Every year brings new peculiarities that i look forward to. Thank goodness for that
12/31/2009
12/18/2009
Moving Life of the Butterfly Collectors
“Oh fuck it. Just burn all my stuff, just burn everything if it means I don’t need to pack anymore of this shit”.
Would it be the three single most used items in my life? - laptop, ipod and phone. The three most irreplaceable in sentimental value? The three most literally irreplaceable (last photographic evidence of a granddad you never met) ? Or Irreplaceable certificates and qualifications? Do any of these things really mean anything to me and how really is it possible to separate the metalmarks from the swallowtails and decide which ones we really want to keep? After all, they’ve all gathered as much materialistic dust as they can manage, and I wanna spare these redundant sunavabitches the wrath of a burning building.
And for that reason, a movie I saw recently “Bunny and the Bull” by Paul King made me smile a few times. Obviously I let my preconceptions about it being made by the Boosh director dull any real expectations. It was indeed highly decorative, and visually rich, but it was also a very sensitive movie, centred on a painfully sensitive character- Stephen, whose life appears dominated by materialism, categorisation, organisation and perhaps OCD, to the point where he is terrified of leaving his own front door to a horribly unstructured world. What a nightmare!
Stephen’s home is wallpapered top to bottom with brown boxes, categorising almost everything he has ever used, owned, touched or produced (he stores his urine). One day when his meticulous daily routine is disrupted, he turns to the items in his boxes to recreate his unorganised past, hidden well from his consciousness through careful organisation of the present.
(This paragraph is a bit of a spoiler for the film so skip if you wish) The core of Stephen’s rather strange past story and strange current circumstances is only revealed at the end of his reminiscence when his bold, charismatic and close friend Bunny dies, leaving poor, shy, sensitive Stephen devoid of the safety and comfort he found through the abrasive Bunny. Were Stephen’s hoards of useless ‘stuff’ representative of his need to fill the emptiness he felt in bereavement? Does it represent a need to stay faintly attached to ‘real life’ through ‘real items’, providing closure through the comfort of knowing that most things can be kept safe and close to us always, even though Bunny was lost. Does it represent a coping mechanism, which allows him to structure his life at his own pace and in his own way than faltering for the unreliability of reality? In the end, Stephen manages to overcome his inner demons and begins to leave his house into the cold, inner city air. If Stephen were real, I would have liked to have asked him at that very moment, which 3 items he would salvage if his house were to burn down right behind him.
11/20/2009
Growing some Antlers instead.
It's not my fault really that Nottingham have had some p4k 'gems' in the past few weeks, and thus i am provoked most unfairly to keep these gigs in the blog roll, despite my reluctancy- i am reluctant. i am.....
On Monday night, The Antlers played at the Social....and it was incredible.
It seems we need to start providing bands with some sort of award if their live shows can actually outshine their album/hype mutualism. When i first listened to "Hospice" i thought it was an awesome album, as did probably everyone who bought/downloaded it. I tried my best to ignore the contentious maps of meaning through the inter-webs that crumbled around Pete Silberman's beautifully constructed tower as if it didn't exist- and i couldn't see it falter. I paid no attention to the lyrical density or the fact that albums like this can have real 'concepts'.
...But it became apparent to me on Monday night, that "Hospice" cannot be exclusively phlegmatic on any level- the more you listen to it, the more obvious the hidebound of someone's extremely painful experience, and it's quite frankly, terribly haunting. Not merely because of the emotional burden that goes hand in hand with scenes of illness, hospitals and death that form the bathing fluid of Hospice, but because these emotions can be so probing to even those who haven't fully experienced them.
Death is inevitable, and we all have death anxiety; Irvin D. Yalom (who wrote a wonderful collection of stories called "Love's Executioner and other tales of Psychotherapy") calls it the 'price of admission to self-awareness'. Everything i've realised is down to evolution and telekinesis.... and an extension of such is the way death anxiety works on a collective consciousness. Everyone knows what it is to die, what it means to not exist or to not have someone else exist, to come to terms with the fact that it's a lonely old world and no one person has much of a chance of existing with you forever, no matter how much you love them or need them or want them.
It's also only when we face death that we have the sudden capacity to do remarkable things for others and for ourselves.
