Penultimate post...

... kind of a day later than I wanted it to be. Yesterday, after publishing a few photographs of the winner's dinner (actually of the winners and their trophies and not the food on their plates), taking apart all the kit, clearing out of the bunker, and the rented house, saying goodbye to all the amazing people I work with up at the tournament, I pointed the car south and headed home.

The drive out of London is smashed alive with speed cameras, and I had to concentrate hard to hear the helpful beeping from the satnav warning me of imminent malevolent big brother eyes offering me three points in return for a picture, as I had the stereo up rather loud. System of a Down were in the changer, and 'Chop Suey!' blasted my ears clean of the sounds of Wimbledon, the muted roar of the fans, the thock thump thock of the rallies, the hum of the air conditioning, the constant pattering of fingers on laptop keyboards. I was free. Free, and heading home.

Click whir, and the song has changed, and SOAD were now lamenting heavy on 'Lonely Day'...
"Such a lonely day
And it's mine
The most loneliest day of my life

Such a lonely day
Should be banned
It's a day that I can't stand

The most loneliest day of my life
The most loneliest day of my life..."

Poignantly topical, and I sang along with a lump in my throat. I have 'suffered' this day for the last eleven or twelve years, and it gets no easier (though no worse either). I was off home, where there would be just me, plucked out of a room buzzing with fifteen or so different people, and plonked down in the serene but relative loneliness of a roomful of one. Wimbledon was over, and I was a little bit sad.

Nevermind, the M3 had provided plenty of company for me, as several miles of cars crawled along at an average of about 3 miles an hour. A large oil spill at the junction prior to the one I take for the A303 meant the journey lasted for over three hours. Instead of one hour. So when I finally crested a hill and could see the spire of Salisbury Cathedral welcoming me back all I could think of was sleep. No hope of doing this post yesterday.

Now it is a day after, a limbo, and I have a bit of time to add some final words to this blog. The Men's Final on Sunday was an epic. My words cannot adequately describe the thrilling battle between Nadal and Federer, so I will leave that to the proper writers. I will say though that the photos, all be they grainy, were stunning to see. A champion, and a fallen hero, Centre Court a dark pit illuminated by brief bursts of brilliant light... we will never see such photos again at the tournament, as when the roof on that court is finished next year it will include lighting. So, magical images illustrated the crowning of a new king, and provided a fittingly superb end to a marvellous two weeks of tennis.

I did take some pictures myself on Sunday, and perhaps I will sling a few on the end of this post in a little bit. Indeed, I will, I shall prepare them now... start > photoshop...