an idiot in london
 

July

Monday, 3rd July.
Wombles

I didn't eat strawberries, and I didn't see a Womble.

Originally the plan was to get up ridiculously early and get down to the All-England Club and queue for tickets. Well I was so knackered from my weekend exploits that I could not drag my sorry arse out of bed this morning. Eventually I did, and after a short while of hanging out in the kitchen with the medical students I was convinced to get down there anyway and get amongst it.

I joined the queue at 1:30pm, and was inside the grounds shortly before 4pm. While I was queueing I read most of a book (I'm saving the ending for tomorrow - I wonder what will happen to Goldilocks when she wakes up?) and had a conversation with an affluent American couple. No indecent offers or anything, they were decent instead of decadent! What's going on?

Security checked my bag for bombs or a sense of humour. (Whenever I go to the footy with Mum and security check her bag, I tell them that the flares are at the bottom of her bag. Mum then gives me a look of despair, since she's heard that joke only about a dozen times.) I hand over my 12 and try to find a decent match to watch. Soon enough I found myself at Court 2...

I was herded into the standing area. I am not kidding. I stood up to watch a match at Wimbledon. The match was between Pat Rafter (c'mon Pat!) and Thomas Johannson or some foreign guy with a name that sounded like that. And would you believe it I was surrounded by Australians. (Bloody Australians are everywhere.) There was a screechy woman up the back barracking for our Pat - boy did she give me the irrits. And the bloke standing next to me called out dryly: "Patrick Rafter, he's our man, if he can't do it, no-one will!"

After C'MON PAT had won in four sets, I go myself some lunch. It was 7pm by now. There were no decent matches on the outside courts, so I sat on the hill and watched the Poo demolish Henman on the big screen.

Just backtracking a bit, while I was queueing to get into court 2, two women behind me were discussing why men tennis players get paid more than women. One said "well they play five sets" to which the short-haired gruff-voiced one replied "offer 'em more money and they'd play five sets". I restrained myself.