Showing our tickets we quickly made our way up several flights of stairs to find our seats. As we walked past several doors that were labelled with the names of international TV stations... it crossed my mind whether the doors were actually locked and whether it would be possible for me to burst in and disturb the Belgian equivalent to Sue Barker in mid-transmission. I didn't do it though!
N and I sat together and MO had to sit in the neighbouring section. Of course there had to be the obligatory beanpole git sitting in front of us and the w*nker's head managed to obliterate my view of the nearest player unless I leaned to one side.
First off was the brutish Serena Williams who smashed her way through some diminutive Eastern European called Dominika Somethingorotherova. I must say it was very noticeable the difference in calibre of these top players when compared with the no-names we had seen during previous years. After the bloodbath had concluded we stood up to stretch our legs to have a bite to eat.
It was whilst we were walking to the eating area it hit me how class ridden Wimbledon is. As we fought our way through the throng of peasants at ground level I looked up to see the rich b*stards who were sitting aloft in the exclusive restaurants above us. Suddenly you would hear "Oh look it's Josh Lewsey! Give us a wave!!" And of course the said non-entity would deign to smile at us scum symbolically beneath him. I couldn't help but notice the perma-tanned middle-aged gits in beige jackets with not a hair out of place accompanied by 20 year old bimbos in ultra short dresses who had undoubtedly arrived in their BMW X5s. I could go on...
Miraculously we found a table (in the plebs area) and N got out a bottle of wine and some (M&S) strawberries she had stowed away in our bags which we consumed with gusto. Unknown to us a certain Spanish tennis star had started his match already so we quickly made our way back to our seats.
To be continued...
