I should be in The Queue

Wimbledon starts today...

Today is the first day of Wimbledon, my two favourite weeks of the year.

As a kid I used to chew my nails raw watching Tim Henman’s rollercoaster matches. I would cry when he lost. Now his voice on the BBC is the start of my summer.

Missing Wimbledon for school was excruciating. After my A-Levels, I made a promise to myself: I wasn’t missing these two sacred weeks again. I have kept that promise.

My friends would come to see if I wanted a walk or a swim, to go to Camden market or a gallery. Then they would see Wimbledon on the TV and smile, saying they would see me in two weeks.

I have stayed up all night in Australia, keeping both Aussie and UK time so I could watch as much of the tournament as possible.

I have camped for days on end in the burning hot summer sun, sitting with thousands of others in an almost shade-less London park, proudly holding my place in The Wimbledon Queue, knowing patience and obsession would get me seats on Centre Court.

I have cheered, wept, and gasped in awe, falling in love over and over again with the artistry and beauty of Roger Federer.

After I left the grounds of the All England Club in 2019 I bought myself a vintage Wimbledon money box and started saving, hoping I would have enough for two, maybe even three rounds come 2020.

Then 2020 came, and with it came Covid. There was no Wimbledon. There was no Queue. I missed both. Wimbledon and The Queue are some of my favourite places on earth. It is my summer holiday. Blissful days of reading in the sun and hiding from the rain. Days of applying layer after layer of suntan lotion and ignoring life for just a moment. The Queue is the world’s most polite festival, and most organised campsite. And when you leave it, it is to watch glorious tennis in the grandest cathedral in sport. But like so much in 2020, Wimbledon was cancelled.

My money box kept getting fuller.

Then 2021 came and Wimbledon returned but not The Queue. Covid was still everywhere. The idea of sitting on Centre Court was too scary. I thought, it’s ok, they have promised to reinstate The Queue in 2022, I will keep saving and go then.

My money box was almost too full to add to, but I kept slipping my change in. Maybe, I thought, after saving so long I will be able to go for the full two weeks.

It is 2022, The Queue is back, play starts today. I should be in the Wimbledon Queue right now. My tent should be pitched, and I should be lying reading my book, all settled in for the long wait. I should have my Queue Card, The Overnight Queuing Code of Conduct, and the oh so gloriously named Wimbledon Guide to Queuing.

I am not.

Short of being in The Queue I should be in front of my TV, ready to stay put for two weeks.

I am not.

I am on the train home from Plymouth having spent the day working on the next small step towards The Seagrass Walk.

For the next fortnight I am breaking my promise.

Rafa Nadal and I are the same age. We were born 5 months apart. Over the years I have looked at Rafa and wondered. Comparing oneself to professional tennis player is stupid. Tennis happens young, there is a window in which to have a career, and then the door slams shut. That isn’t true for art. I have more time than he does.

Still, I have looked, watched, wondered, and found myself inspired. If he can make it to the top, then maybe I can as well. It takes hard work, but he has proven what you can do if you aren’t afraid to put in the effort.

I could be watching him play this year, no Roger Federer there to own my love, loyalty, and ticket choices. Instead, I am working on the biggest achievement of my career to date.

My first grand slam title.  

The Seagrass Walk opens on Men’s Semi-finals Day, and I have work to do.

I think Rafa would approve of my choice.