'though the fact of death destroys us, the idea of death can save us'
the fact is that she won't survive, the idea is that i keep bedside manners and do the best i can.....which means she can throw the thermometer right back at me if she wants to, she can scream and curse and then apologise as many times over as she wants, she can tell me to leave because she doesn't like my tone, even though i'm only trying to make her smile, but something keeps me standing by the hospital bed.
Peter Silberman's lyrics cut through me like a thousand knives; all of which can be found very neatly presented here
"There's a bear inside your stomach, a cubs been kicking you for weeks, and if this isn't all a dream, then we'll cut him from beneath. Well we're not scared of making caves, or finding food for him to eat. We're terrified of one another, terrified of what that means. But we'll make only quick decisions, and you'll keep me in the waiting room, and all the while i'll know we're fucked and not getting un-fucked soon. When we get home we're bigger strangers, than we've ever been before. You sit in front of snowy television, suitcase on the floor..."
I guess the track "Bear" is somewhat obviously touching on the idea of abortion, but it kinda reminded me about a form of cancer therapy based on 'visual imaging'; an admittedly pathetic sense of self-healing where the patient creates a visual metaphor for their chemotherapy fighting against a visual metaphor for their cancer. I thought of the bear inside her stomach as this wild and growing tumour in her body, and them not feeling scared of finding food and caves was the created sense of boldness they both had in getting through chemotherapy, he mentions making 'all the right appointments' in an earlier verse, and being terrified of one another stands for each others situations; one coping with a terminal illness and the other knowing and sensing the huge loss that is about to present itself, yet somehow the relationship needs to stay together, until it is no more.
You think you can say everything to someone who you know is going away for a very long time, but things just don't work that way, and all you care is that they don't notice how scared you are. I didn't ever intend to cut these lyrics up like this, but they come alive on that album, and whatever it means, the last thing i want to do is vitiate them. But what is this album if it isn't one to rip up? Hospice is so overexposed, it's actually underexposed....you can't understand another person's grief. This is where collective consciousness doesn't work.
I'm scared to sleep i hate my voice 'cause it only makes you angry. I only talk when you are sleeping. That's when i tell you everything, and i imagine that somehow you're going to hear me'.
When i try to move my arms sometimes, they weight too much to lift. I think you buried me awake (my one and only parting gift). But you return to me at night, just when i think i may have fallen asleep. your face is up against mine, and i'm too terrified to speak................
11/07/2009
Live and Kicking with Bears and Japandroids
I've been knocked out pretty much all week. Days and days pass me by in bite size chunks; i look through a hole in the wall every morning i wake up, and see two hours in a 24 hour time span. Two hours spent numb after i've dragged my self around, kicking and screaming for so long that i can't even remember why anymore. And at those times of rare animation, it's pretty ridiculous to chew right when you've bitten off a little more than you can physically handle.
This week was different, because this time i was kicking for a different reason- the undeniable pleasure of great live music will always exist, no matter how dead you feel sometimes. I had travelled to Leeds on the Thursday for a mesmerising evening with Grizzly Bear. They came up and had a little taste, a little feel, and looked up at you with their big Grizzly Bear eyes and there was something special there (this is also what the camera crew on BBC's "Life" had said about the giant squid they were filming, i admit it, i plagiarised). ..
Under the blue and green light canopy, and the mock fire flies trapped in glass jars around them flickering their little wings, Veckatimest took on a whole new meaning for me. Ready, Able was astonishingly lovely, my favourite on that album. Cheerleader soared around the ceiling like birds in formation. The echoey vocals on Knife sounded like Romantic yetty calls up to the balcony where i was stood, and not for a second was i deterred by the ridiculous amounts of people that were rammed into Leeds Met Students Union (it's been a while since i've been to a gig this 'big'), and a good few of them were illuminated around the face with mobile elements (Boo).
As if this wasn't enough, the very noisy, very snazzy, very Sai's top 09 list of albums Japandroids were down in Nottingham supporting A Place To Bury Strangers at Bodega Social. After a rather depressing Friday of catching up on 2 weeks of lecture notes, i was almost too depressed to leave my room, but the very thought of missing Japandroids was a little painful- so i paid 8 quid just to see them support, since i'm not really a fan of APTBS.
