At midnight struck, Pix and I weren't going to bed like the rest of the country, we were in Gizel Kebab buying what unfortunately turned out to be sauce in a pitta. We manned up and ate it anyway, knowing we'd need our strength for the evening ahead. Some packing, a bus and a cab (because we were lost) later, we arrived, unscathed to what is, without exception, the most British thing I've ever participated in: The Wimbledon Queue. Now everyone knows queuing is quintessentially British, but the Wimbledon queue is on another level. As we entered the the queuing campsite- a large field- we were met by two jovial security guards who explained the rules of the queue and showed us where to pitch our tent. Yep, a queue so long and regimented it has staff and toilet facilities. Some people had been there for three days!
Anyway the whole thing was actually quite enjoyable and we even got interviewed by the BBC and managed to watch the Murray match in the sun on Murray mound.
Our keen supporting led us to invent the excellent game of drink tennis with some electrical tape, pack of cards, a grass green rug and lots of cider! Ahhh British summer time!
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