Wimbledon’s queuing public welcomes the abuse. In fact, the experience is such a delight that some daydream about it all year.
“We get to spend time together—no husbands, no children, no after-school clubs,” said Suzanne Pyefinch, who has queued for 27 years with her sister, Michelle, and seen everyone from Bjorn Borg to Roger Federer. Last weekend she was cooking sausages by her tent.
“Our bacon went off, and we had a bit of a panic,” she said. “The ice melted, and it just went funny in the car. But the important things are done. We’ve got the Pimm’s, so we’re happy.”
Ms. Pyefinch said she was still recovering from an encounter with a snorer. “That guy snoring last night, it was a song—fantastic, absolutely fantastic,” she said. “But you just get on with it. We all look like rubbish at the end of the two weeks, but we’ve had the greatest time ever.”