The Saga Of The Launch Dress

Saturday saw the first day of the World Choral Symposium, and the first day of many with regards to my serious wardrobe issues.

Allow me to explain. You see, unfortunately recently my clothes have suddenly shrunk. This is a serious problem because I don't have enough free cash to go around now buying new clothes, but because this is a World Symposium, I'm not really sure what the dress code is, but I suspect I'm going to need something other than jeans and a t-shirt to wear. If I can make anything else fit, that is.

The problem with this though is that given my propensity and intense dislike of all things related to the skill of packing, I found myself late on Thursday night hurriedly flinging things in my bag in the remote hope that some of it might be vaguely suitable. I remembered Jessie's advice, which was - "Pack it. All of it. That way if you need it, you'll have it." Oh yeah. But I only have a 20 kg limit with the airline!

So I thought that the best compromise would be to bring school clothes - the sort of things I would wear to school. I mean, they're not very dressy there at CEBS, so that should be ok - fitting in with the super casuals, and being remotely respectable for those in suits. And then I realised the one very big problem - the opening night. The opening night is on the schedule as a 'ball'. You know what that means - ball gowns. Do I even own one? Of course not! All I have is a little black number that looks a bit cocktailly, and the 'launch' dress (the dress I wore to our big concert celebrating Music as our specialism). Now the 'launch' dress is pretty spesh, so I thought perhaps that would do.

Of course, all day long on the Saturday I seriously stressed about it. I hate being female for that very reason - if you're a fella, you just put on shirt and tie and a nice pair of pants, and get away with anything. But as a woman? You can be seriously over or under dressed - and really commit those fashion faux pas. And the thing is, it says "ball" on the programme - surely that means ballgown? Plus, that dress cost me £100 and I've only managed to wear it once! I would really like to get more wear out of it...

Well after much deliberation and consternation, I finally came up with a totally foolproof plan - wear the 'launch' dress (but keep it seriously covered up with cardigan and raincoat - it was raining a little) and have the little black number stashed safely in the handbag in case the 'launch' dress is over the top! Perfect!

We arrive at the venue but unfortunately due to problems with the bus we were a little late - so we were just quickly ushered in to the opening concert - and my worst fears were confirmed, as seated around me were hundreds of people in jeans, casual slacks, simple skirts - and I looked full on like Cinderella off to her first ball... Suffice to say immediately the intermission came, and it was hurried apologies to Art as I sprinted off to the loo lest anyone see me in my Trinny and Susanna-less state, and laugh... and quickly jump into the little black number (which in my mind was looking a little over the top too)! Hysterics, hysterics!

I did some quick deep breathing, and then calmly sauntered out of the loos as if I had been wearing that dress all the time, and made my way casually over to where Art was waiting. On the way though, I passed several women who looked like "Barbie Goes To See The Queen", they were that done up. And then I checked around some more, and realised that I could've got away with the launch dress after all...

Quick! Dash back to the loos, get the 'launch' dress out - but alas, it is now too creased to wear after all... I now have no choice but to remain in the little black number...

It was very hard then to really enjoy the rest of the evening when all I could think about was the missed opportunity with the 'launch' dress, but I put my best foot forward, my chin up - and soldiered on. The concert was very good, I particularly liked the comedic group Bardot (I think that was their name) and also the jazz choir Touche, not to mention the big band afterwards...

But I still wish I'd stayed in that dress.

Copin' in Copenhagen

This week I am in Copenhagen for the 8th World Choral Symposium. My mate Art, who is teaching in Egypt, is coming too, so as I haven't seen him for about 3 years, it will be a nice opportunity to catch up. Anyway, I arrived late on Friday night after literally rushing from school (they were still in the middle of the farewell speeches but I had to go or I would miss my plane!). I am sooo excited, I have been sooo looking forward to this conference, and finally its here!

Anyway, it didn't exactly get off to a rosy start though. My flight with Sterling Airlines, a Scandinavian company I think, was uneventful but unfortunately a little delayed. So by the time I cleared customs, figured out how to get the train to Københavns Hovedbanegård (that's Copenhagen Central to me and you), and then worked out how to use the ticket vending machine and actually get the train - it was pretty late. The trains were very quick though, and very clean - so that was a pleasant surprise after the joys of London's trains.

