I am not naturally a spontaneous person. I relish neatly laying out projects and plans in my Moleskine diary. It was out of character, then, when on the second Monday of the Wimbledon fortnight I decided on the spur of the moment to head to the All England Club and join the queue for a day ticket. If I didn’t get in, I reasoned, I could always have a nice meal in a nearby restaurant and watch the action on a big screen, content in the knowledge that I was at least sharing the air of the SW19 postcode.
My back-up plan wasn’t needed. When I joined the ‘queue’, I was the only person in it. I was ushered straight into the grounds to enjoy six glorious hours of sun-drenched tennis. Perhaps there was something in this spontaneity lark after all.
Fancy seeing Mary Poppins tomorrow? Or going to the Proms? Step right up
In truth, I had taken a calculated gamble.
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