I woke up yesterday morning on the edge of moping. “No way … I’m going to Wimbledon.”

I got advice from people about how to get there. Conflicting advice, I may add. But so what? I’m going, even without the aid of Google Maps. I’d heard that people without tickets can get a day pass but they need to line up for the privilege. I also heard that some people queue overnight to get into the sacred tennis grounds. No way I was doing that. I needed my recovery sleep.

I figured that if I didn’t get into the tennis centre, I’d just walk around the perimeter, soaking in the atmosphere from a respectable distance. The energy would soar over the walls.

I did get in. One couple told me that the previous day they’d waited six hours for entry. Ouch! What was my waiting time, you ask? Zero hours, minutes and seconds! The gods were with me. And today the same thing. I was through the gates by 1:00. A fellow told me that he’d lined up at 8:00 am and got in at 11:00. I slept in, had a leisurely breakfast and wandered through the tube (subway) system. Et voilà … the doors opened for me immediately. Perhaps the universe is being kind to me after my phone debacle.

Everyone without a ticket has to walk about fifteen minutes through the grounds before reaching the entrance. This morning I decided to do a scientific experiment. I would say the same dumb thing to every volunteer I met and analyze the responses by gender. It sounded like fun, and it was. Here’s the question:

I’ve lost my ticket for The Royal Box. Who can I talk to about getting it reprinted? I’m supposed to meet my friend Kate there in an hour

For the uninitiated, The Royal Box is where Royal family members sit in Centre Court to watch the matches. Kate Middleton married Prince William, the son of King Charles.

I guess that I uttered the words to fifteen volunteers. “And the envelope please …”

Almost all of the men stared

Almost all of the women laughed

***

Over the past two days at Wimbledon, I’ve had so many good conversations with people from various parts of the world – guests, volunteers and staff. I can’t remember what I said to any of them but we sure had a good time. And I’m too tired to navigate my brain cells for specific examples. But let me tell you about this evening:

I decided to return to the scene of the crime … The Crown and Anchor pub. None of the earlier staff members were on shift. I intended to sit at the exact table of thievery, but it and the one next door were crammed with revellers. So I sat across the way, with a good view of the site of previous festivities. Next to me was a young couple and I related my tale of woe from two nights before. “And if that yelling guy with the big hat comes back, I’ll tackle him!”

Yeah, right. Indiana Jones I am not. The couple nodded and smiled. Later I admitted the error of my thinking ways to them. “Okay, I’m really not brave enough to assault the thief if he shows.” But I helpfully suggested that they tackle him together after I leave.

No doubt I’ll read the police report in the morning.