, I’m a very reliable blogger. And well hydrated. Finally, the weather cleared and we headed into Court 1 to see Serena Williams vs Alizé Cornet.

DSC_0066 Tennis

They played for approximately 30 second before the rain decided that things were still looking too dry out there, and this happened:

DSC_0068 Covering

And now the tables had turned! We were up near the back, under the roofed portion of the stadium. We were dry. The fancy people with better tickets than us got wet. And we looked down on them:

DSC_0072 Umbrellas

Think that’s it? Nope. A few minutes later this happened:

DSC_0077 Covering


DSC_0085 Tenting DSC_0087 Tenting DSC_0088 Tent

Yup, they tented the court. Who knew? Well, probably a lot of people. But not me. We waited. It rained. We waited. It cooled down. We waited. The little old lady next to me complained that the light was so bad she couldn’t take a good selfie. Bored and peckish, we exited our nice dry seating area. This was a mistake. We got wet.

Somewhere, behind all these umbrellas, there’s a hill:

DSC_0104 Umbrellas Hill

We found a place selling fried chicken and decided to share one, mainly because there was a bit of a roof overhanging the place serving them. It was conveniently right beside a bar, but something about being drenched and bored really puts me off paying £7.80 for a glass of Pimm’s, so we skipped it.

DSC_0117 Chicken DSC_0119 Walkways

Want to know what other amazing sights I saw? Well, here’s the inside of my umbrella:

DSC_0122 Umbrella DSC_0127 Perry

Eventually we had another spot of sunshine. The net was brought out:

DSC_0131 Net

We were then lucky enough to actually watch some tennis. Alizé beat Serena, I ran out of battery on my phone, Mark dropped his phone and smashed the screen and some drunken idiot behind us screamed constantly to cheer Alizé while repeatedly mispronouncing her name. Not the most brilliant of Wimbledons.

But I still frigging love it.



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