The directions for the hostel, though, were not very good - just said to catch the bus 5A and get off at Ravnsborggade. Of course, no bus at anytime of the day is going to accept a 100 Kr note for a 20kr fare... so I had to try to get some change. Also, I didn't know if you can buy your ticket on the bus or if you have to buy it in advance at a kiosk like in some other countries (Czech Republic, Spain, most European countries) so I tried to ask someone but turns out he didn't know either. Eventually I managed to negotiate the bus system and arrived at Ravnsborggade at just after midnight. Now can I point out that this part of town is not the nicest part, and at midnight on a Friday night its full of drunks and party revellers. And here I am pulling along a wheelie duffel bag trying to find a hostel... I had to eventually call them, I couldn't find it - and once I got there, I wished I hadn't.

The hostel is the Sleep-In Green, and the sister hostel to Sleep-In Heaven. I think a more appropriate name for this hostel would be Sleep-In Hell. The first thing that greets you on your way to reception is a stairwell full of graffiti, which you pass for 2 flights, until you get to the reception, manned by a hippy dude with several piercings. There you receive your door code for your room, which changes every day (so you always have to go up there to get the new code) - and then you receive your bed in the dingiest, most minging 20 odd bed dorm. The dorm is divided into cubicles of 4 beds in each, but there are no doors, no curtains, and the exit lights and so on are on 24 hours a day so its never completely dark. Put it this way, unlike in other hostels, where you have to faff around with a torch if the others in your room are sleeping and you need stuff from you bag, here, you can just look in your bag by the light of the exit lights.

But the most galling thing, in this day and age, is that the cubicle we're in doesn't have a power socket. So no recharging of mobile phones, mp3 players, no drying of hair (and definitely no straightening!)... and I'm going on a professional conference for a week! How on earth am I to manage?

So I had a poor night's sleep, and then the next day asked for a cubicle with a power point, which fortunately they found.

I am coping, but only just... bring on the conference though!

When The Fat Lady Sings...

This week I did something that I've always wanted to do in London but just never got around to. And I did it twice!

I'm talking about going to the Opera. I absolutely love opera, so when I first arrived in London, I went to see La Boheme at the London Colisseum, and I was soooo bitterly disappointed! This is because the performance was conducted by the English National Opera, and their thing is to sing the opera in English, no matter what. This is completely stupid. If an opera is written in a specific language, it should be sung in that language. Plus, English is the worst possible language for opera - with all that warbling, you have a snowflakes chance in hell of figuring out what they're harping on about. Suffice to say I was not impressed.

But I don't think I can blame that poor experience on my laziness in getting to see the Royal Opera at the Royal Opera House. I think its kind of like being a tourist in your own city - you never do it. It's there, I can go whenever I want, so I don't go. So this week I decided finally to take the plunge and NIKE! Just do it...

Now the first thing about the Royal Opera is that the tickets range from the extremely reasonable to the extremely absurd. For example, for The Rake's Progress, which is the opera we saw, the price range was from £6 to £556 per ticket! As it was we ended up in the amphitheatre for £43, the cheapest tickets still available. But I have to say, I don't care that it cost £43, I don't even care that it was Stravinsky and so not the opera I would've really wanted to see - it was just amazing! What an awesome experience! To quote Melissa, when we went to see Turandot at the Sydney Opera House for her 21st birthday - "I don't know if I can go back to being a pleb after that!"

The Opera House is just enormous. We thought that actually we had really good seats, because when you looked out at the stage, it looked really close to you - that's because you're used to other theatres where the stage is actually smaller - but then you're sitting closer, right, as the theatre is smaller - so all things being relative this stage looked enormous and we thought we were right there - til they opened up the curtain and the people literally looked really tiny! I mean, you could see everything alright, but no chance at seeing facial expressions or anything. Fortunately I'd brought my binoculars with me so we got to see quite a lot.

It was just a beautiful experience and one I will not forget ever. I have to say that although it was Stravinsky, and there is no way I could ever remember any of the tunes (to be honest there weren't any) - I just loved every minute of it. And even though the opera was written in English, I was very glad they still had the surtitles, because opera singers being the warblers they are, you just wouldn't have understood it any other way.

