Few opening games in recent memory have been so entertaining: these players did the Championship proud with their leaps, rolls and drop shots. Gracefully, temperatures stayed in the late 20s, though Centre Court felt a little like an oven, the sun trap that it is. And so almost everyone — bar perhaps David Beckham, who stayed elegant in his tailored grey suit and sunglasses aside from when he was cajoled into partaking in a Mexican Wave next to Mary Berry — had to escape the heat at least once during an interval. Some fans, possibly those to have indulged in a fair amount of Stella, paused to nap on benches; others picnicked on Henman Hill with miniature bottles of Lanson and better pizza than in previous years; I saw a few couples settle down to canned wine and, yes, there was a lot of charcuterie, curls of faux Italian meat glistening in the London sun.