Unfortunately, the two-piece only managed a 20 minute set, since they arrived late because their van broke down, but those 20 minutes were spit fire. Brian King the guitarist has a ridiculous amount of raucous energy about him; his enviably skinny guy frame in straight cut dark blue jeans jittered around on stage like a nervous cat. He says in his charming canadian slur that they used to think they were the loudest band ever until they toured with APTBS, and then they felt like a couple of girlies...."like your jeans" scoffed a punter, ZIINNNNGGG. Brian was not happy, and gave us all permission to spit on the guy- he was clearly some fat, rigid ugly person jealous that he wasn't sporting such a physique to prance on stage holding a guitar somewhat convincingly.
The Social crowds are always too cool for their own good (as my friend aptly mentioned after the gig), and remained relatively static despite the hysterical dance-worthy numbers in Hearts Sweats, Rockers East Vancouver, Young Hearts Spark Fire & Boys Are Leaving Town. I wasn't ashamed. I paid 8 quid for this god dammit and i'm gonna have a hip shake.
Got a drink while APTBS were on, went up for the last song. Strobe lighting gave me a fit. Loud. It's fucking loud up here. My ears, they're gone.
Light. all i could see was the fucking light- and this is why they cut Japandroids short???! Whatever. I bought their fucking t-shirt.
So anyway, i see drowned in sound did a ridiculously fucked up review of the Post-Nothing record.....no, it is not about suburban numbness, or blank interactions, or the modern Western malaise of personal and social detatchment. It's just not.
10/07/2009
The Cooking Life: Titus Andronicus makes amazing culinary transformation- try it at home!!
Have a horrendous morning filled with car clamps and 2 hour social development lectures??
About ready to die when you get home and literally starving into your knees???
Want a satisfying lunch to ease the grievances?
Find that dusty Titus Andronicus album in the corner of your kitchen and put it into that fucking CD player, because it does exactly what it says on the packet- the "Airing of Grievances"
" i'm a hardcore smoothie lover and like my smoothies to have the perfect consistency; smooth, no coagulation between fruit and dairy, light, tasty, with just the right combo of ingredients. Couple that with ricotta and pine nut raviolli and you have a perfect lunch. But its difficult to get a lunch looking and tasting this perfect (well for me anyway) and its even worse when you're running on 2 1/2 hours sleep"
BUT NOT ANYMORE BECAUSE TITUS ANDRONICUS CAN ACTUALLY SOLVE THIS:
I'm telling you, just once, try making anything in the whole wide world listening to that album and it will come out beautifully. I like the album, not love, more like. But those guys are culinary transformers. I am going to write to them and thank them.
Or maybe i just had a lucky day in the kitchen?....naaaahhhhhhh.
Try it out at home by making Nigella's dark chocolate raspberry pudding cake (it's delicious, even if Nigella is um, the opposite)
185g self-raising flour
25g cocoa powder
250g unsalted butter
2 tbsp creme de framboise (optional)
100g caster sugar
100g light muscovado sugar
250g good quality dark chocolate
185ml strong black coffee
and 370ml water
2 large eggs, beaten lightly
250g raspberries
icing sugar, for dusting
1. Preheat goddam oven to 180C, fan 160 gas mark 4
2. sift flour & cocoa, set aside.
3. put butter, creme de framboise, sugars, chocolate, coffee and water in a thick bottomed saucepan and stir over a low heat until everythign melts and it looks smooth and glossy.
4. stir this mixture into sifted flour and cocoa. beat well until all smooth, then beat in the eggs. (dont worry if its runny, it will set, DONT ADD MORE FLOUR)
5. pour into cake tin (i used a heart shaped one :) ) until 2cm thick, then pour on raspberries, and put rest of mixture on top.
6. bake in oven for 40-45 minutes.
7. grunge is what the cake is alllll about, so dont bother making skewer come out super clean.
8. leave to cool for 15 mins and dust with icing sugar, cut into a broken heart if you wish, because broken hearts are more interesting than complete ones...
and it should hopefully come out like this.........
