Wimbledon!

After a late night swoop into Luton Airport on an Easyjet sardine tin, we taxied it to St Albans to crash with the lovely Mo and Graham before waking up and heading into the throbbing metropolis to pop our Wimbledon cherries. Scorchio weather and a direct rail link from St. Albans to Wimbledon.

Wimbledon village is full of antiseptic posh shops and impossibly clean pavements. But then there's Wimbledon tennis grounds. That's a whole other ball game (snigger), like being in the Truman Show. It's another world.

Once I'd recovered from being singled out among a crowd to be body searched - having a yes badge pinned on one's boob does tend to mark one's card - it was onto recover my pride through the prism of Pimms. (Which is now to be added to my new favourite girly alcoholic enlightenment list; let's recap: Prosecco, Raspberry Gin, Pimms).

Fate was kind and let us have the unexpected pleasure of watching Federer in action in court no.1, it was a bit surreal watching it live. And people watching too. That was awesome. Wimbledon crowds are verging on eccentric and completely fascinating.

Noting we were surrounded by posh toffs sitting in the stands getting drunk from their copious bottles of wine and plonk, we felt compelled to venture out to refill the Pimms, grab some food and experience Murray Mound. Alas, this time fate conspired to throw us into the midst of some of the rudest and most arrogant posh people I've ever had the despair of watching as they sneered at passers by, commented about what other people looked like and growled at people if they dared to walk past. I'm ashamed to say I felt an overwhelming urge to slap them. Must have been the Pimms, or maybe the body search folk were right about me. Anyway, there's limited people-watching pleasure with the likes of them, even if Nadal's centre court nail biter of a game was on the big screen, so we headed back to our court no 1 seats in time for the William sisters mixed doubles. But Woah! What happened there? Serena looked concussed, stoned even, and three painfully awkward serves later she, and by turn her sister, were retired from the game.

What to do, what to do? More Pimms? Okay then.

A quick watch of the first set of another ladies doubles and then it was back to St Albans, via a liquid refreshment pitstop to bring back to our hosts, where after being fed with a lovely home made moussaka (I'm so spoiled) Mo and I engaged in some mid week drinking mixology with prosecco (I must have surely bought shares in this drink this week), strawberries and meringue. After tales of Nepal, seaside towns, knitting and news of old friends and new, it was time to go meet Mr Sandman.