Chaos and incompetence reign everywhere in Britain at least I gave that impression in my last post. But is it really everywhere? Of course not. There are still parts of the Kingdom that have been spared by the all-encompassing decline. I could tell you about the wonderfully accessible and well organised treasure of public data, but apart from a few data nerds like myself, hardly anyone would be interested (The German authorities could really learn something here!). Instead, I will tell you about my trip to Wimbledon, or more precisely my visit to The Championships of the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club.
What an outstanding experience! Even getting tickets was surprisingly easy! There are several tennis courts on the grounds, most notably Centre Court and No1 Court. For these, you can and should buy day tickets well in advance. Some tickets are reserved for the day's sale. But for these, tennis fans camp on a large lawn in front of the club's entrance. Not for me.
However, there is another category of tickets, so-called ground tickets, with which one can move around the grounds relatively freely and have access to the rest of the courts, including the smaller arenas. Especially in the first week of the tournament, it is worthwhile buying a ground ticket. Because there are matches played almost nonstop on all the courts.
One won't see the big superstars like Djokovic or Nadal. But the next tier of top players can definitely be seen. In 2019 I was able to watch a match of Daniil Medvedev, who reached the final of the US Open later in the year and qualified for the ATP Finals. At 25 GBP, the ticket price was actually quite reasonable.
While ground tickets are also very popular, one doesn’t have to camp at the entrance for them. It's enough to leave on time on the day you want to go. For example, I didn't start my 90-minute trip to the south-west part of London until 9:00.
Already the journey itself was somewhat special. Switching to my final train, District Line from Victoria Station, the carriages were filled with older English ladies, in flowery summer dresses. People travelled in groups, either in silence or chatting quietly. Every now and then I heard a laugh followed by a comment like "Oh, how amusing, darling". The few kilometres to the grounds we walked together in a queue. Everything was very civilised.
Arriving at the entrance to the show grounds, I was first intimidated by the length of the queue. It stretched and wound several hundred metres across a meadow. However, the extremely friendly service team assured me, that I still had a good chance of getting onto the grounds. I should have made it in by 13:00 at the latest.
Now I just had to find the end of the queue. I was a bit lost between the rows of tents. The queue was no ordinary one but had been designed by the best British queue experts and the principles used have been optimised over decades. It was divided into different segments that existed separately from each other but were clearly identifiable by a code.
On arrival I had been handed a piece of paper with such code, now I was looking for my section. Fortunately, there were service staff everywhere (really everywhere) who kindly (really very kindly) direct me to the right place. Competent AND friendly service, how very pleasant! I was used to something different.
At the entrance, I was also handed a flyer entitled "A Guide to Queueing".
Once in the waiting area, I started reading. The flyer was so much more. Its 33 pages listed all sorts of information one might need to visit the Championships: A map of the grounds, ticket prices, tournament programme, arrival information, opening hours, the grounds regulations, environmental and safety information, as well as information about the museum, restaurants and wifi. And yes, eight (8!!!) pages explaining what my rights, responsibilities and options were as a queue member. Here's a small excerpt:
One joins the queue by standing at the end of it. (I just managed to do that.) When one joins the queue, one receives a code card with the current date. It is better not to lose the card; one has to show it at the entrance. Moreover, one is not allowed to transfer it to another person. One is allowed to leave the queue for a short time, e.g., to go to the toilet, for a snack break or to stretch one’s legs, but for no longer than half an hour. Smoking and excessive alcohol consumption are prohibited. So is anti-social behaviour and loud music. There may be multiple queues for different days, by the way.
Ground tickets are sold until the maximum capacity of the club area is reached. If visitors leave the area before the end of the day, they can return their ground ticket to allow other people access.
The sale of day tickets for the stadiums follows these procedures: At six o'clock in the morning, campers are woken up by stewards to form a regular queue and eventually take down their tents. The tents in the queue may be for a maximum of two people. From 7:30, stewards will distribute wristbands for stadium tickets that are still on sale. From 9:15, a first section of the club grounds will be opened, and from 10:30 the entire grounds will be open.
Day tickets for the stadiums can also be returned during the day. From 15:00onwards they will be available for sale a second time at a kiosk on the ground for £10 or £15. (Please get in the appropriate queue in good time!). Proceeds from the second sale will go to the Wimbledon Foundation.
My queue segment didn't move the first few minutes, so I took in the surroundings. It continued to be civilised, people stood patiently in line, making small talk with their neighbours without getting too loud. The atmosphere was similar to the Underground in the morning, friendly, polite, charming actually.