&
7/14/2009
No Such Thing as Nosaj's Thing
The first listen i had of Nosaj Thing's album "Drift" was when i was driving down a relatively lonely dual carriage way on a dark afternoon with huge fat rain droplets pelting down on my windscreen. The sky had just about closed up and there was nothing but the stark distinction between wet and dry as i sat in my little car with the hard, starving rain threatening to break through my windows.
"Drift" sounds like that space between the wet and dry, the space that i feel relatively sheltered in but all the while i can feel the tension that builds as the rain gets harder. If i put down my window it will attack me, though i can't help but want to do it anyway.
The hugely exciting openers "Quest" and "Fog" sounds like what would happen eventually if i decided to open my windows and doors to a torrential downpour, and my car was consumed by rain water; dark and dank and delightfully distressing, and me stood in the midst of it, soaking through and through. By the time the glitchy synth action of "Caves" came around i would spiral into a state of mania, not contemplating my actions but reliving the necessity of them in denial.
On the first listen, i could only get up to track 6 and got impatient with the rest of the album- i thought most of the infectious swagger of this record and the 'drops' were already exhausted from tracks 1 to 6 . How wrong i was! Lords the last track "kicks 7 different types of ass" as one person put it on a album review comment on a site i was on earlier.
I do like this video a lot too- "Aquarium" from the Views/Octopus EP.
Good Literature for an Emotional Breakdown...with love from Russia
My struggle with reading for want of a more interesting book each time this summer has got me thinking of the Twentieth Century Russian Literature module i grew to adore in First Year. The module was the most depressing thing i've ever studied (obviously not because i didn't enjoy it) but because the process of falling in love with it required ripping the literature apart tentatively, layer by lamentable layer to it's bitterly sorrowful core. I remember sobbing over open pages the night before the exam, not because of fear of failure, but because it hurt to come to the realisation that through the swathes of surrealism, dark humour and fantastic tales of dodgy science and lovingly fraudulent characters in these books, there lay only (and not so well disguised after all) genuine human suffering.
I think i felt more emotionally destroyed by these books because of the brilliantly submissive style of writing the authors adopted to follow censorship guidelines set by the Soviet government. As a result, everything about the books; the characters, the plots seemed 'unreliable', not because of the author's intention to deceive the reader exactly, but because of the need to reveal as much as possible through as little as possible, which felt slightly abusive. In practical psychology, the individual is easily reduced to a vulnerable state through the realisation of their childhood state. I felt like reading these books did something similar to me, because of the sense of struggle to find and validate the familiar or 'the obvious'.
The module covered some lesser known works of russian literature (as opposed to the Tolstoy or Dostoevsky) in the context of the changes that occurred within the country during the Soviet period.
‘Dammit, i spent five years doing nothing but extracting cerebral appages...You know how much work i did on the subject- an unbelievable amount. And now comes the crucial question-what for? So that one fine day a nice little dog could be transformed into a specimen of so-called humanity so revolting that he makes one’s hair stand on end.....this doctor, is what happens when a researcher, instead of keeping in step with nature, tries to force the pace, and lift the veil’.
I wrote my essay on Bulgakov's relatively under-appreciated 'Heart of a Dog' (the full english translation can be found here) as opposed to his most recognised novel 'The Master and Margarita" (which i actually haven't read yet). Heart of a dog has the 'mad scientist' moniker highly in place as it follows the story of a Dr. Preobrazhensky- a bourgeoisie surgeon with a typical distaste for the proletarians echoed by his ambition to transform a lowly street dog (Sharikov) into a human being- who ironically turns out to be a proletariat who Preobrazhensky must either come to terms with or destroy. As you can imagine the end is inevitable.. It is a relatively simple storyline that Bulgakov builds upon beautifully to allow for worlds of exploration in thematic structure which includes the obvious conflict between the bourgeoisie and proletariats and also class struggle to a Communist utopia in Russia.
Preobrazhensky complains about the carpet being removed from the staircase in his block of flats, by the management committee of soviet communists, he says in anger,
‘Did Marx forbid people to keep their staircases carpeted?’
