Strawberries, Sunshine and a Day on No. 1 Court

Yesterday, I went to Wimbledon for the first time.

If I had an official bucket list, watching tennis at the All England Lawn Tennis Club would absolutely be on it. It’s one of those places I’ve seen on TV for most of my life — the grass courts, the all-white outfits, the strawberries, the polite applause, the sudden gasps from the crowd. It always felt a little bit magical, and very much out of reach.

I first fell in love with tennis in the early 90s, when I discovered Andre Agassi. Before that, I’d occasionally watched matches with my father and knew names like John McEnroe, Martina Navratilova, Jimmy Connors and Billie Jean King, but my actual interest level — as with most sports — was pretty low.

Agassi changed that. He turned me into someone who wanted to watch tennis, understand tennis, and eventually attempt to play tennis. I even took a tennis course at community college to learn how to play properly. My skills were limited — serving was not my gift — but I loved it.

Over the years, I haven’t always watched tennis regularly. Life got busier and more complicated, and I became less invested in the sport than I once was. But Wimbledon has always been the exception. I’ve caught plenty of finals over the years, even when that meant waking up at 6 a.m. on a Sunday to watch live from the US.

In fact, I watched Andy Murray win the 2013 Wimbledon Men’s Final from my apartment in Las Vegas while researching universities in London.

So, standing there yesterday, finally inside the grounds of the All England Club, felt a little surreal. This wasn’t just another day out in London. It was one of those full-circle moments: past me, present me, and every version of me who had ever watched Wimbledon from a sofa, all quietly losing their minds together.

And yes, there were strawberries. There was sunshine. And there was a day on No. 1 Court.

Worth the Journey

Our journey to Wimbledon was not only metaphorical, it was literal. I live on the opposite side of London, which meant a full hour and a half on the District Line, including a change of train about three-quarters of the way through. Of course, despite heading out after “rush hour,” the train was still crowded, and we stood for most of the journey.

Once we arrived at Southfields, we still had a walk ahead of us. In the midst of yet another heatwave, alongside my increasingly annoying and painful  hip issues, the walk was unpleasant, and I internally lamented not catching the bus the three stops to the grounds.

But once we made it past the ticket checks and had a chance to recover, the irritation slowly started to melt away. Suddenly, we were there. Actually there. Inside the grounds of Wimbledon, surrounded by grass courts, purple-and-green signs and people who all seemed far less sweaty than I felt.

The journey had been long, hot and uncomfortable, but that first look around made it hard to stay annoyed.

Welcome to No. 1 Court

Our seats were on No. 1 Court, which I should probably admit I did not realise at first. I spent months thinking we had Centre Court tickets until my partner pointed out that the tickets very clearly said Court 1. Reading comprehension: questionable. Excitement levels: high.

As I hobbled up the stairs to our seats, I caught my first proper glimpse of the court. And honestly, it got me. There’s something about walking into a place you’ve seen on TV for years and suddenly being there in real life. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a famous stadium, a theatre, or a concert venue — there’s always that little moment of, ‘Oh. I’m actually here.’

That was definitely happening in my head, along with a steady loop of, ‘Oh my god, I’m here. Oh my god, I’m here.’

My other immediate observation was that I may have been underdressed. I had dressed for the heat, comfort, and the reality of what currently fits in my wardrobe — which is a whole separate topic we do not need to explore here. Meanwhile, it felt like every woman around me was in a lovely summer dress with sandals, or even heels, while I was sitting there in shorts, a basic top, and trainers.

Practical? Yes. Wimbledon chic? Not exactly.

Needless to say, the tennis was brilliant. There’s something incredible about watching athletes at the top of their game push each other point by point, especially in a sport that still manages to feel so civilised. The focus, the quiet (except when someone opened their champagne bottle during play), the applause, the tiny nods of respect — it all makes tennis feel intense without being chaotic.

Did I Mention the Strawberries?

There are a few things Wimbledon is known for beyond the tennis. There are the celebrities and members of royalty sitting in the Royal Box on Centre Court. There’s the champagne, the prosecco, and, of course, the Pimm’s.

But most importantly, there are the strawberries.

According to the official Wimbledon website, ‘A punnet of strawberries is an integral part of the Wimbledon experience, and has been since 1877, largely because peak season for harvesting the locally-grown juicy red berries coincided with the dates of the tournament.’

We didn’t have Pimm’s or prosecco — alcohol and heat are not a friendly combination — but I was absolutely having strawberries and cream. Fortunately, retailers around the grounds offer plant-based cream on request, so we didn’t have to miss out.

On my first bite, I declared, ‘This is the best strawberry I’ve ever had.’

In reality, that may not be strictly true. But in that moment? Absolutely. They were damn good.

Lessons Learned: What I’d Do Next Time

I have very few regrets about my first visit to Wimbledon. It was an absolute thrill to be there and watch the matches in person.

But having been once, there are a few things I’d do differently next time.

First, I would dress to impress. It may sound vain, but I want to take part in the pageantry of the event. At the very least, I’d wear a nice summer dress with my trainers — did I mention my hip?

Second, I’d mentally prepare for the crowds. Yes, I knew it was going to be busy, but knowing something and experiencing it are two very different things, especially for someone who spends most of her week at home with the cat.

Lastly, I’d probably have a Pimm’s. This time, it was simply too hot, and all I could do was guzzle water. Thankfully, the free refill stations helped with that.

All in all, it was a fabulous experience. It made me excited about tennis again, and it reminded me that some experiences only feel unobtainable until you actually get to do them.