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It has been a day of contrasts. Of relaxation and knife-edge suspense.
This switchback effect was achieved by swapping a stint in the unbroken sunshine, eating an ice cream on the terrace, for row three on Centre Court to watch the second tie-break and part of the last set in the Federer-Cilic match. The tension was palpable, electric.
Grown men around me sweated and muttered while an elegant lady seated next to me, her hands folded calmly in her lap, kept her cool.
But as we rotate that seat in the third row I had to give way to a colleague and rush back to watch the rest at the forecast centre.
On arrival the excitement was still at full throttle, but after nipping out to perform a small task, I returned to find the whole thing suddenly over, like a storm that had passed. What happened?
Now we have more white-knuckle viewing, as Murray and Tsonga fight it out after an extraordinary tie-break that decided the first set.
The standard of tennis is superb, the winners breathtaking.
If you have never watched a match on Centre Court — as I hadn’t until Wednesday afternoon — this is an experience to aim for at least once if you can.
For me, as a newcomer, the atmosphere is primeval, with the drive to survive, the passion of supporters and the thrills reminiscent, I imagine, of an ancient amphitheatre — but for the odd court tantrum, the humour that ripples out from time to time on court and in the crowd, and the shaking of hands at the end.
