THE jewel in our summer sporting crown is back, and with it the usual marvellous sights that make us so proud to be British:
Typically vile weather
What could be more British than your iconic annual sporting event being f**king ruined by rain every year? Remember when Sir Cliff Richard did an impromptu rendition of Wired For Sound? Thankfully now the main two courts have roofs it’s relegated to lesser games and Lewis Capaldi performing acapella.
Renaming a grassed slope
Any British player getting past the second round is afforded the privilege of a grassy hill being renamed for them: it’s been Henman Hill, Murray Mount, Rusedski Ridge and Konta Contour. What a wonderful illustration of tennis’s minor and transient impact on the wider British public.
Pissed middle-class women
Wimbledon transforms middle-class women into working-class football fans. Staggering around trying desperately to be filmed drinking champage with strawberries in, these ladies ooze charm at 9am but are tanked-up and furious by midday, when a 37-year-old MILF staggers onto court threatening to f**k up Hawkeye.
From John McEnroe to Nick Kyrgios Wimbledon has always played host to racquet-smashing, abuse-hurling, ball-whacking bad-boys. As WWF and our current government show, everyone loves a villain and it spices up a sport we’re not in the least interested in 50 weeks a year.
Exhaustive BBC coverage of celebrities
92 per cent of the BBC’s Wimbledon budget is spent spotting celebrities. From Beyoncé to Hugh Grant to Samuel L Jackson, all sat in bemusement and suppressing the urge to snooze. Not forgetting the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and Her Majesty Judy Murray The King Mother.