So that was a lovely experience. Then, two days later, they were showing live broadcasts from the Opera House on big screens set up by BP all over the country, one of which was in Trafalgar Square. So, seeing as the opera was Le Nozze Di Figaro, and seeing as I really like that opera and if there had've been tickets, would've seen that instead of The Rake's Progress, I decided to go. I brought along a little picnic of sushi and headed off for Trafalgar Square. Unfortunately, by the time I got there it was absolutely packed! This meant that I had to position myself off towards the side, in front of one of the fountains, but I luckily had a pretty good view. Well, at least I did until literally dozens of people kept walking past, staring at the screen as if to say 'What on earth is this?' and then stopping directly in front of me. I got so sick of it I actually said something - and then they were most apologetic - but what is it about people that they get so pre-occupied with something that their peripheral vision doesn't allow them to take in the surroundings and therefore realise that they are blocking someone? So bizzare...

I managed to stay for the first two acts but got so cold sitting there on the concrete that I had to leave at the interval. But what an awesome experience....

Mamma Mia - Here We Go Again!

Today I ventured back to the lovely (alas, not!) Croydon My Vue cinemas on Purley Way with my friends Laura and Sara to see Mamma Mia.

I have to say, I thought the film was just stunning.  I saw the musical a few years ago with my sister Melissa, when she was visiting London with my at the time 9 month old nephew Harry (seeing as he is now 7... that gives you an idea of how long ago that was...).  We had easily the best night of our lives (well, maybe Turandot at the Sydney Opera House for Mel's 21st might've been marginally better...), left the theatre singing all the songs... it was awesome.  And so I was anxious that the movie live up to that fine standard - and I was not disappointed.

I was however disappointed that the lovely (alas, not!) Croydon My Vue cinemas on Purley Way would sell tickets to clearly under 8 year olds, clearly unaccompanied by parents, to a film which is clearly a musical based on songs from the 70s / 80s, when the so called under 8 year olds weren't even a hint of a twinkle in their parents' eyes...  Who thinks an 8 year old would enjoy a bunch of ABBA songs?  By the 5th or 6th song the kids were clearly restless, and started talking through EVERYTHING and running up and down the aisle...not to mention at the end, during the credits (when Meryl and the girls are singing Dancing Queen), one of the boys grabbed one of the girls by the arm and proceeded to practically rip it out of its socket, causing her to scream piercingly loudly - with no challenge by anyone in the audience...The reason for that though is obvious.  What are we up to now, some 20 deaths in London due to gun and knife crime?  There were 4 more in England today alone...

It begs the question then, will I ever go to a cinema in England where the movie is not spoiled by under-age troublemakers...?  I doubt it...

Although I have actually experienced a troublemaker child-free cinematic English experience, and only recently too.  I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, at the Empire Theatre in Leicester Square.  The cinema there is absolutely humungous, and simply gorgeous - and the sound is not too loud and you don't get blocked by some dipstick sitting right in front of you.  Plenty of leg room too...  and no troublemaker children.  The only reason I can think of though for this is simply - the price.  At Croydon you'll pay £7.50 as an adult to see a film, £5.25 for kids.  At any of the Leicester Square cinemas, you'll pay at least £13.50 as an adult, and I don't know what as a kid, but that would seem to me to be a huge deterrent for delinquent youths.

Maybe I'll just have to stick with Leicester Square for all my cinematic experiences...

On another note, I will say that I stayed for the duration of the trailers, and therefore witnessed an example of Health and Safety gone mad.  There was a disclaimer at the end about the dangers of smoking - harping on about the smoking depicted in the film as being just for artistic purposes, smoking damages your health, yada yada.  Has the whole world gone mad, that we now need this sort of Nanny State message at the end of our films?  Oy ve...

Meanwhile, enjoy the Mamma Mia and Prince Caspian trailers...

When Ruby Met Boris

Today was "Music and Fun" day at school - aka the 'School Fete'.  Unfortunately the English weather forecast being what it is, there was such a high probability of rain that the decision was made to have the fete indoors - and then the sun proceeded to shine like nobody's business!  Murphy's law, eh?