Being somewhat of a 'scientist' myself, i particularly enjoyed the portrayal of science under the Soviet system in Heart of a Dog. The short comings of science in the novel reflect the short comings of the political system. Not only did the Soviet Union limit the ability of science to improve by restricting the type of research conducted (i.e. genetic research was discouraged in order to culturally isolate Russia from capitalist influence of Germany where genetics was a prime area of study), but also by channelling the obsession with space research and animal experimentation that lead to unethical scientific practise (i.e. Demikhov's two headed dog - also there was a program recently on channel 4 about Soviet Dogs in Space if one is interested)
"There is always a place for heroism in our lives"
"Omon Ra"by Victor Pelevin (full English translation here) was probably my favourite of all the novels we studied, because it epitomises the playfulness of Russian Literature in expressing those strong values of friendship, compassion, bravery, all the nice things that make good adventure stories, yet is a thoroughly harrowing, awesome bit of Russian sci-fi which follows the young Omon, a boy with an aspiration to leave his dull soviet life to be a fighter pilot. Omon's brilliant ability in aeronautics has him unexpectedly accepted into a space program to the moon where he is trained up to be a astronaut. Along the way, Pelevin sensitively presents humanity in a heartless world with a brilliant plot twist. Heart-Breaking:
"all of my childhood dreams about the future were born of gentle sadness native to those evenings that seem to be detached from the rest of your life, when you lie in deep grass by the remains of someone else's campfire, your bicycle resting nearby, the west still bearing purple bands from the sun that had just set, while in the east there are already first stars popping up. I haven't seen or experienced very much in my life, but I liked most of what I have, and I always counted on the trip to the Moon to absorb everything that I passed by in hopes of encountering it again later, to take it in more finally and forever this time; how was I to know that the best things in life are always seen as if from the corner of one's eye? While I was a kid, I often imagined extraterrestrial vistas: stone-strewn planes, furrowed by craters and illuminated by otherworldly light, sharp mountain peaks in the distance, black sky with the glowing coal of the sun and stars around it; I pictured the layers of space dust, many feet deep, and the stones resting motionless on the lunar surface for billions and billions of years - I was for some reason strongly impressed by the thought of a stone being able to remain in one place for all that time, and then I would bend down and pick it up with the thick fingers of my spacesuit. I thought of looking up and seeing the blue globe of Earth above, looking like the school globe distorted by the teared-over lenses of the gas mask, and how this ultimate moment of my life will connect me to all those other moments when I felt myself on the verge of something wondrous and unfathomable"
I should be reading that one again soon.
I wrote about Platonov's "Foundation Pit" in the exam; an account of dystopia set during the first year of the Five-Year plan, evolves around the idea of the Kohlhoz- the complete Collectivization of farms ordered by Stalin and the destruction of the Kulaks (rich peasants) resulting in a horrific famine and death of thousands of innocent people. The plot is straightforward; the peasants are building a 'foundation pit' so as to build on top of it a huge house to accomodate all the proletariats of the world where they can live in peace together, and find 'happiness through labour' away from the destructive world. The peasants are steeped in a hopeless existence glossed with illusions of a empty promise unable to recognise that they stand knee deep in dirt. Yet they 'do it for their children' and use the young girl Nastya as the little hope that they work for, the little girl who represents the new Russia who they are building the pit for. *Spoiler* one can't help but be amused that at the end of the novel the pit serves as a very large grave for the little girl who dies as a result of neglect from the workers, too caught up in their own dreams that they abandon reality.
However, reading this book is a little less straightforward as although from the outset Platonov seems to wallow in crude 'pity for the pitiful', his surreal style of writing (precursor to modern existentialism) about people and their lives rather confusedly, produces words just as futile as the endeavours of these peasants who dig mindlessly night and day for a pit that is forever doomed to be completed. It seems that Platonov has this extraordinary talent for immersing his characters and his readers in emotional angst, stubbornly producing the existence of the suffering peasants in his novel into the mind of the reader ever present now as they were back then.
‘they lay in their empty coffins as if they were cramped little homes, feeling shut in and at peace’.
It is interesting to note that Platonov grew up next to a railway, where his father worked as a railway engineer. It is said that the young Platonov considered the trains as living and breathing machines, which is most evident in the breath of life he gives to his works, especially the foundation pit, where the characters in themselves are represented as hollow, starving, hopeless souls, filled only with pretty passionate pointless words.....It is a great read if only for the writing style but be prepared to get serious, seriously absurd.
