Last night, as I sat typing up a fairly lengthy post I remarked to Andy, or Ian, or Rob, or perhaps to all three, that I was feeling a little sad, as the end was now far closer than the start. They agreed. Wimbledon has been fundamental to my working life, a constant (though ever evolving), and I feel very lucky to have been a part of it for so long. Our lives have changed radically; two of my immediate cohorts now have two children, one of whom was born on the final Sunday of the tournament four years ago. Our jobs have shifted and scattered us far and wide. Yet every year we reconvene, coming together as if never separated, slipping back into the routine as easily as the easiest thing on the easiest day of the year. The bond between us that has spanned all these years persists everlong, everlast, and will continue to do so I reckon, for ages after we stop working at this most special of tournaments. Sob. Sniff. Sentimental me eh. As Mark Brandon 'Chopper' Read might say, "Harden the **** up Jay!".
So, with the hours left until we decamp and scatter again counting remorselessly down, we enter the eleventh day of play. It is sunny, blinding bright in my eyes, and warm. The forecast wasn't so optimistic, but I will keep my fingers crossed though that will make typing a little more of a test. I want to go out and shoot some more of the ambient stuff around the grounds, but, before I do, here are a few shots I took yesterday.
- The water feature is apparently quite deep. I am sorely tempted to test that theory, but luckily I was born with a modicum of common sense.
- That is some hairstyle my friend, do you do it yourself?
- The floral 2008 display, in front of the water feature.
- A fireman standing at Gangway 39 on No.1 Court. All the servicemen and women who help to staff the grounds during the tournament volunteer to do so.
- Smiley security guards by the water feature. I took the trouble to get a name and email address, so I can send them a copy of the picture. Why mention that? Well, I have often thought about the anonymity of the people I photograph here. If I am going to point an imposing looking camera at someone then it is the very least I can do to offer them a copy of whatever I capture. Courtesy costs nothing. So, if you see yourself on these pages, and can prove it is you, then I will be more than happy to send you a copy of the photo.
- Preparations on Court 19. It is good to see such attention to detail is maintained throughout the tournament.
- A line judge balances a ball boy on his head.
- A firewoman controls the entrance to some of the Court 18 seating. She looks a little nonplussed, though I don't know why.
- Line judges happen to turn and look my way as I grab a quick photo.
- Another court official deep in contemplation of the Order of Play.
- This man is Justice. A most excellent name for a guard! And a very friendly jovial chap.
- Champagne is a popular drink here at Wimbledon. I don't care much for its bubbly nasal assault myself, but apparently it goes well with strawberries. And tennis. Judging by the overpowering fumes that sometimes pervade the bunker after an official tour, some might say it goes a little too well.
- A youth orchestra was entertaining the crowds at one of the bars, so I took a shot of fingers on pressy things.
- A discarded ball tin lies listlessly on the grass. How does it feel? Is it now empty yet full of remorse, its seal popped, ball free, destined for the used ball shop, its life at Wimbledon brief but useful, game, set and match done...
- I made my way back to the bunker via Court 16, where Henri Leconte and Super Mario Bahrami were practicing prior to their match on Court 2. Moments after this photo Leconte hoofed a ball right over the roof and into Centre Court.
Right, caffeine is now an absolute must. I am heavy-lidded, punch drunk, and running on reserve. Back soon, refreshed I hope...