Anyway, for the Music part we had a couple of the bands playing - the MFMC (Myatt's Field Music Centre - our Saturday music centre) kids - they were pretty cool - plus our String Orchestra, African Drumming Ensemble, Yr 8 Steel Band, Jazz Band and our Concert Band.  Pretty good actually, we managed to easily fill 3 hours worth of music in a relaxed atmosphere, parents / audience going off to buy burgers, raffle tickets, stuff as and when they felt like it, then sitting down to enjoy the music when they wanted to... I wish we'd done this sooner.  Actually its an idea I got from Lewes, from the days of St Paul's, when we would have music department break up concerts with a BBQ afterwards... and I think the kids here really enjoyed it.  Next year the plan is to turn it into some sort of CEBS WOMAD festival or something...

After we'd done the gig and the big pack up, it was time to farewell our violin teacher, so we took off to the Black Sheep on the Camberwell New Road for a bit of food and so on.  Mat and Jessie walked on ahead as I could only fit 3 other people in Ruby due to:  Boris.  Huh?

Let me explain.  No, it is not a veiled reference to London's new Mayor, Boris Johnson, and any car tax or car-like policies he might have (and I'm sure he has some doozies, after all, he's a pollie).  No, Boris is Ruth's cello...

The only problem is that Boris's outfit is somewhat overlarge, and takes up a fair whack of room - and in order to fit everyone plus Boris in, we had to do this:

Erik and Boris

Luckily we didn't have all that far to go - I don't know if I could face another fine from the lovely Lambeth "Safer Street Officers"...although, would you get a fine for transporting a cello out the top of a sunroof?  I don't know...

Last Choir Standing

I was flicking through the TV guide yesterday and discovered that the BBC are now playing a show called "Last Choir Standing".  Sounded interesting, so I decided I'd have a bit of a look.

How I wish I hadn't bothered!  Its pure, unadulterated tripe... For starters, what would these "judges" really know about choral singing? Have any of them had any real training?  Run any workshops, lead any choirs... I doubted it, but decided to have a look on the website to see if I could find anything out before I totally wrote off this series.

Judge number 1: Russell Watson - the "People's Tenor".  At least he knows how to sing - but what does he know about choral singing - there is a world of difference!  This is what they have to say about him:

His debut album The Voice was released in 2001 and was no. 1 in the classical chart for a year, only to be knocked from the top spot by his follow-up release, Encore. The first British male singer to take the number one spots in both the UK and US classical charts simultaneously, he is credited with bringing opera to a wider audience.

He has performed for some of the most influential people of our time, Tony Blair, Prince Charles and Camilla Duchess of Cornwall, the King of Malaysia, the Emperor of Japan and even the late Pope John Paul II who requested a private audience with Russell at the Vatican.

Ok, so there's someone who has a bit of vocal knowledge.  Judge number 2...Suzi Digby.  Now to be honest, I've never heard of this chick, but I read up the blurb:

Incredibly passionate about singing, both from a musical perspective and for its ability to transform lives, Suzi has an international reputation as a choral director and conductor.

(so 'international' that I've never heard of her!)  Moving right along...

In 1993 Suzi founded the Voices Foundation. Working in infant and primary schools in deprived areas throughout England and Wales, the Foundation aims to transform children and the ethos of schools through singing, helping children socially, emotionally and intellectually. Also reaching out to schools internationally, close to one million children have benefited from the scheme.

Suzi also founded the chamber choir Voce in 2003. Comprising experienced singers in their twenties and thirties, they perform frequent concerts and tour abroad regularly. With a very high standard expected of her singers, she aims for Voce to become one of the finest chamber choirs in Britain and they are already well on their way.

In 2007 Suzi received the OBE for services to music education.

Ok, so I guess she probably knows a bit about what she's talking about.  Maybe there's hope for this show yet.  Judge number 3...

...Sharon D. Clarke.  Huh?  An actress from Holby City?  A chick who's sung in a few musicals?  The only choral reference I could find in the blurb is that she sung in the London Adventist Gospel Choir.

Now seriously, I ask you, what could these people possibly have to say of any intelligence or worth when it comes to adjudicating choirs?  And when you listen to their criticisms of the choirs, and look at which ones they actually put through the rounds, well you realise that their knowledge of all of this is, well to be honest, extremely shallow.

And the choirs they've put through to the next round?  With names like Alleycats, Dreemz, Handbag of Harmonies... heaven help us!  For example, ACM Gospel Choir - who got through on "Our God Is An Awesome God" - even with singing about "wis (breath!) dom, power and lurve" - honestly!  Then there's "Dreemz" - who sound like screeching cats...give me strength!