I hope to be this enthusiastic about a book again some day. Forster's "Passage to India" almost killed me. I can't start on "Midnight's Children" just yet either.
7/04/2009
Swiss Maestro Vs American Hot Rod
*drum roll* Match Analysis!
Last time these guys were at a Wimbledon final together was 2005- Federer won.
Roger has a 18-2 winning record against Roddick usually achieved with breadsticks and bagels, by that i mean, 6-1 and 6-0 respectively. I am going to be extremely lazy and direct you all to THIS INTERESTING PAGE, it's not really laziness actually because this brilliantly accurate analysis is much better than what i could give you right now, with detail on the abduction angle, receiving stance, arm rotation on the serve and physical ability.
It's true that a lot of that analysis seems to be in 'survival of the fittest' mode, but it is often ignored when discussing tennis on t.v. or on commentary. Obviously the 'mental edge' is more interesting to talk about and more understandable, as a lot of people will probably not follow flexibility of the 'abductor muscles' but it is hugely intriguing nonetheless especially if you train and play yourself.
Other points to consider:
After the semis yesterday, Roddick half collapsed with emotion on his way up to the changing rooms, purely overwhelmed with what he has achieved. Coming this far after a heavy drought means the world to him, and it hasn't been easy...he played two very gruesome matches leading up to the finals... does he have enough left in the tank for sunday?
Can he hold serve? Can he keep his serve at least 95% first serve percentage? This is actually not a joke!!!! We can all expect a ridiculously dull final if Roddick cannot keep his best weapon polished at least half of the way.....
Its possible Federer will tank, that is, give an easy first few games to Roddick... Andy must not get excited and expend all his energy in the early sets, he should be experienced enough to know this already. Roger can go for hours at a incredibly high level of tennis, Roddick cannot do the same and he needs to really keep this in mind and cut the points short.
Federer's crown is pretty much inevitable. but hopefully Roddick will give us something to watch tomorrow, and maybe he will provide a useful platform for Roger to play some of his magic shots- which is entertaining enough....!
| Player | Aces | Ist serve pct. | Sets lost/ Bagels dished | Unforced. Errors - Total/ Winners | Bk pt conv % | Time on court. | Matches played |
| Federer | 77 | 67 | 1 / 0 | 71 / 239 | 49 | 11:29 | 6 |
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| Roddick | 160 | 71 | 6 / 0 | 112 / 331 | 31 | 15:45 | 6 |
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6/28/2009
The world's a better place at SW19....
Returned from Wimbledon a few days ago feeling more enthusiastic than i have ever been about this slam. Just one visit for a tennis geek is enough to make it feel like home.
Standing amongst thousands and thousands of enthusiasts, seeing top players in every direction you look, ice creams and strawberries (no matter how overrated they are) and fresh green lawn courts on a bright summers day just wreaks of the thrill of the tennis season.
The trip to Laandan was indeed three days of total tennis intoxication, which Mike aptly called a 'propa tennis getaway this' when i rolled up at his house with tennis racquet and all. Living and breathing of the stuff, from our evening game to the mornings absorption of casual match chit chat while queuing. We rolled our eyes at the Murray articles every day, and spent the rest on courts and walking around the grounds. If that wasn't enough, after a short break of tube journeys home from Southfields station, we hit the t.v. to catch 'Today at Wimbledon' before bed. It was awesome!
Nothing matters at Wimbledon except the tennis. How wonderfully uplifting. The world is a better place temporarily.
I had always thought that getting into Wimbledon was almost impossible without putting yourself through great hardship, but Mike and i found that you can get there for 7.30am in the morning and still get guaranteed entry with a grounds pass by 10 am. Obviously this means a 2 hour long wait, but it is not a shuffling queue because they let you through in batches supposedly, so we only had to 'move' in the queue once. The rest of the time we sat on the grass outside in the sunshine, listening to our ipods and discussing players and matches. They apparently reserve 6000 grounds tickets, but one day we were 6135 and still got in just fine. (it is unwise to leave it too late however).
