At this time of the year the grass court season starts in the UK and it is a sign for the die hard tennis fans to come out of hibernation (I am one such) and also the Hooray it is the Season for drifting around the courts drinking Pimms and eating strawberries kind.
Went to Queens for the first time in a couple of years and nothing changes with the audience. The total inability of British tennis fans to sit and watch more than two games without having to charge out and tank up on wine/Pimms and champagne never fails to amaze me. This year Felicity AKA the Other Grandma and I were sitting in slightly different seats from our last visit and it was not long before we realised they were not the right choice. We had a gangway in front of us for the aforementioned fans to exit in pursuit of liquid refreshment so every change of ends the hordes descended...and ascended. There was a huge log jam and I find it slightly worrying as the seating is built for the week and then dismantled. While I am certain it is safe, having a jam up three flights of stairs surrounded by scaffolding and you can see the ground thirty feet below is not a reassuring feeling.
I spoke to the stewards who are always young students and always polite and helpful and they spent the rest of the day acting like traffic cops and directing people.
But it was so wearing. One woman was standing in front of me blocking my view and I asked her to move. She got very snarky so I told her that, oddly enough, I was here to see tennis and all I could see at present was her backside. She moved. This went on all day - one match Berretini was playing and was serving for the match, final game, and half the audience left. Three people sitting across the gangway from us came in, watched two games, disappeared, came back with bottles and food, sat and stuffed their faces and then left. Now those seats are at least £100 each. Very expensive picnic.
We managed to enjoy it though and had some lovey peeps sitting near us - real tennis fans who did not move for hours and we chatted and gossiped with them and so it was not all bad.
Tennis in the UK is still mired in Poshness. I have always refuted this in the past but now I have changed my mind. You see the crowds at Queens, Eastbourne and Wimbledon and most of them are there to be seen. The question is often asked why we rarely produce as many tennis players as, say, those from Bulgaria, Rumania, Croatia etc and the answer is they have had it hard and being good at tennis and working at it brings results. Many of our young players are soft. Having said that Jack Draper and Cameron Norrie are doing well and this week we had one of those wonderful moments when an unheard of Brit put out the top seed and managed to survive three rounds. He had a great time and the crowd did too.
I have pulled up a post which I wrote about three years ago at one of my visits to Queens and it illustrates perfectly that nothing has changed:
So a great time but, once again, the attendees amaze me. There are a hard core of tennis fans who go there for the game but there are a huge amount of people who come tarted up to the nines in the latest designer stuff and swan in and out clutching a glass of Champers or Pimms. They never watch more than a game or two. Felicity and I, apart from the odd loo and tea break, sat and watched nine hours of tennis and loved every minute.
One couple behind us, he such a Hooray Henry with a Panama hat and she in floating skinny dress totally unsuited to the elements drifted in an out all afternoon and the amount of alcohol they consumed would have floored me. They were possessed of these loud braying voices that only the Brits have and in the afternoon vanished and did not appear for four hours. By this time, we thought they had left and spotting a bag and a jacket on the floor, called a steward and told him this had been left behind. He got onto his walkie talkie and five minutes later a burly man in a high vis jacket appeared with a sniffer dog!! At first we all thought this was overkill but then I realised I was sitting in front of this bag so greeted him with joy. Dog had a sniff all ok and the stuff was carted off to Lost Property.
An hour letter the couple swayed in and the following conversation ensued:
She: OOh my god where is my bag and jacket
Me: they were reported as we thought you had gone home and left them behind
He: (clutching a glass of champers) Oh but we were only having a drink
Me: that was four hours ago and we all thought you had left. the sniffer dog was called out
Her: OMG why?
Me: it was being treated as a suspicious object
He (swaying) well honestly really I mean..bit over the top what? (At this point the image of Wooster floated through my mind. I wonder why)
Me: well as the bag was behind my seat I was quite glad to have it cleared up
He: well ok but what a pain. Where has it gorn (and yes he did say gorn)
Me: they said the coat and bag would be taken to lost property
He: well where on earth is that?
Me: (getting tired of it all) I have not the faintest idea
She (sarkily): well you seem to know everything..
Me:(going into full Lady Bracknell mode) I probably do but in this instance I have no idea where Lost Property is but if you ask a steward they will tell you. In the meantime I would like to watch the tennis so could you please move (what I really wanted to say was piss off you stupid woman and let me watch the f*****g game but I refrained)
Still, it was fun.
I think.