So let me suggest my judges for you:

Judge number 1:  Mike Brewer.  Musical directore of the National Youth Choir of Great Britain, choral adjudicator, guest conductor, workshop clinician.  I saw him give a workshop when I was at Uni doing my choral conducting, and he was just amazing.  His book, Kick Start Your Choir, is inspirational.  A British bloke who really does know what he's talking about.

Judge number 2:  Peter Broadbent.  One of Britain's most respected choral conductors, acknowledged for his awareness of style, breadth of experience and commitment to contemporary music.  Has worked with the City of London Sinfonia, Apollo Voices, Kodaly Chorus in Hungary, National Chamber Choir in Dublin, appears regularly as adjudicator at many international Choral competitions, and conducts workshops and masterclasses in the UK, Europe, USA and Canada.  Again, another bloke who knows his stuff.

Judge number 3: Andre Thomas or Rod Eichenberger.  These guys literally revolutionised choral conducting, with their studies on how gesture can affect a choirs' sound.  If you wanted a foreign guest judge - these guys would fill the bill.  Eichenberger's video "What They See Is What You Get" literally opened my eyes to the possibilities available to choral conductors and inspired me to want to be one.

Why haven't they picked these blokes?  Simple - they're too ugly for TV.  Who cares about informed, quality judging - no, just as long as they look nice and can string a few words relatively intelligibly together, well that'll do.  Which is precisely why I won't be watching this drivel...

Come on, BBC, if we have to have reality TV, how about some with a bit of quality for a change... oh that's right, I forgot - there's no such thing as 'quality' reality TV...

The One Where Kylie Is A Festival Fanatic

Yes people, shock, horror, I went to a popular music festival this past weekend!  Me!  The person least likely to listen to any remotely popular music at all, the person most definitely least likely to go to an outdoor Glastonbury type music festival (and most definitely least likely to do it in the rain) - yes, I was at the O2 Wireless Festival 2008 in Hyde Park.

Why?  Well because on the last day of the festival, my new favourite band (wow, I have a favourite band?!) the Counting Crows were playing - and Erik managed to get us tickets.  Which band?  I hear you possibly ask (or not, I mean, its not like its hard to have heard of more bands than me!).  The Counting Crows...

You see, last year (or the year before, I don't really know), when I was home for Christmas, I bought a load of Concert Band music at Ellaways to bring back to the UK for my school band, because, to be brutally honest, trying to find that sort of thing here is next to impossible.  There's really only Chappells of Bond Street (in Wardour Street, go figure?) and they only have a handful of that awful 'flexible ensemble' stuff.  Anyway.  So, I bought a load of music to bring back to school, and one of the pieces was "Accidentally in Love", by the Counting Crows.  The kids really like the piece, I really like the piece, and that's how I got interested in that band.

So anyway, they were the headline band at the O2 festival on Sunday.  The festival is an annual event, running for some 4 days, with some 4 or so stages for bands / singers / comedians to perform at, and with the usual over-priced fast food joints surrounding the perimeter of the complex.  I arrived about 3.00 and had to queue for a while to get through the silly security measures - I mean, they didn't even scan your bag or anything, the bloke just opened it up and to be honest, was more interested in checking to see if any bottles of coke you've brought in could've been opened already and spiked with alcohol, rather than checking to see if you have a bomb or something.  But once I was in I managed to meet up with Erik and we checked out a few bands.

We saw first of all the Goo Goo Dolls, who I think were seriously over-rated.  Like, they were really rubbish, I didn't like their music at all.  They were on the main stage, so we left and wandered over to the O2/MTV stage where we heard a guy called Ryan Shaw - he was really good.  Actually had more than 3 chords in his music, and the boy could actually sing.  I could be tempted to buy some of his music, it had a real intelligence and class to it...

After this we checked out some of the other tents and stages before settling on the Sandisk stage, where we heard Donavon Frankenreiter - now again, there was some real good music - some proper lyrical lines, clever harmonies - and the bloke playing keyboard played trumpet at the same time too.  The guitarists and other musicians actually took solos for a change, proper, improvised solos - which they executed perfectly, with real musicianship and proper virtuoso playing.  Another one I could be tempted to buy.

