Ah, good old Wimbledon: a fortnight of rhythmic ball thumping, ooh-ing at Federer’s forehand, aah-ing at Djoko the elastic athlete, and praying against common sense for good weather and British success. Some foreigners can be sniffy about Wimbledon’s particular charms — all that Union Jack patriotism, excitement over strawberries and cream and English eccentricity. ‘Grass is for cows,’ said the Argentinian Guillermo Vilas, famously, a line still repeated by some Latin players who can’t handle the low bounce and quick pace of the green stuff. Well, moo to them. Wimbers is tennis at its best, the grandest of all slams, which is why I like to go every year, at least twice.
Pimm’s has become so identified with the tennis ‘brand’ that it’s a cliché — but that doesn’t stop it from being absolutely delicious, essential drinking in fact.