The trip was very much a success considering we were not really uber prepared or anything and kind of gave up on checking schedules of play for the next day (it is more fun when it is a surprise!). We saw loads of amazing players- Lleyton Hewitt, Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, Gilles Simon, James Blake, Andy Roddick, Juan Carlos Ferrero (mike said he saw Andy Murray and David Ferrer walk by), Santorro, Jamie Murray play doubles (he was a bit shit), Jelena Jankovic from a distance, Fernando Gonzalez (total joker, Thiago Alves, Amelie Mauresmo, Kuztensova (french open champ 09... My trip is in digital format here on vimeo
A few very handy tips i picked up on a first visit to Wimby....
1. It is always worth having a nice stroll around the grounds before you do anything to get yourself acquainted with the courts and with the Championship. It's relaxing and very enjoyable. (Also extremely helpful if matches have been moved around to different courts and you want to get there quickly without having to ask around for directions) The place is huge and confusing in crowds, and it is a good idea to kinda know where you are going. We also brought a notebook to keep a mental check of all the good matches on so we had a rough plan of the day....
2. Always make sure you know which court you are cueing for when you don't have reserved seating. The queues can take AGES, since they don't let you on the stands till a game finishes so that the players are not disturbed. This means something up to a hours wait, and you don't want to find that you have actually been queuing for the wrong match/court. (this did happen to us, but luckily we only queued for about 30minutes before realising)
3. If you want to see good players on practise courts, GET ON THERE FROM 12 ONWARDS. About lunchtime all the best players come out to play, not much chance of seeing them past 2pm.
4. Keep your eyes peeled, players just walk past you all the time. This is not to get pictures/signings- they are busy people and probably have a lot of things to get one with, but sometimes they will be walking towards a pr
actise court or a unused match court to warm up. (we saw andy roddick this way). So it is sometimes worth stalking them and seeing where they go.
actise court or a unused match court to warm up. (we saw andy roddick this way). So it is sometimes worth stalking them and seeing where they go. 5. Take food, everyone does and they all munch sandwiches during the matches. It is easier this way, because you won't really have time to actually buy food and sit and eat because the important thing is to get your ass to as many matches as possible and the queues for food are not worth it! It is also of course more expensive to buy on grounds.
6. Don't go overboard with sensible footwear, you can get by just fine in sandals, but try and make it flat. HOWEVER, don't ever wear those primary coloured plastic sandals that are all the craze now, selling at your nearest Topshop. Yea, they look good, but your feet will DIE. DIE!!
7. They do not accept card for grounds passes. Have some cash on you £20 for first week grounds passes...i think 40/50 for show courts..(though you will need to camp)
8. Always check out ticket resale to see if you can grab a £5 show court ticket. When we went, Andy Murray was playing the last match on centre and there was a massive 6 mile queue for tickets at ticket resale, so hardly anyone was queuing for court 1 and we got a ticket on there to see Fernando Gonzalez (awesome player beat Murray at French) within 10 minutes...
9. Don't expect to see top 5 players on your first visit. Expect to see top quality tennis and good players, but not the best. You may just be disappointed, but really, everyone who plays at Wimbledon is a delight to watch even if they are not Rafa and Roger. You will have a guaranteed awesome time if you love tennis anyway, and just go with the flow, because luck is all around at Wimbledon...
10. If you are going as a pair, take someone you can honestly really put up with, i was very lucky, but the last thing you need is to spend an inordinate amount of time with someone who makes you want to fucking kill yourself/ (or kill them). And probably best to take someone who knows as much or more tennis than you, as player spotting is 10x more efficient, and also the whole experience is better spent in the company of a tennis enthusiast who will not get bored and nag you for food in the middle of a match.
Well, that is all i can remember right now... but hopefully it should be pretty helpful, because none of this info is available via the website or otherwise.
I apologise for anyone who is actually following my blog posts and has noticed it hasn't been updated during these Championships too well. I suppose this is not a problem really, but i enjoy keeping it 'up to date'. I just have little time in my life for everything including tennis sometimes. US open will be better organised on here for sure, since it is my favourite championship.
I also thought i would articulate my disappointment that Gael Monfils was not playing at Wimby this yr because of a knee injury. All my best wishes go out to him,i hope he recovers soon enough for US open.
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