We then parted with hard earned cash to get a pie and peas before braving the crush to get into position on the main stage in preparation for the big event.  During this time we caught a bit of Ben Harper - again another fabulous musician, he played this wierd lap guitar - just amazing!

The only downer about all of this was, as the afternoon progressed into evening, and as I had more interaction with other festival goers, I became increasingly aware that everyone there (other than Erik) was Australian.  It was just uncanny.  And not the nice Aussies either - no, at 7pm on a Sunday night, gates having opened at 12noon, these were the Aussies who had been sinking stubbies all afternoon, who could barely string 2 words together (why were they there to hear the main band then - they won't remember it?) - you know, the sorts of Aussies who rather than play dance around the handbags like they do at some clubs, were playing dance around the pile of stubbies.  In fact one bloke, so considerate he was, decided it would be a good idea to chuck semi-full bottles of beer up into the air, spraying the people below.  Fortunately the bottle was made of plastic!

Dancing around the stubbies... a new craze...

And then there was the bloke next to me who had absolutely no manners at all - who waited til the main act started singing and then proceeded to shout down his phone every 5 minutes at his mate - "We're about 15 metres in front of the mixing desk, right in front of the main stage" - like his mate had a snowflakes' chance in hell of trying to meet up with him in that throng!  What a git...  Then there was the Aussie (or actually, I think this bloke might've been a Saffa) who decided to dance ecstatically to the music, in a semi-trance, flinging his head far, far back in time (well, he thought it was in time) to the music, and fair taking me out in the process as I had the unfortunate pleasure of standing behind him!

But finally, the main event - the Counting Crows!  And suddenly all of that other unpleasantness of being crammed up in the crowd was all worth it... they were just awesome!  Such gorgeous harmonies, lyrical melodies, so musical... the pianist was just incredible, and the lead singer was such an entertainer - what a fabulous experience it was, I will never forget it... the only downer was they never sang my absolute favourite song, Accidentally in Love - but they did do Big Yellow Taxi, Washington Square and Colourblind...and many others...

Anyway, I didn't have my video camera there, just the stills one - but here's a video I found of part of the performance on youtube...

Boy am I glad I'm not on the clean up!  What a mess...

The One Where Ruby Meets Hitler

Alas, my poor run of luck with ol' Ruby continued today, when I had a confrontation with a little Hitler-esque parking attendant in Lambeth (the borough where I work).

You see, I had booked a training session at the Apple Store in Regent Street for 4pm, so I had to run out of school down to the Oval to try to get there in time. The quickest way to do this is to park in the paid parking around the back of the Oval cricket ground. Dutifully I empty my purse into the meter and manage to pay up until 5.47pm. This should be ok, the training goes for 1 hour, it shouldn't take 47 minutes to get from Oxford Circus to the Oval...

So I head off for the training, and when it was over, made my way back to the Oval. Unfortunately there were some delays on the tube, so I had to run to my car as it was nearing the time - only to discover that Hitler was already writing the ticket! I started to wave my arms and shout out "I'm here, I'm here" - to which I received a torrent of abuse! He yelled obscenities at me about how it didn't matter I was there now, I was still late, I was still getting a fine, and f...in this, f...in that...! I couldn't believe it!

So I stupidly wait for him to finish up writing the ticket, not saying anything - and he takes about 5 minutes to do so. When I checked the time on the ticket it was that time which was printed, which is unfair as I was there at 5.48 or something, not 5.54 or whatever he put.

What a complete and utter prick. I will be contesting this one, as fortunately on the back of the ticket there is a clause which says you can contest the ticket if you feel a "procedural impropriety on the part of the enforcement authority" has occurred - and it most definitely has - how dare he shout and swear at me! Who does he think he is?

Anyway, I think its time to name and shame - well I would 'name' but I only have a badge number which I will put on here once my appeal has gone through - but in the meantime, here is Mr Hitler Lambeth Parking Attendant:

Hitler running away (well, walking...)

Making some distance

Meeting up with Eva and causing havoc for another motorist!

Uh Oh Ofsted AGAIN!

You wouldn't read about it, but just over 12 months since our last one, we've got Ofsted again!

How ridiculous, they're coming to investigate "creative learning in lessons"... what a croc!  So its back to working late, working early, and sleepless nights for the next few days...

