Strawberries, Murray and a security guard

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Isn’t it funny how we always want to do the one thing we’re told we can’t?

In every day life I have no desire to walk across a lawn, yet when I see a sign saying ‘keep off the grass’ I yearn to feel those blades underfoot.

‘No diving’ in a swimming pool, and suddenly the girl who has an inexplicable fear of water wants to bomb straight into the deep end.

And so when I was told this week that a hill was closed, and I would have to find somewhere else to park my ‘Keep Cool & Carry’ M&S cool bag and picnic blanket, well, let’s just say I wasn’t best pleased.

Perhaps I should give a little more context. The green space in question was Murray Mount– or Henman Hill, for those who still aren’t onboard with our favourite Scot – and it was day seven of Wimbledon.

As the birthday festival stretched into a third week (if you only get one a year, you really should make it last) The Boy and I travelled to SW19 to see a spot of tennis.

Wimbledon has long been my 
favourite sporting event for a number of reasons. Always falling around aforementioned birthday, I have fantastic memories of spending hours on end watching the likes of Agassi, Sampras and Steffi Graf bossing the court, while I stretched out on the sofa, living off a diet of leftover birthday cake and little else.

And from that young age one couldn’t get enough of the tournament’s traditions – the whites, rain delays and jubilant winners crawling up the stands.

As an adult, Pimms may have taken the top spot in my affections, but the other idiosyncrasies that scream English summer still remain close to heart, and one realises how lucky she is to be able to visit the event 
itself once a year.

Though it was hard to keep that happy feeling while being manhandled by an overzealous security guard telling me Murray Mount was temporarily closed.

Could I not see the amount of people there, and was I not aware that the man himself was playing?

Yes, to both questions. Not as 
stupid as I look it would seem.

But while The Boy jogged on the spot after being told to keep moving (for once I loved how he takes everything so literally) I proceeded to tell security chief why there was in fact room, how I intended to eat my strawberries from said spot, and how this wasn’t what the spirit of Wimbledon was all about.

Others gave up and moved on. Yours truly watched Murray play his way into the next round from a prime point on the man’s Mount...