But Iwas no longer only surrounded by older English ladies surrounded me anymore. The group of people waiting looked more like a cross-section of English society. A few metres in front of me stood a group of middle-aged men whose arms were covered with tattoos. The kind of men who hung out in our park during the week, drinking beer and bawling. But here they were also talking quietly and laughing politely.
One of the men held a folded camping chair under his arm. At some point, he noticed an old lady standing further ahead. She was well past her 70th birthday. The man approached her, on his way he unfolded the chair and formally offered it to her. I was speechless.
Slowly, the queue began to move, and it progressed faster than expected. After just one hour, I was on the club's premises. And what can I say, the rest of the day kept surprising me.
After visiting the souvenir shop, cleverly placed at the entrance, my way led north around No.1 Court. After a narrow path, the area opened up and opposite the stadium, the terrain rose gently. The landscape formed a natural amphitheatre overlooking a screen mounted on the outside wall of the arena. A game from centre court was being shown.
The hill was covered with grass throughout. On the grass, hundreds of people had made themselves comfortable on blankets. They ate snacks and drank Pimm's cocktails, some watched the match, many chatted or dozed in the sun.
Without question, this was the most enjoyable public viewing I have ever attended. During my last experience of this kind, I stood next to an over-enthusiastic fan of the German national team for two hours. During the entire match, he was jumping in the air and constantly shouting "Lu-Lu-Lu Lukas Podolski". He interrupted his routine only to throw up on my shoes.
After a short break, I went to the upper end of the amphitheatre. In front of a small building, a few people were sitting on the grass reading magazines. They formed the queue for the returned stadium tickets.
Next I visited a food court. Instead of the usual overpriced and inedible stadium fare, I received an acceptable portion size, the price and quality of which was little different from shops in central London. The only disappointment was the strawberries with cream, pure frozen food. At least the price was reasonably low.
After my lunch, I took a closer look at Centre Court. It turned out that I could enter the building without any problems. Only at the entrances to the actual court were stewards checking tickets.
I looked for a busier entrance, hoping to get a longer look inside while the stewards were distracted. After a few seconds, however, one of them interrupted his work with the tickets and kindly asked me if I wouldn't like to take a few steps into the interior. He pointed to my camera and said: “You can take better photos from there. As many as you want”. I thanked him and entered perplexed. I had never met such a friendly steward! (Admittedly, there was no game going on, otherwise he probably wouldn't have let me in).
Unfortunately, the photos from this entrance looked a bit strange. I went in search of a better perspective. At a better located entrance, I directly asked the waiting steward if I could take a few steps inside for my photos. The steward started beaming as if I had had the idea of the century. “Of course you can! Take as many photos as you like! And should I take a few photos of you? Here, this spot is particularly good!”
After my visit to the Centre Court, I wandered further south, towards the smaller courts. At each court I passed, I lingered for a few minutes and followed the matches. Finally, I queued up at one of the larger courts and watched Medvedev's match in full.
Between games, I soaked up the atmosphere. I admired the London skyline looming on the horizon and the architecture of the club.
The club's grounds resemble a garden. Lawns are not only found at the amphitheatre in the north and on the tennis courts. Some paths were designed as arcades. Climbing plants rise up from metal arches. Also the brick walls of the stadiums are almost completely covered with climbing plants. Flowers are everywhere, even on the balconies of the arenas and next to the screen of the amphitheatre. In addition, the sun was shining and made all the colours radiate. The whole complex looked wonderful, appearing harmonious, at peace with itself and with nature.
Wimbledon is without question the best and most enjoyable event I have ever attended. For that reason alone, I wanted to share my experience. However, there is a second reason: I had experienced a wonderful day in the midst of British clichés.
The landscape was like paradise. Everybody was exceptionally friendly and behaved in a civilised manner (except one foreign tennis player cursing about his lost match). People drank Pimm's, chatted, played sports or watched. Everything was neat, organised, simply charming. In many ways, Wimbledon is the manifestation of the ideal British way of life. I could just as easily have been in a British government marketing campaign. It was Britishness at its best.
For a few lucky Britons, everyday life may still feel like Wimbledon. But the explosion in the cost of living in recent decades, has made the ideal of the British way of life attainable for fewer and fewer. They have neither the time nor the energy nor the composure to follow this ideal, let alone the money. Instead, they work themselves to death in one or two jobs and often still don't know how they are going to find the money to look after or educate their children, and the questions remains whether they will be able to pay the rent in a few years' time, or, after the next rise in interest rates, the monthly instalment on the house loan.
This is the actual British way of life these days. It is Britishness at its worst. Alas.
(Surely you didn't think I was going to write a strictly positive post).
Note: If you would like to be informed about new blogposts by e-mail, please register at the top right of the page.
Commentaires