Putting the fan in fanatical

The first new podcast for listeners who subscribe to Friends of The Tennis Podcast is called ‘My First Wimbledon’. In it, David Law, Catherine Whitaker and Matt Roberts detail memories of the first time they watched, visited and worked at Wimbledon.

For David, a student in the mid-90’s, his first visit led to a bylined piece in the Daily Telegraph. It isn’t available online any more. But he found it in the depths of his hard drive.

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UNWASHED, fully clothed bodies wrapped in sleeping bags lie on a mattress of empty beer cans, junk-food cases and the previous day's newspapers.

You could be forgiven for believing that a wrong turn had taken you to 'Cardboard City' rather than the outskirts of the All-England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club. As far as the eye can see - up and down the length of the Somerset Road adjacent to the grounds - small tents protect veteran queuers from the cold night air.

This is the warts-and-all side of Wimbledon. Mostly privileged people (myself included) happily casting aside home comforts for nights sleeping on the pavement - and all to watch a day's tennis.

David and HIS FRIEND Rich, queuing for Wimbledon in 1997

To the TV-viewing public, Wimbledon fortnight begins on Monday at lunch-time with Desmond Lynam and Sue Barker casually introducing the opening day's play. But for the 600 or so ticketless people at the front of the queue, the Championships can start as much as 48 hours before a ball is hit.

Mike Walsh, an irrepressible queuer of 16 years, takes no chances. Arriving early on Saturday, before anyone else, he spends two nights eating from barbecues, drinking coffee from a flask and chatting with friends from queues gone by. But why so early? For Walsh, the queuing experience can be just as enjoyable as the tennis itself.

"It's the whole occasion," he says. "We arrive on Saturday every year, and it's like meeting up with old friends. We spend the whole two weeks here and have some great conversations. It's the atmosphere of the place."

This friendly group bring a table and chairs, facilities to cook their own food and arrive early, ensuring a full choice of courts for the following day.

But not everyone is as well prepared. First-timers are conspicuous by their lack of luggage - the heaviest bags carried are underneath their eyes after a night spent tossing and turning on the cold concrete.

who says you cant’s sleep in the wimbledon queue?

Hygienically speaking, the Wimbledon queue is nothing to write home about, but no one seems to mind. Male and female Portakabins provide half-a-dozen wash basins and toilets for the 3,000 or so queuers. And there is no danger of over-sleeping. Those who are able to sleep receive a free alarm call at 5 am each morning from teenage newspaper sellers shouting "Wakey, wakey". However, by that time the smell of freshly cooked bacon has encouraged many people to desert their roadside beds for an alternative queue outside a converted ice-cream van.

The Wimbledon queuers are a cosmopolitan bunch. Australians, Americans, Germans and Japanese converge on SW19, and with so much time on your hands, you soon find yourself merrily chatting away to your neighbour whoever he or she may be. Tennis is the native language and everyone seems to speak it fluently.

By 8 am, tents are packed away and the queue begins to move forward. A number of welcome sideshows encourage the final hour to pass swiftly with Radio Wimbledon swinging into action over loudspeakers, providing results, reports and interviews with the stars.

As the clock hits 9.45 am, Mike Walsh and company finally purchase their tickets. They plump for Court Two and hope for a day of upsets. The remaining overnight queuers divide up the Centre Court, Court One and Two ticket allocation at £21, £17 and £14 respectively, leaving the late arrivals and rookie queuers to fill the ground capacity for Courts 3-17 at £8 a time.

Later, as the first day's play comes to a close, the queuing Wimbledon faithful return to the pavement and build their temporary city for another night.

Darkness descends. Unwashed, fully clothed bodies wrapped in sleeping bags lie again on mattresses of beer cans, junk-food cases and the previous day's newspapers.

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First published in the Daily Telegraph on Monday 23rd January, 1997.