Last week I realised I'd never been to Wimbledon during the Championships, not even walked past, so I took the tube to Southfields and walked past.
The train really empties out at Southfields, they have branded deckchairs on the platform and several large adverts for the tennis everyone's come here to see anyway, and it's a bit of a slog getting out of the station because old people and the high-heeled aren't fast on the stairs, then outside it's Crowd Control Central with metal barriers along the edge of the pavement and a man standing by the pedestrian crossing holding one end of a rope so nobody can jump the lights, and still they come, and I have no idea how the locals cope with a fortnight of this.
The shops are trying to make a killing before the hordes pass, one with a table outside selling stacks of panama hats, even selling some, because you've got to look the part and not everybody overdressed before they arrived, didn't the hairdressers do well this week and that is a heck of a lot of foundation to contrast with your dyed blonde hair and summer dress, and so they stream onwards down the pavement, it's a lot further than the first-timers think, the experienced socialites pay £3.80 for a double decker ride from Wimbledon station instead.
A golf course appears on the left and blimey it goes on for three quarters of a mile, but during Wimbledon fortnight it's taken over by parked cars and sponsors and the dreaded 'Hospitality', not to mention The Queue where the plebs can queue in the hope of reaching the security bagcheck before the first match finishes, see how it weaves past grinning Barclays girls and photo opportunities with Pimms, and heaven forbid that some of the VIPs should have to walk from their limos, and how lucky for The Tournament that they have this massive space opposite to facilitate and monetise.
Here comes the first entrance, wait at the gate meekly and then you can sit on Henman Hill and gorge yourself on strawberries, or join the freeloaders preening themselves on the upper balconies slugging champagne while the tennis goes unwatched elsewhere, and aren't the Home Counties empty today, this must be what the Boomers are spending their pensions on, not to mention the moneyed middle classes taking a day off work to see and be seen, mostly the latter, all enjoying the thrill of the social mêlée so they can brag about it tomorrow to all their acquaintances, yah we were there.
The police are out in force because of course they are, and ranks of smug commissionaires for those coming in through the elite entrance, and oh look Centre Court is just a massive excuse to cram in as much stacked hospitality floorspace as possible, half these people won't be staying in their seats for a whole match because they're not proper fans, sheesh look at your tailored suit and in this weather too, I can only imagine the privilege that lubricates this crowd, they should double the ticket price and pay the excess to foodbanks, it makes me sick to the core.
What an obscene waste of space this is, 42 acres of prime residential land which only gets used properly for a fortnight a year, selfishly squandering prime land and resources, we should compulsorily purchase the All England Club and demolish the lot, maybe even burn it, and replace it with 100% genuinely affordable housing, and while we're at it the entire golf course opposite too, lift thousands of needy families out of the poverty trap, we must end this appalling conspicuous consumption now, take back SW19 for the proletariat, death to the bourgeoisie, the revolution will not be televised, new balls please.
