Wimbledon is one of Britain’s great icons. Tennis on grass courts, not clay. Players clad in their pristine tennis whites. The gentle sounds of tennis balls bouncing from racquet strings, the thunk-thunk of the ball, polite outbursts of applause.
And, of course, strawberries and cream.
There’s something very British - very middle-class British - about Wimbledon. For instance, the queue. It may not always be apparent when you’re waiting for a bus - not nowadays - but we like to think that while the French have cheese, and the Germans have beer and sausages, we have queues. We’ve made them into a fine art.
And with only 500 tickets available each day (the rest were all booked months ago), of course Wimbledon has a queue.
There’s even a whole web page on the official site devoted to telling you where, how, when to queue - and how to behave while you’re standing in line.
And this is real British Bulldog queuing, so you’ll need all those British qualities of determination in the face of adversity, stoicism, and stiff upper lip- many fans even camp out overnight to be sure they’ll get a ticket!
I’m not a great tennis fan. But I’m always amazed by the spectacle that Wimbledon represents. If you’re into people-watching, it’s a Godsend - you don’t even need a ticket, just watch the queue.
But all this writing about Wimbledon reminds me that it is the season for strawberries and cream. And while tennis leaves me cold, I really am a big fan of strawberries. So excuse me while I disappear off to the fridge for a few minutes…
Photo credit: Geraint Owen on flickr
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