The Queue!

With the previous week having been such a busy one, I decided last week that it was time to do something for myself for a change.

Seeing as it is the end of June, that can only mean one thing in London - Wimbledon.  As seeing as I am such an avid tennis fan (surprise, surprise, especially as I sooo have the physique for it - couch potato tennis, that is!) - well I simply had to go!

There's only one problem - getting tickets.  Wimbledon is one of the very few sporting tournaments in the UK where it is still possible to buy tickets at the gate on the day.  Ordinarily thats a good thing, except that there are only a limited number of tickets available on the day for show courts, and as a result, people have to queue.  And queue.  Overnight, if you want to actually get any sort of decent tickets - there's only 500 Centre Court, 500 Court One and 500 Court Two tickets available each day... and much, much, more than 1500 people wanting them.  And your chances of being in the first 500 are usually pretty slim - because people start queuing for the next day's play any time after about 7am, especially if the weather forecast is good...so if you have to work that day, your chances of getting to the queue at any useful time is pretty slim...

Fortunately Jane and I managed to get to the queue relatively early on Friday night in preparation for Saturday's tennis, and we were given queue cards at numbers 363 and 364 - thus being guaranteed of Centre Court tickets!  Woo hoo!  And this year they're trialling a new system, where instead of having the queue snaking along the streets of Wimbledon, outside people's houses, causing disruption and inconvenience to the neighbours, this year they made one big queue inside Wimbledon Park.  This was an excellent idea because in keeping everyone in one place, they also kept the feeling of comaraderie and unity of purpose.  There was such a party atmosphere in the queue, it really isn't that difficult or boring to be in the queue.  Most people think you're nuts if you tell them that's what you're going to do, but actually, because of the queue cards you don't have to be there every minute, you can leave for short periods to go to the loo, or get refreshments and stuff.  The only problem was, Jane and I didn't really want manky hamburgers - so we sneakily did up the tent and wandered off into Southfields to get dinner in one of the local pubs.  They had the tennis on there too, so we got to see the tail end of Friday's play!

Anyway, we headed back to the queue and the rest of the evening went without much ado, except for at 1am some louts had to be chucked out for queue-jumping or something.

The next day they got us up real early, 6am, to pack up the tents and condense the queue.  From then on it was pretty quick moving, and it seemed like in no time at all we were receiving our wrist bands to determine which tickets we would get.  Then we had a bit of a wait, and it was during this time that I practised up a bit of my Japanese as the couple behind us in the queue were having trouble re-confirming their hotel reservation that evening - so I helped out a bit, in my very bad, faltering Japanese.

Anyway in next to no time at all we were inside the gates and heading off for the Wimbledon experience - the Wimbledon shop, strawberries and cream, exhibition games on outside courts - before the main event kicked off on Centre Court at 1pm.

First match:  Jelena Jankovic vs Caroline Wozniacki.  Eventually Jankovic won this, but not without drama - the trainer had to be called for Jankovic for an injured knee or something - and then it was on to the next match - Andy Murray vs Tommy Haas.  Now personally, I was really interested in this one, because Tommy Haas is absolutely gorgeous, and a fabulous player to boot - but unfortunately Murray (the most miserable looking tennis player on the planet - seriously dude, you could afford to smile every now and then) won in 3 sets. Alas.

Finally, in failing light, it was time for Nadal vs Kiefer.  Personally, again I wanted Kiefer to win, on account of he is very nice eye candy, but alas, it was not to be.  But I have to point out something that you wouldn't normally see on the TV.  Nadal has the most unfortunate habit of picking his bum just before every serve, or every return!  Its awful - and became a real joke, especially around where we were sitting, as everyone just started laughing each time he did it!  Honestly, boyo, you need to sort that one out - its gross!

Anyway, it had been a fabulous day, we had a brilliant time and I was so pleased that I made it yet again to Wimbledon for another year!

Here is a little slideshow of what we saw:

Now the only thing is that videos uploaded to blogger often are poor quality - so here's some of the better pics for a clearer view...

Jane

The queue

Jankovic

Wozniacki

The lovely Tommy Haas

Miserable Murray

Nadal

Kiefer

Stop pickin'!

Centre Court

Agnieszka turned up later in the day and we got her in on Centre Court